classes :::
children :::
branches ::: the Town

bookmarks: Instances - Definitions - Quotes - Chapters - Wordnet - Webgen


object:the Town
datecreated:2020-08-25

--- NOTES
came from the city

see also ::: the City

see also ::: the_City

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


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

TOPICS
SEE ALSO

the_City

AUTH

BOOKS
Enchiridion_text
My_Burning_Heart
Plotinus_-_Complete_Works_Vol_01
The_Divine_Milieu
The_Seals_of_Wisdom
The_Use_and_Abuse_of_History

IN CHAPTERS TITLE

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
0.01_-_Letters_from_the_Mother_to_Her_Son
0_1960-12-31
0_1963-03-09
0_1963-06-15
0_1964-07-31
0_1964-10-14
0_1965-02-19
0_1967-12-30
0_1969-02-08
0_1969-08-30
02.05_-_Federated_Humanity
02.06_-_Boris_Pasternak
1.007_-_The_Elevations
1.00_-_PREFACE_-_DESCENSUS_AD_INFERNOS
1.011_-_Hud
1.012_-_Joseph
1.015_-_The_Rock
1.01_-_Economy
1.01_-_ON_THE_THREE_METAMORPHOSES
1.01_-_The_King_of_the_Wood
1.01_-_The_Three_Metamorphoses
1.021_-_The_Prophets
10.23_-_Prayers_and_Meditations_of_the_Mother
1.02_-_BEFORE_THE_CITY-GATE
1.02_-_MAPS_OF_MEANING_-_THREE_LEVELS_OF_ANALYSIS
1.034_-_Sheba
1.036_-_Ya-Seen
1.03_-_BOOK_THE_THIRD
1.03_-_Questions_and_Answers
1.03_-_Reading
1.03_-_Some_Practical_Aspects
1.03_-_Sympathetic_Magic
1.03_-_Tara,_Liberator_from_the_Eight_Dangers
1.04_-_Magic_and_Religion
1.04_-_Sounds
1.04_-_The_Divine_Mother_-_This_Is_She
1.05_-_THE_HOSTILE_BROTHERS_-_ARCHETYPES_OF_RESPONSE_TO_THE_UNKNOWN
1.05_-_The_Magical_Control_of_the_Weather
1.05_-_War_And_Politics
1.07_-_BOOK_THE_SEVENTH
1.08_-_Attendants
1.08_-_BOOK_THE_EIGHTH
1.08_-_EVENING_A_SMALL,_NEATLY_KEPT_CHAMBER
1.08_-_ON_THE_TREE_ON_THE_MOUNTAINSIDE
1.09_-_The_Worship_of_Trees
1.10_-_Relics_of_Tree_Worship_in_Modern_Europe
1.11_-_BOOK_THE_ELEVENTH
1.11_-_Higher_Laws
1.12_-_BOOK_THE_TWELFTH
1.12_-_Brute_Neighbors
1.12_-_GARDEN
1.12_-_God_Departs
1.12_-_The_Sacred_Marriage
1.13_-_BOOK_THE_THIRTEENTH
1.15_-_LAST_VISIT_TO_KESHAB
1.17_-_The_Burden_of_Royalty
1.18_-_The_Perils_of_the_Soul
1.19_-_NIGHT
1.19_-_Tabooed_Acts
1.22_-_ON_THE_GIFT-GIVING_VIRTUE
1.23_-_DREARY_DAY
1.240_-_1.300_Talks
1.240_-_Talks_2
1.24_-_The_Killing_of_the_Divine_King
1.25_-_Fascinations,_Invisibility,_Levitation,_Transmutations,_Kinks_in_Time
1.25_-_Temporary_Kings
1.26_-_Sacrifice_of_the_Kings_Son
1.28_-_The_Killing_of_the_Tree-Spirit
1.300_-_1.400_Talks
1.39_-_Prophecy
1.39_-_The_Ritual_of_Osiris
1.439
1.450_-_1.500_Talks
1.45_-_The_Corn-Mother_and_the_Corn-Maiden_in_Northern_Europe
1.50_-_Eating_the_God
1.54_-_Types_of_Animal_Sacrament
1.55_-_The_Transference_of_Evil
1.56_-_The_Public_Expulsion_of_Evils
1.57_-_Public_Scapegoats
1.58_-_Human_Scapegoats_in_Classical_Antiquity
1.62_-_The_Fire-Festivals_of_Europe
1.64_-_The_Burning_of_Human_Beings_in_the_Fires
1.67_-_The_External_Soul_in_Folk-Custom
1951-03-17_-_The_universe-_eternally_new,_same_-_Pralaya_Traditions_-_Light_and_thought_-_new_consciousness,_forces_-_The_expanding_universe_-_inexpressible_experiences_-_Ashram_surcharged_with_Light_-_new_force_-_vibrating_atmospheres
1953-07-22
1957-03-15_-_Reminiscences_of_Tlemcen
1f.lovecraft_-_A_Reminiscence_of_Dr._Samuel_Johnson
1f.lovecraft_-_At_the_Mountains_of_Madness
1f.lovecraft_-_Discarded_Draft_of
1f.lovecraft_-_He
1f.lovecraft_-_Herbert_West-Reanimator
1f.lovecraft_-_Ibid
1f.lovecraft_-_Medusas_Coil
1f.lovecraft_-_Pickmans_Model
1f.lovecraft_-_Polaris
1f.lovecraft_-_Sweet_Ermengarde
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Case_of_Charles_Dexter_Ward
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Colour_out_of_Space
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dream-Quest_of_Unknown_Kadath
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dreams_in_the_Witch_House
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dunwich_Horror
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Evil_Clergyman
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Festival
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Horror_at_Red_Hook
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Horror_in_the_Burying-Ground
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Last_Test
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Loved_Dead
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Mound
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Night_Ocean
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Shadow_over_Innsmouth
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Shunned_House
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Strange_High_House_in_the_Mist
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Street
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Thing_on_the_Doorstep
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Tree
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Very_Old_Folk
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Whisperer_in_Darkness
1f.lovecraft_-_Two_Black_Bottles
1f.lovecraft_-_Under_the_Pyramids
1.fs_-_Archimedes
1.fs_-_Count_Eberhard,_The_Groaner_Of_Wurtembert._A_War_Song
1.fs_-_Pompeii_And_Herculaneum
1.fs_-_The_Lay_Of_The_Bell
1.fs_-_The_Walk
1.hs_-_The_Essence_of_Grace
1.jk_-_On_Visiting_The_Tomb_Of_Burns
1.jk_-_Teignmouth_-_Some_Doggerel,_Sent_In_A_Letter_To_B._R._Haydon
1.jk_-_The_Cap_And_Bells;_Or,_The_Jealousies_-_A_Faery_Tale_.._Unfinished
1.jk_-_Written_In_The_Cottage_Where_Burns_Was_Born
1.jr_-_Inner_Wakefulness
1.jwvg_-_Gipsy_Song
1.jwvg_-_The_Wanderer
1.kbr_-_Chewing_Slowly
1.lb_-_Ballads_Of_Four_Seasons:_Winter
1.lb_-_His_Dream_Of_Skyland
1.lovecraft_-_Psychopompos-_A_Tale_in_Rhyme
1.pbs_-_Evening_-_Ponte_Al_Mare,_Pisa
1.pbs_-_Julian_and_Maddalo_-_A_Conversation
1.pbs_-_Marenghi
1.pbs_-_Peter_Bell_The_Third
1.pbs_-_The_Cyclops
1.pbs_-_The_Revolt_Of_Islam_-_Canto_I-XII
1.poe_-_The_City_In_The_Sea
1.poe_-_The_City_Of_Sin
1.rb_-_A_Grammarian's_Funeral_Shortly_After_The_Revival_Of_Learning
1.rb_-_An_Epistle_Containing_the_Strange_Medical_Experience_of_Kar
1.rb_-_Fra_Lippo_Lippi
1.rb_-_Old_Pictures_In_Florence
1.rb_-_Paracelsus_-_Part_III_-_Paracelsus
1.rb_-_Pippa_Passes_-_Part_III_-_Evening
1.rb_-_Sordello_-_Book_the_First
1.rb_-_Sordello_-_Book_the_Fourth
1.rb_-_Sordello_-_Book_the_Sixth
1.rb_-_Sordello_-_Book_the_Third
1.rb_-_The_Pied_Piper_Of_Hamelin
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LVIII_-_Things_Throng_And_Laugh
1.rt_-_The_Further_Bank
1.rt_-_The_Little_Big_Man
1.rt_-_The_Wicked_Postman
1.rwe_-_Astrae
1.rwe_-_Boston
1.rwe_-_The_World-Soul
1.rwe_-_Waves
1.rwe_-_Woodnotes
1.wby_-_A_Prayer_For_My_Son
1.wby_-_Colonel_Martin
1.wby_-_Lapis_Lazuli
1.wby_-_The_Gift_Of_Harun_Al-Rashid
1.wby_-_The_Happy_Townland
1.wby_-_To_A_Shade
1.wby_-_Tom_ORoughley
1.whitman_-_Song_Of_The_Open_Road
1.ww_-_Book_Sixth_[Cambridge_and_the_Alps]
1.ww_-_Book_Tenth_{Residence_in_France_continued]
1.ww_-_Lucy_Gray_[or_Solitude]
1.ww_-_The_Excursion-_II-_Book_First-_The_Wanderer
1.ww_-_The_Farmer_Of_Tilsbury_Vale
1.ww_-_The_Idiot_Boy
1.ww_-_Troilus_And_Cresida
1.ww_-_Vaudracour_And_Julia
2.07_-_On_Congress_and_Politics
2.09_-_SEVEN_REASONS_WHY_A_SCIENTIST_BELIEVES_IN_GOD
2.12_-_On_Miracles
3.02_-_The_Great_Secret
3.02_-_The_Psychology_of_Rebirth
3.08_-_ON_APOSTATES
33.01_-_The_Initiation_of_Swadeshi
33.04_-_Deoghar
33.08_-_I_Tried_Sannyas
33.12_-_Pondicherry_Cyclone
33.14_-_I_Played_Football
40.01_-_November_24,_1926
4.04_-_Some_Vital_Functions
4.0_-_The_Path_of_Knowledge
5.03_-_The_World_Is_Not_Eternal
5.1.01.1_-_The_Book_of_the_Herald
5.1.01.5_-_The_Book_of_Achilles
7.06_-_The_Simple_Life
7.08_-_Sincerity
7.09_-_Right_Judgement
7.11_-_Building_and_Destroying
Aeneid
BOOK_III._-_The_external_calamities_of_Rome
BOOK_II._--_PART_II._THE_ARCHAIC_SYMBOLISM_OF_THE_WORLD-RELIGIONS
Book_of_Imaginary_Beings_(text)
BOOK_VII._-_Of_the_select_gods_of_the_civil_theology,_and_that_eternal_life_is_not_obtained_by_worshipping_them
Diamond_Sutra_1
Emma_Zunz
ENNEAD_04.03_-_Psychological_Questions.
Tablets_of_Baha_u_llah_text
Talks_076-099
Talks_100-125
Talks_225-239
Talks_600-652
Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_1
Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_2
The_Act_of_Creation_text
The_Book_of_Joshua
The_Dwellings_of_the_Philosophers
The_Gospel_According_to_John
The_Gospel_According_to_Luke
The_Gospel_According_to_Mark
The_Gospel_According_to_Matthew
The_Pilgrims_Progress
Thus_Spoke_Zarathustra_text
Verses_of_Vemana

PRIMARY CLASS

SIMILAR TITLES
the Town

DEFINITIONS


TERMS STARTING WITH


TERMS ANYWHERE

Akankheyyasutta. (C. Yuan jing; J. Gangyo; K. Won kyong 願經). In PAli, "Discourse on What One May Wish," the sixth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKAYA (a separate SARVASTIVADA recension appears as SuTRA no. 105 in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMAGAMA, and a recension of uncertain affiliation in the Chinese translation of the EKOTTARAGAMA); preached by the Buddha to a group of disciples in the JETAVANA grove in the town of sRAVASTĪ. The Buddha describes how a monk who wishes for all good things to come to himself, his fellow monks, and his lay supporters should restrain his sense faculties by seeing danger (ADĪNAVA) in the slightest fault and by abiding by the dictates of the disciplinary codes (PRATIMOKsA). This restraint will allow him to develop morality (sĪLA), meditative concentration (SAMADHI), and liberating wisdom (PRAJNA), leading to the destruction of the contaminants (ASRAVAKsAYA).

Alavaka. Name of a man-eating ogre (P. yakkha; S. YAKsA) whose conversion by the Buddha is described in PAli materials. Alavaka dwelt in a tree near the town Alavi and had been granted a boon by the king of the yakkhas that allowed him to eat anyone who came into the shadow of his tree. Even the sight of the ogre rendered the bodies of men as soft as butter. His tree was surrounded by a stout wall and covered with a metal net. Above it lay the sky passage to the HimAlaya mountains traversed by those who possessed supernatural powers. Ascetics seeing the strange abode would descend out of curiosity, whereupon Alavaka would ask them knotty questions about their beliefs. When they could not answer, he would penetrate their hearts with his mind and drive them mad. Alavaka is most famous for the promise he extorted from the king of Alavi, whom he captured while the monarch was on a hunting expedition. In order to save his life, the king promised to supply the ogre regularly with a human victim. The king first delivered convicted criminals for sacrifice, but when there were no more, he ordered each family to supply one child at the appointed time. Pregnant women fearing for their unborn infants fled the city, until after twelve years, only one child, the king's own son, remained. The child was duly made ready and sent to the ogre. The Buddha knew of the impending event and went to the ogre's abode to intervene. While Alavaka was absent, the Buddha sat upon the ogre's throne and preached to his harem. Informed of the Buddha's brazenness, Alavaka returned and attacked the Buddha with his superpowers to remove him from the throne, but to no avail. The Buddha only left when politely asked to do so. Still unwilling to admit defeat, the ogre invited the Buddha to answer questions put to him. So skillfully did the Buddha answer that Alavaka shouted for joy and then and there became a stream-enterer (SROTAAPANNA; P. sotApanna). When the king's entourage delivered the young prince for sacrifice, Alavaka, ashamed of his past deeds, surrendered the boy to the Buddha, who in turn handed him back to the king's men. Because he was handed from one to another, the boy was known as Hatthaka (Little Hand, or Handful) and in adulthood became one of the chief lay patrons of the Buddha. When the populace heard of the ogre's conversion, they were overjoyed and built a shrine for him, where they offered flowers and perfumes daily. Alavaka is named in the AtAnAtiyasutta as one of several yaksas who may be entreated for protection against dangers.

AriyapariyesanAsutta. (C. Luomo jing; J. Ramakyo; K. Rama kyong 羅摩經). In PAli, "Discourse on the Noble Quest"; the twenty-sixth sutta (SuTRA) in the MAJJHIMANIKAYA, also known as the PAsarAsisutta (a separate SARVASTIVADA recension appears as the 204th SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMAGAMA); preached by the Buddha to an assembly of monks at the hemitage of the brAhmana Rammaka in the town of sRAVASTĪ. The Buddha explains the difference between noble and ignoble quests and recounts his own life as an example of striving to distinguish between the two. Beginning with his renunciation of the householder's life, he tells of his training under two meditation masters, his rejection of this training in favor of austerities, and ultimately his rejection of austerities in order to discover for himself his own path to enlightenment. The Buddha also relates how he was initially hesitant to teach what he had discovered, but was convinced to do so by the god BRAHMA SAHAMPATI, and how he then converted the "group of five" ascetics (PANCAVARGIKA) who had been his companions while he practiced austerities. There is an understated tone of the narrative, devoid of the detail so familiar from the biographies. There is no mention of the opulence of his youth, no mention of his wife, no mention of the chariot rides, no description of the departure from the palace in the dead of night, no mention of MARA. Instead, the Buddha states, "Later, while still young, a black-haired young man endowed with the blessing of youth, in the prime of life, though my mother and father wished otherwise and wept with tearful faces, I shaved off my hair and beard, put on the yellow robe, and went forth from the home life into homelessness." Although the accounts of his study with other meditation masters assume a sophisticated system of states of concentration, the description of the enlightenment itself is both simple and sober, portrayed as the outcome of long reflection rather than as an ecstatic moment of revelation.

Atlit ::: Detention camp established after WWII in the town of Atlit located on the northern coast of the British Mandate of Palestine, in order to house “illegal" Jewish immigrants arriving from Europe.

AtthakanAgarasutta. (C. Bacheng jing; J. Hachijokyo; K. P'alsong kyong 八城經). In PAli, "Discourse to the Man from Atthaka"; the fifty-second sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKAYA (a separate SARVASTIVADA recension appears as SuTRA no. 217 in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMAGAMA); preached by the Buddha's attendant ANANDA to the householder Dasaka of Atthaka at BeluvagAmaka near VesAlī (VAIsALĪ). According to the PAli recension, a merchant from the town (nAgara) of Atthaka named Dasaka approaches Ananda and asks him if there was any one thing that could lead to liberation from bondage. Ananda teaches him the eleven doors of the deathless, by means of which it is possible to attain liberation from bondage. These doors are made up of the four meditative absorptions (JHANA; S. DHYANA), the four BRAHMAVIHARA meditations, and the three immaterial meditations of infinite space (AKAsANANTYAYATANA), infinite consciousness (VIJNANANANTYAYATANA), and nothing-whatsoever (AKINCANYAYATANA). Ananda states that by contemplating the conditioned and impermanent nature of these eleven doors to liberation, one can attain arhatship (see ARHAT) in this life or short of that will attain the stage of a nonreturner (ANAGAMIN), who is destined to be reborn in the pure abodes (sUDDHAVASA), whence he will attain arhatship and final liberation.

augustan ::: n. --> Of or pertaining to Augustus Caesar or to his times.
Of or pertaining to the town of Augsburg.


BAhiya-DArucīriya. (C. Poxijia; J. Bakika; K. Pasaga 婆迦). A lay ARHAT (P. arahant), who is declared by the Buddha to be foremost among those of swift intuition (khippAbhiNNAnaM). According to PAli accounts, BAhiya was a merchant from the town of BAhiya (whence his toponym), who was engaged in maritime trade. He sailed seven times across the seas in search of profit and seven times returned home safely. On an eighth journey, however, he was shipwrecked and floated on a plank until he came ashore near the seaport town of SuppAraka. Having lost his clothes, he dressed himself in tree bark and went regularly to the town to beg for alms with a bowl. Impressed with his demeanor, the people of SuppAraka were exceedingly generous, offering him luxurious gifts and fine clothes, which he consistently refused. Over time, he came to be regarded by the populace as an arhat, and, infatuated with his growing fame, BAhiya also came to believe that he had attained that state of holiness. A BRAHMA god, who had been BAhiya's friend in a previous existence, convinced him out of kindness that he was mistaken and recommended that he seek out the Buddha in sRAVASTĪ (P. SAvatthi). The BrahmA god transported BAhiya to the city of RAJAGṚHA (P. RAjagaha) where the Buddha was then staying and told him to meet the Buddha during his morning alms round. BAhiya approached the Buddha and requested to be taught what was necessary for liberation, but the Buddha refused, saying that alms round was not the time for teaching. BAhiya persisted three times in his request, whereupon the Buddha consented. The Buddha gave him a short lesson in sensory restraint (INDRIYASAMVARA): i.e., "in the seen, there is only the seen; in the heard, only the heard; in what is thought, only the thought," etc. As he listened to the Buddha's terse instruction, BAhiya attained arhatship. As was typical for laypersons who had attained arhatship, BAhiya then requested to be ordained as a monk, but the Buddha refused until BAhiya could be supplied with a bowl and robe. BAhiya immediately went in search of these requisites but along the path encountered an ox, which gored him to death. Disciples who witnessed the event informed the Buddha, who from the beginning had been aware of BAhiya's impending demise. He instructed his disciples to cremate the body and build a reliquary mound (P. thupa, S. STuPA) over the remains; he then explained that BAhiya's destiny was such that he could not be ordained in his final life.

birthplace ::: n. --> The town, city, or country, where a person is born; place of origin or birth, in its more general sense.

bocking ::: n. --> A coarse woolen fabric, used for floor cloths, to cover carpets, etc.; -- so called from the town of Bocking, in England, where it was first made.

Brahmanimantanikasutta. (C. Fantian qing fo jing; J. Bonten shobutsukyo; K. Pomch'on ch'ongbul kyong 梵天請佛經). In PAli, "Discourse on the Invitation of a BRAHMA"; the forty-ninth sutta of the MAJJHIMANIKAYA, preached by the Buddha to a gathering of monks at the JETAVANA Grove in the town of SAvatthi (S. sRAVASTĪ). (A separate SARVASTIVADA version appears as the seventy-eighth SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMAGAMA.) The Buddha recounts to his disciples how he once visited the divine abode of the brahmA god Baka to dissuade him of the wrong view of eternalism (S. sAsVATADṚstI). Because Baka had lived a very long time as lord of his realm-so long that his memory had failed him-the wrong view occurred to him that everything in his heaven was permanent, everlasting, and eternal; that nothing was beyond it; that nothing in his heaven was born, grew old, or died; that nothing passed away or reappeared; and that beyond his heavenly realm there was no escape. The Buddha tells Baka he knows more than Baka knows, that there are in fact other heavens more resplendent than his, and that because of their awakening, the Buddha and his disciples are quite beyond and free from all realms of existence.

CakkavattisīhanAdasutta. (C. Zhuanlun shengwang xiuxing jing; J. Tenrinjoo shugyokyo; K. Chollyun songwang suhaeng kyong 轉輪聖王修行經). In PAli, "Discourse on the Lion's Roar of the Wheel-Turning Emperor"; the twenty-sixth sutta of the DĪGHANIKAYA (a separate DHARMAGUPTAKA recension appears as the sixth SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the DĪRGHAGAMA and a separate SarvAstivAda recension as the seventieth sutra in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMAGAMA); the scripture is known especially for being the only sutta in the PAli canon that mentions the name of the Buddha's successor, Metteya (MAITREYA). Before a gathering of monks at the town of MAtulA in MAGADHA, the Buddha tells the story of a universal or wheel-turning monarch (cakkavattin; S. CAKRAVARTIN) named Dalhanemi, wherein he explains that righteousness and order are maintained in the world so long as kings observe their royal duties. Dalhanemi's successors, unfortunately, gradually abandoned their responsibilities, leading to immorality, strife, and the shortening of life spans from eighty thousand years to a mere ten; the sutta thus attributes the origins of evil in the world to the neglect of royal duty. Upon reaching this nadir, people finally recognize the error of their ways and begin anew to practice morality. The observance of morality leads to improved conditions, until eventually a universal monarch named Sankha appears, who will prepare the way for the advent of the future-Buddha Metteya (Maitreya).

Cetokhilasutta. (C. Xinhui jing; J. Shinnekyo; K. Simye kyong 心穢經). In PAli, "Discourse on Mental Obstructions"; the sixteenth sutta of the MAJJHIMANIKAYA (a separate SarvAstivAda recension appears as the 206th sutra in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMAGAMA; a recension of unidentified affiliation also occurs in the Chinese translation of the EKOTTARAGAMA), preached by the Buddha to a gathering of monks in the JETAVANA grove in the town of SAvatthi (sRAVASTĪ). The Buddha describes five mental obstructions and five fetters that constitute impediments to overcoming suffering. The five obstructions include (1) doubt about the teacher, the Buddha; (2) doubt about the dhamma (DHARMA); (3) doubt about the SAMGHA; (4) doubt about the value of morality (sīla; S. sĪLA), meditative concentration (SAMADHI), and wisdom (paNNA; S. PRAJNA); 5) ill will and animosity toward one's fellow monks. The five fetters include (1) attachment to sensual desires, (2) attachment to a sense of self, (3) attachment to material possessions, (4) excessive sleeping and eating, and (5) adopting the life of renunciation merely for the limited goal of a blissful existence in the heavens.

Citta. A lay follower of the Buddha, mentioned in PAli sources as being foremost among laymen who preached the DHARMA; also known as Cittagahapati. Citta was treasurer for the township of MacchikAsanda in the kingdom of KAsī. When he was born, the sky rained flowers of many hues, hence his name which means variegated color. Citta was converted to Buddhism when he encountered the elder MahAnAma (S. MAHANAMAN) while the latter was sojourning in MacchikAsanda. Citta was greatly impressed by the monk's demeanor and built a monastery for him in his park named AmbAtakArAma. There, listening to MahAnAma preach on the subject of the six senses, he attained to state of a nonreturner (ANAGAMIN). On one occasion, Citta visited the Buddha in the company of two thousand laypeople, bringing with him five hundred cartloads of offerings. When he bowed at the Buddha's feet, flowers in a variety of colors rained down from the heavens. Like MahAnAma, the Buddha preached a sermon on the six senses to him. Citta distributed offerings for a fortnight, the gods continuously refilling the carts. Citta was endowed with a great intellect and was a gifted speaker. His conversations with members of the order are recorded in the "Citta SaMyutta" of the PAli SAMYUTTANIKAYA, and he is also described as having refuted the views of non-Buddhist teachers, such as Nigantha NAtaputta (S. NIRGRANTHA-JNATĪPUTRA, viz., MahAvīra), the eminent JAINA teacher, and Acela Kassapa. Although he was not an ARHAT, he possessed the analytical knowledge (P. patisambhidA; S. PRATISAMVID) of a learner (P. sekha). It was for these aptitudes that he earned preeminence. On his deathbed, divinities visited him and encouraged him to seek rebirth as a heavenly king, but he refused, stating that such an impermanent reward was not his goal. He then preached to them, and to all the kinfolk who had gathered around him, before passing away. Together with HATTHAKA AlAVAKA, Citta is upheld as an ideal layman worthy of emulation.

cognac ::: n. --> A kind of French brandy, so called from the town of Cognac.

CulasAropamasutta. In PAli, "Shorter Discourse on the Simile of the Heartwood"; thirtieth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKAYA (a separate unidentified recension appears, without title, in the Chinese translation of the EKOTTARAGAMA), preached by the Buddha to the brAhmana Pingalakoccha at the JETAVANA Grove in the town of SAvatthi (S. sRAVASTĪ). Pingalakoccha asks whether the six mendicant teachers (P. samana ; sRAMAnA) who were the Buddha's rivals were, as they claimed, all buddhas themselves. The Buddha responds by explaining that, whereas the religious practices set forth by his rivals could lead to fame and profit and to the attainment of supranormal powers (P. abhiNNA; S. ABHIJNA), these were but like the leaves and twigs of a tree. Only the holy life (P. brahmacariya; S. BRAHMACARYA) set forth by the Buddha leads to the status of arahant (S ARHAT), which is like the heartwood of a tree.

Desideri, Ippolito. (1684-1733). Jesuit missionary to Tibet. He was born in the town of Pistoia in Tuscany in 1684 and entered the Jesuit order in 1700, studying at the Collegio Romano. Following two years of instruction in theology, he requested permission to become a missionary, departing for India in 1712 and reaching Goa the following year. Assigned to the Tibet mission, Desideri and another priest, the Portuguese Manoel Freyre, traveled by ship, horseback, and on foot to Leh, the capital of Ladakh, the westernmost Tibetan domain. Setting out for LHA SA, they were able to survive the difficult seven-month journey thanks to the protection of a Mongolian princess who allowed the two priests to join her caravan. They reached the Tibetan capital on March 18, 1716. After just a month in Lha sa, Desideri's companion decided to return to India. Desideri received permission from the ruler of Tibet, the Mongol warlord Lha bzang Khan, to remain in Tibet. He arranged for Desideri to live at RA MO CHE, and then at SE RA monastery. His notes from his studies indicate that he worked through textbooks on elementary logic through to the masterworks of the DGE LUGS sect, including the LAM RIM CHEN MO of TSONG KHA PA, which Desideri would eventually translate into Italian (the translation is lost). He would go on also to write a number of works in Tibetan, both expositions of Christianity and refutations of Buddhism. The most substantial of these was his unfinished "Inquiry into the Doctrines of Previous Lives and of Emptiness, Offered to the Scholars of Tibet by the White Lama called Ippolito" (Mgo skar [sic] gyi bla ma i po li do zhes bya ba yis phul ba'i bod kyi mkhas pa rnams la skye ba snga ma dang stong pa nyid kyi lta ba'i sgo nas zhu ba). Desideri remained in Tibet until 1721, when Tibet became a mission field of the Capuchins, requiring that the Jesuit abandon his work. After several years in India, he returned to Italy in 1727. Desideri arrived in Rome in the midst of the Rites Controversy, the question of whether non-Christian rituals (such as Chinese ancestor worship) had a place in the methods of the missionaries. As a Jesuit, Desideri was on the losing side of this debate. The last years of his life were consumed with composing long defenses of his work, as well as the remarkable account of his time in Tibet, the Relazione de' viaggi all' Indie e al Thibet. He died in Rome on April 13, 1733. Because of the suppression of the Jesuit order, Desideri's works remained largely unknown, both in Italian and Tibetan, until the twentieth century.

Dharmasālā. [alt. Dharmshala, Dharmsala, Dharamsala]. A former British hill station in the foothills of the Himalayas that has become the seat of the Tibetan government in exile; located in the northern Indian state of Himachal Pradesh, in the upper reaches of the Kangra Valley, with the Dhauladhar Mountains as its backdrop. The Kangra Valley is rich in Buddhist archaeological sites. In the seventh century, the Chinese monk-pilgrim XUANZANG recorded that there were fifty monasteries in the region with some two thousand monks in residence. Most evidence of Buddhism vanished a century later, however, amid an upsurge of Brahmanical revivalism. Today, Dharmasālā is renowned as the "LHA SA of India," because it is the headquarters of the Tibetan government in exile and the seat of the fourteenth DALAI LAMA. The town is populated by Tibetan refugees and several institutes have been established to preserve the artistic, cultural, and religious traditions of Tibet, including the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives. Rnam rgyal (Namgyel) monastery, located in upper Dharmasālā, is the personal monastery of the Dalai Lama.

divide ::: v. t. --> To part asunder (a whole); to sever into two or more parts or pieces; to sunder; to separate into parts.
To cause to be separate; to keep apart by a partition, or by an imaginary line or limit; as, a wall divides two houses; a stream divides the towns.
To make partition of among a number; to apportion, as profits of stock among proprietors; to give in shares; to distribute; to mete out; to share.


Dvedhāvitakkasutta. (C. Nian jing; J. Nengyo; K. Yom kyong 念經). In Pāli, "Discourse on Two Kinds of Thoughts"; the nineteenth sutta contained in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the 102nd sutra in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to his disciples gathered at the JETAVANA Grove in the town of Sāvatthi (sRĀVASTĪ). The Buddha explains that thoughts can be divided into two categories: unsalutary (P. akusala; S. AKUsALA) thoughts associated with sensual desire, ill will, and harmfulness; and salutary (P. kusala; S. KUsALA) thoughts associated with renunciation, non-ill will, and harmlessness. He describes his own practice prior to his enlightenment as discerning between these two types of thoughts and recognizing the advantages that come from developing the salutary and the disadvantages of the unsalutary. He advises his monks to examine their minds in the same way so that they too would develop salutary thoughts and overcome unsalutary thoughts.

esplanade ::: n. --> A clear space between a citadel and the nearest houses of the town.
The glacis of the counterscarp, or the slope of the parapet of the covered way toward the country.
A grass plat; a lawn.
Any clear, level space used for public walks or drives; esp., a terrace by the seaside.


Gilgit. A region on the northwestern frontier of KASHMIR in northern Pakistan, also the name of the township where the river Gilgit meets the Indus; a trade route passed through the region, giving it strategic importance. Some associate Gilgit with a region the Tibetans call Bru sha. Its rulers (especially the Turuska) supported Buddhism at a number of times during its history, particularly between the sixth and eighth centuries; it fell under the control of the Tibetan kingdom for a time in the late eighth century. A STuPA discovered in Gilgit in 1931 yielded one of the largest troves ever discovered of Indian Buddhist manuscripts, associated especially with the MuLASARVĀSTIVĀDA offshoot of the SARVĀSTIVĀDA school and with the MAHĀYĀNA. The discoveries included manuscripts of significant portions of the MuLASARVĀSTIVĀDA VINAYA, and numerous Mahāyāna texts, including the SADDHARMAPUndARĪKASuTRA and various PRAJNĀPĀRAMITĀ sutras.

Glang 'khor. (Langkor). A site in central Tibet associated principally with the eleventh-century Indian adept PHA DAM PA SANGS RGYAS. The small temple of Glang 'khor, located in a village of the same name near the town of Ding ri, marks the location where Pha dam pa sangs rgyas disseminated his teachings on pacification (ZHI BYED) and severance (GCOD), primarily to his foremost Tibetan disciple MA GCIG LAB SGRON.

hanker ::: v. i. --> To long (for) with a keen appetite and uneasiness; to have a vehement desire; -- usually with for or after; as, to hanker after fruit; to hanker after the diversions of the town.
To linger in expectation or with desire.


Icchānangala. [alt. Icchānankala]. Pāli name of a brāhmana village in the Indian kingdom of KOsALA, on the outskirts of which was a grove where the Buddha preached the Pāli Ambatthasutta to the brāhmana youth, Ambatthamānava. The Pāli SUTTANIPĀTA states that the town was the residence of several eminent brāhmanas. Elsewhere it is said that brāhmanas were in the habit of visiting the grove to discuss their interpretations of the Vedas. The Pāli Vāsetthasutta states that two brāhmana youths well versed in the Vedas, Vāsettha and Bhāradvāja, once sought out the Buddha's counsel to resolve a debate while the Buddha was sojourning at the town. In the SAMYUTTANIKĀYA, the Buddha is described as having once spent a rains retreat (S. VARsĀ) in solitude at the Icchānangala grove while attended by a single disciple, the monk Nāgita. After a while, the local villagers discovered his presence and disturbed his solitude with constant visits and noise. At the end of the three months' rains retreat, the Buddha preached the Icchānangalasutta to a gathering of monks at the village, in which he described how he had spent his time while in solitary retreat practicing mindfulness on breathing (ĀNĀPĀNASMṚTI). He declares dedication to this practice to be a life lived according to the noble (ĀRYA) way and one that leads to the destruction of the contaminants (ĀSRAVA) and the attainment of ARHATship.

inn ::: n. --> A place of shelter; hence, dwelling; habitation; residence; abode.
A house for the lodging and entertainment of travelers or wayfarers; a tavern; a public house; a hotel.
The town residence of a nobleman or distinguished person; as, Leicester Inn.
One of the colleges (societies or buildings) in London, for students of the law barristers; as, the Inns of Court; the Inns of


inundate ::: v. t. --> To cover with a flood; to overflow; to deluge; to flood; as, the river inundated the town.
To fill with an overflowing abundance or superfluity; as, the country was inundated with bills of credit.


Kapilavastu. (P. Kapilavatthu; T. Ser skya'i gzhi; C. Jiapiluowei; J. Kabirae; K. Kabirawi 迦毘羅衛). In Sanskrit, the capital city of the sĀKYA tribe and the hometown of the buddha GAUTAMA. The city was located north of the larger region of KOsALA, in the foothills of modern-day Nepal. Kapilavastu is the town where SIDDHĀRTHA Gautama was raised and lived as a prince until he renounced worldly life. Later, after his enlightenment, he stayed often at Nigrodha's Park in the precincts of the city, together with his growing band of disciples. In Kapilavastu, his cousins ĀNANDA and DEVADATTA, his half-brother NANDA, and his barber UPĀLI were converted and became monks (BHIKsU). When the Buddha ordained his then seven-year-old son RĀHULA as a novice (sRĀMAnERA) without the knowledge of the boy's mother, YAsODHARĀ, the Buddha's father, sUDDHODANA, protested, and a rule was created stating that ordinations would not take place without prior parental consent. After the death of his father, the Buddha's foster mother MAHĀPRAJĀPATĪ begged the Buddha to be allowed to join the SAMGHA, thus initiating the order of nuns (BHIKsUnĪ).

Khra 'brug. (Tradruk). The earliest of Tibet's great geomantic temples, after the JO KHANG in LHA SA, said to have been founded by king SRONG BTSAN SGAM PO near the town of Tsetang (Rtse thang). According to traditional accounts, it was erected on the left shoulder of a great supine demoness whose body splayed across Tibet, hindering the spread of Buddhist teachings. It is therefore counted as one of the four "edge-taming temples" or "edge-pinning temples" (MTHA' 'DUL GTSUG LAG KHANG). The site was later venerated as a royal monastery by kings KHRI SRONG LDE BTSAN and Mu ne btsan po in the late eighth and early ninth centuries. After the persecution of king GLANG DAR MA, Khra 'brug was renovated and expanded in 1351, and later by the fifth DALAI LAMA, NGAG DBANG BLO BZANG RGYA MTSHO, who added a golden roof. By the late eighteenth century, the site had become a complex of twenty-one temples. Although almost completely destroyed during the Chinese Cultural Revolution, reconstruction of the temple began in the 1980s.

Kusa-nagara (Sanskrit) Kuśa-nagara The town in which Gautama Buddha is said to have died.

Kusinagarī. [alt. Kusinagara] (P. Kusinārā; T. Rtswa mchog grong; C. Jushinajieluo; J. Kushinagara; K. Kusinagera 拘尸那羅). The town in Uttar Pradesh where the Buddha entered into PARINIRVĀnA among a grove of sĀLA trees. While he was sojourning in VAIsĀLĪ, the Buddha had repeatedly hinted to his disciple ĀNANDA that it would be possible for him to live out the KALPA, if only Ānanda would make such a request. (See CĀPĀLACAITYA.) However, Ānanda did not understand what the Buddha was insinuating and neglected to make the request, so the Buddha renounced his will to live, saying that he would pass away three months hence. (Ānanda is said to have had to confess this mistake when the first Buddhist council was convened; see COUNCIL, FIRST.) After they had traveled to Kusinagarī for the parinirvāna, Ānanda had asked the Buddha not to attain parinirvāna in such a "little mud-walled town, a back-woods town, a branch township," but the Buddha disabused him of this notion, telling him that Kusinagarī had previously been the magnificent capital of an earlier CAKRAVARTIN king named Sudarsana (P. Sudassana). The Buddha passed away on a couch arranged between twin sāla trees. Following the Buddha's cremation, the brāhmana DROnA was called upon to decide the proper procedure for apportioning the Buddha's relics (sARĪRA). Drona divided the relics into eight parts that the disputing kings could carry back to their home kingdoms for veneration and built a reliquary STuPA in Kusinagarī to house the vessel that had temporarily held the relics. As the site of the Buddha's parinirvāna, Kusinagarī became one of the four major Indian pilgrimage sites (MAHĀSTHĀNA) and is often depicted in Buddhist art.

Lubaczow Ghetto ::: Located in the town of Lubaczow near Przemysl, Poland. The ghetto was established in October 1942 and liquidated in January 1943. Seven thousand Jews were kept in apartments located in the center of town. Five to six families lived in each apartment. Twenty-five hundred were shipped to the extermination camp at Belzec. The rest were shot and buried in Lubaczow.

Lubavitcher :::
1. someone from the town of Lubavitch.


Lubavitch (&

Mahāhatthipadopamasutta. (C. Xiangjiyu jing; J. Zoshakuyugyo; K. Sangjogyu kyong 象跡喩經). In Pāli, the "Greater Discourse on the Simile of the Elephant's Footprint"; the twenty-eighth sutta contained in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the thirtieth sutra in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA), preached by Sāriputta (S. sĀRIPUTRA) to an assembly of monks at the JETAVANA grove in the town of Sāvatthi (S. sRĀVASTĪ). Using the simile of the elephant's footprint, Sāriputta explains how just as the footprints of all animals can be contained in the footprint of an elephant, so all wholesome phenomena were contained in the FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS. He expounds on the four truths in terms of the four elements (MAHĀBHuTA) of earth, water, fire, and air, and the dependent origination (P. paticcasamuppāda; S. PRATĪTYASAMUTPĀDA) of the five aggregates (P. khandha; S. SKANDHA).

Mahānāman. (P. Mahānāma; T. Ming chen; C. Mohenan; J. Makanan; K. Mahanam 摩訶男). The Sanskrit proper name of two significant disciples of the buddha. ¶ Mahānāman was one of the five ascetics (S. PANCAVARGIKA; P. paNcavaggiyā; alt. S. bhadravargīya) who was a companion of Prince SIDDHĀRTHA during his practice of austerities and hence one of the first disciples converted by the Buddha at the Deer Park (MṚGADĀVA) in ṚsIPATANA following his enlightenment. Together with his companions, Mahānāman heard the Buddha's first sermon, the "Setting in Motion the Wheel of Dharma" (S. DHARMACAKRAPRAVARTANASuTRA; P. DHAMMACAKKAPPAVATTANASUTTA), and he attained the state of a stream-enterer (SROTAĀPANNA) three days later. He and the others became ARHATs while listening to the buddha preach the ANATTALAKKHAnASUTTA. Mahānāman later traveled to the town of Macchikāsanda, and, while he was out on alms rounds, the householder CITTA saw him. Citta was greatly impressed by Mahānāman's dignified deportment, and invited him to his house for an meal offering. Having served Mahānāman the morning meal and listened to his sermon, Citta was inspired to offer his pleasure garden Ambātakavana to Mahānāman as a gift to the SAMGHA, and built a monastery there. ¶ Another Mahānāman was also an eminent lay disciple, whom the Buddha declared to be foremost among laymen who offer choice alms food. According to the Pāli account, Mahānāman was Anuruddha's (S. ANIRUDDHA) elder brother and the Buddha's cousin. It was with Mahānāman's permission that Anuruddha joined the order with other Sākiyan (S. sĀKYA) kinsmen of the Buddha. Mahānāman was very generous in his support of the order. During a period of scarcity when the Buddha was dwelling at VeraNja, he supplied the monks with medicines for three periods of four months each. Mahānāman was keenly interested in the Buddha's doctrine and there are several accounts in the scriptures of his conversations with the Buddha. Once while the Buddha lay ill in the Nigrodhārāma, ĀNANDA took Mahānāman aside to answer his questions on whether concentration (SAMĀDHI) preceded or followed upon knowledge. Mahānāman attained the state of a once-returner (sakadāgāmi; S. SAKṚDĀGĀMIN), but his deception toward Pasenadi (S. PRASENAJIT), the king of Kosala (S. KOsALA), precipitated the eventual destruction of the Sākiya (S. sĀKYA) clan. Pasenadi had asked Mahānāman for the hand of a true Sākiyan daughter in marriage, but the latter, out of pride, instead sent Vāsabhakkhattiyā, a daughter born to him by a slave girl. To conceal the treachery, Mahānāman feigned to eat from the same dish as his daughter, thus convincing Pasenadi of her pure lineage. The ruse was not discovered until years later when Vidudabha, the son of Pasenadi and Vāsabhakkhattiyā, was insulted by his Sākiyan kinsmen who refused to treat him with dignity because of his mother's status as the offspring of a slave. Vidudabha vowed revenge and later marched against Kapilavatthu (S. KAPILAVASTU) and slaughtered all who claimed Sākiyan descent. ¶ Another Mahānāma was the c. fifth century author of the Pāli MAHĀVAMSA.

Mahāparinibbānasuttanta. (S. MAHĀPARINIRVĀnASuTRA; C. Youxing jing/Da banniepan jing; J. Yugyokyo/Daihatsunehangyo; K. Yuhaeng kyong/Tae panyolban kyong 遊行經/大般涅槃經). In Pāli, the "Discourse on the Great Decease" or the "Great Discourse on the Final Nirvāna"; the sixteenth sutta of the Pāli DĪGHANIKĀYA and longest discourse in the Pāli canon. (There were also either Sanskrit or Middle Indic recensions of this mainstream Buddhist version of the scripture, which should be distinguished from the longer MAHĀYĀNA recension of the scripture that bears the same title; see MAHĀPARINIRVĀnASuTRA.) There are six different Chinese translations of this mainstream version of the text, including a DHARMAGUPTAKA recension in the Chinese translation of the DĪRGHĀGAMA and an independent translation in three rolls by FAXIAN. This scripture recounts in six chapters the last year of Buddha's life, his passage into PARINIRVĀnA, and his cremation. In the text, the Buddha and ĀNANDA travel from Rājagaha (S. RĀJAGṚHA) to Kusināra (S. KUsINAGARĪ) in fourteen stages, meeting with different audiences to whom the Buddha gives a variety of teachings. The narrative contains numerous sermons on such subjects as statecraft, the unity of the SAMGHA, morality, the FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS, and the four great authorities (MAHĀPADEsA) for determining the authenticity of Buddhist doctrines following the Buddha's demise. The Buddha crosses a river using his magical powers and describes to the distraught where their deceased loved ones have been reborn. Becoming progressively more ill, the Buddha decides to spend his final rains retreat (P. vassa; S. VARsĀ) with Ānanda meditating in the forest near VEnUGRĀMAKA, using his powers of deep concentration to hold his disease in check. He is eighty years old and describes his body as being like an old cart held together by straps. When the Buddha expresses his wish to address the saMgha, Ānanda assumes that there is a teaching that the Buddha has not yet taught. The Buddha replies that he was not one who taught with a "teacher's fist" (P. ācariyamutthi) or "closed fist," holding back some secret teaching, but that he has in fact already revealed everything. The Buddha also says that he is not the head of the saMgha and that after his death each monk should "be an island unto himself" with the DHARMA as his island (P. dīpa; S. dvīpa) and his refuge. ¶ While meditating at the CĀPĀLACAITYA, the Buddha mentions to Ānanda three times that a TATHĀGATA has the power to live for an eon or until the end of an eon. (The Pāli commentaries take "eon" here to mean "his full allotted lifespan," not a cosmological period.) Ānanda, however, misses the hint and does not ask him to do so. MĀRA then appears to remind the Buddha of what he told him at the time of his enlightenment: that he would not enter nibbāna (NIRVĀnA) until he had trained monks and disciples who were able to teach the dhamma (S. DHARMA). Māra tells the Buddha that that task has now been accomplished, and the Buddha eventually agrees, "consciously and deliberately" renouncing his remaining lifespan and informing Māra that he will pass away in three months' time. The earth then quakes, causing the Buddha to explain to Ānanda the eight reasons for an earthquake, one of which is that a tathāgata has renounced his life force. It is only at that point that Ānanda implores the Buddha to remain until the end of the eon, but the Buddha tells him that the appropriate time for his request has passed, and recalls fifteen occasions on which he had told Ānanda of this remarkable power and how each time Ānanda had failed to ask him to exercise it. The Buddha then explains to a group of monks the four great authorities (MAHĀPADEsA), the means of determining the authenticity of a particular doctrine after the Buddha has died and is no longer available to arbitrate. He then receives his last meal from the smith CUNDA. The dish that the Buddha requests is called SuKARAMADDAVA, lit., "pig's delight." There has been a great deal of scholarly discussion on the meaning of this term, centering upon whether it is a pork dish, such as mincemeat, or something eaten by pigs, such as truffles or mushrooms. At the meal, the Buddha announces that he alone should be served the dish and what was left over should be buried, for none but a buddha could survive eating it. Shortly after finishing the dish, the Buddha is afflicted with the dysentery from which he would eventually die. The Buddha then converts a layman named Pukkusa, who offers him gold robes. Ānanda notices that the color of the robes pales next to the Buddha's skin, and the Buddha informs him that the skin of the Buddha is particularly bright on two occasions, the night when he achieves enlightenment and the night that he passes away. Proceeding to the outskirts of the town of Kusinagarī, the Buddha lies down on his right side between twin sāla (S. sĀLA) trees, which immediately bloom out of season. Shortly before dying, the Buddha instructs Ānanda to visit Cunda and reassure him that no blame has accrued to him; rather, he should rejoice at the great merit he has earned for having given the Buddha his last meal. Monks and divinities assemble to pay their last respects to the Buddha. When Ānanda asks how monks can pay respect to the Buddha after he has passed away, the Buddha explains that monks, nuns, and laypeople should visit four major places (MAHĀSTHĀNA) of pilgrimage: the site of his birth at LUMBINĪ, his enlightenment at BODHGAYĀ, his first teaching at ṚsIPATANA (SĀRNĀTH), and his PARINIRVĀnA at Kusinagarī. Anyone who dies while on pilgrimage to one of these four places, the Buddha says, will be reborn in the heavens. Scholars have taken these instructions as a sign of the relatively late date of this sutta (or at least this portion of it), arguing that this admonition by the Buddha is added to promote pilgrimage to four already well-established shrines. The Buddha instructs the monks to cremate his body in the fashion of a CAKRAVARTIN. He says that his remains (sARĪRA) should be enshrined in a STuPA to which the faithful should offer flowers and perfumes in order to gain happiness in the future. The Buddha then comforts Ānanda, telling him that all things must pass away and praising him for his devotion, predicting that he will soon become an ARHAT. When Ānanda laments the fact that the Buddha will pass away at such a "little mud-walled town, a backwoods town, a branch township," rather than a great city, the Buddha disabuses him of this notion, telling him that Kusinagarī had previously been the magnificent capital of an earlier cakravartin king named Sudarsana (P. Sudassana). The wanderer SUBHADRA (P. Subhadda) then becomes the last person to be ordained by the Buddha. When Ānanda laments that the monks will soon have no teacher, the Buddha explains that henceforth the dharma and the VINAYA will be their teacher. As his last disciplinary act before he dies, the Buddha orders that the penalty of brahmadanda (lit. the "holy rod") be passed on CHANDAKA (P. Channa), his former charioteer, which requires that he be completely shunned by his fellow monks. Then, asking three times whether any of the five hundred monks present has a final question, and hearing none, the Buddha speaks his last words, "All conditioned things are subject to decay. Strive with diligence." The Buddha's mind then passed into the first stage of meditative absorption (P. JHĀNA; S. DHYĀNA) and then in succession through the other three levels of the subtle-materiality realm (RuPADHĀTU) and then through the four levels of the immaterial realm (ĀRuPYADHĀTU). He then passed back down through the same eight levels to the first absorption, then back up to the fourth absorption, and then passed away, at which point the earth quaked. Seven days later, his body was prepared for cremation. However, the funeral pyre could not be ignited until the arrival of MAHĀKĀsYAPA (P. Mahākassapa), who had been away at the time of the Buddha's death. After he arrived and paid his respects, the funeral pyre ignited spontaneously. The relics (sARĪRA) of the Buddha remaining after the cremation were taken by the Mallas of Kusinagarī, but seven other groups of the Buddha's former patrons also came to claim the relics. The brāhmana DROnA (P. Dona) was called upon to decide the proper procedure for apportioning the relics. Drona divided the relics into eight parts that the disputing kings could carry back to their home kingdoms for veneration. Drona kept for himself the urn he used to apportion the relics; a ninth person was given the ashes from the funeral pyre. These ten (the eight portions of relics, the urn, and the ashes) were each then enshrined in stupas. At this point the scripture's narrative ends. A similar account, although with significant variations, appears in Sanskrit recensions of the Mahāparinirvānasutra.

Mahāsāropamasutta. In Pāli, "Great Discourse on the Simile of the Heartwood"; the twenty-ninth sutta contained in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate recension appears, but without title, in the Chinese translation of the EKOTTARĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to an assembly of monks at Vulture Peak (GṚDHRAKutAPARVATA) outside the town of Rājagaha (RĀJAGṚHA) to address DEVADATTA's secession from the Buddha's dispensation. Devadatta left because he was infatuated with the personal fame and profit he earned through his mastery of supernormal powers. The Buddha explained that the teachings were not spoken for the purpose of acquiring gain or profit, which were like the twigs and leaves of a tree, nor were they for mere morality (sĪLA), meditative concentration (SAMĀDHI), or supranormal powers (ABHIJNĀ), which are like the inner and outer bark of a tree. Rather, the teachings were elucidated for the attainment of becoming a worthy one (ARHAT), which is like the heartwood of a tree.

Mahāsuddassanasuttanta. (C. Dashanjian wang jing; J. Daizenkennokyo; K. Taeson'gyon wang kyong 大善見王經). In Pāli, the "Great Discourse on King Suddassana"; the seventeenth sutta of the DĪGHANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the fifty-eighth sutra in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to ĀNANDA in the town of Kusināra (S. KUsINAGARĪ) while he lay dying beneath twin sāla (S. sĀLA) trees in the grove of the Mallas. Ānanda begs the Buddha not to pass away in such an insignificant town, whereupon the Buddha recounts to him the former splendor of the place eons ago, when the city was governed by the CAKRAVARTIN Suddassana (S. Sudarsana). After recounting the king's virtues, the Buddha reveals that he himself had been Suddassana in a previous life while he was a BODHISATTVA. Thus, the Buddha concludes, Kusināra is indeed a suitable place for the final demise (parinibbāna; S. PARINIRVĀnA) of a buddha.

Mahātanhāsankhayasutta. (C. Tudi jing; J. Dateikyo; K. Toje kyong 帝經). In Pāli, the "Great Discourse on the Destruction of Craving"; the thirty-eighth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the 201st sutra in the Chinese translations of the MADHYAMĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha at the JETAVANA grove in the town of Sāvatthi (S. sRĀVASTĪ) to the monk Sāti, who held the mistaken view that the Buddha taught that consciousness (P. viNNāna; S. VIJNĀNA) transmigrates from life to life. The Buddha reprimands Sāti, telling him he never taught such a view, but that consciousness arises only due to causes and conditions and never otherwise. He continues with a lengthy discourse on dependent origination (P. paticcasamuppāda; S. PRATĪTYASAMUTPĀDA) in which he describes how all worldly phenomena come into being and pass away according to the law of cause and effect.

Maināmati-Lalmai Range. A low series of hills situated between the towns of Maināmati and Lalmai in the Comilla district of modern-day Bangladesh, where the ruins of a significant number of Buddhist monasteries have been discovered. The earliest ruins date from the sixth century CE, the latest, the thirteenth century CE. Among the more important sites are the Salban Vihāra with 115 monastic cells, the Kotila Mura, which has three STuPAs, and the Charpatra Mura.

Malang fu. (J. Merofu; K. Marang pu 馬郎婦). In Chinese, "Mr. Ma's Wife"; also known as YULAN GUANYIN (Fish Basket Guanyin); a famous manifestation of the BODHISATTVA GUANYIN (AVALOKITEsVARA). The story of Mrs. Ma is found in various Chinese miracle-tale collections. The basic outline of the story begins with a beautiful young woman who comes to a small town to sell fish. Many young men propose to her, but she insists that she will only marry a man who can memorize the "Universal Gateway" chapter of the SADDHARMAPUndARĪKASuTRA ("Lotus Sutra") in one night. Twenty men succeed, so she then asks them to memorize the VAJRACCHEDIKĀPRAJNĀPĀRAMITĀSuTRA in one night. The ten men who succeed at that task are then asked to memorize the entire Saddharmapundarīkasutra. One young man whose surname was Ma succeeds and he marries the beautiful fish seller. Unfortunately, she became ill on their wedding day and died the very same day. Later, a foreign monk visits the town to pay respects and informed Ma and the townsmen that this young fish seller was none other than the bodhisattva Guanyin in disguise.

Māratika. (T. 'Chi ba mthar byed). A cave in eastern Nepal near the town of Rumjitar, called Haileshi in Nepali, believed by Tibetan Buddhists to be the site where PADMASAMBHAVA and his consort MANDĀRAVĀ undertook the practice of longevity for three months. According to traditional accounts, in a vision the couple received initiation and blessings directly from the buddha AMITĀYUS, and Padmasambhava attained the state of a VIDYĀDHARA with the power to control the duration of his life.

market ::: n. --> A meeting together of people, at a stated time and place, for the purpose of traffic (as in cattle, provisions, wares, etc.) by private purchase and sale, and not by auction; as, a market is held in the town every week.
A public place (as an open space in a town) or a large building, where a market is held; a market place or market house; esp., a place where provisions are sold.
An opportunity for selling anything; demand, as shown by


mufassal (Mofussil) [Hind.] ::: [the country (as opposed to the town), rural districts].

Nālāgiri. (T. Nor skyong; C. Hucai/Shoucai; J. Gozai/Shuzai; K. Hojae/Sujae 護財/守財). The Sanskrit and Pāli name of a ferocious elephant whom the Buddha tames, in a scene often depicted in Buddhist art. The elephant was so dangerous that the citizens of RĀJAGṚHA asked King AJĀTAsATRU to have a bell put around his neck to warn people of his approach. In an attempt to assassinate the Buddha and take control of the SAMGHA, the Buddha's cousin DEVADATTA bribed the king's elephant keeper to let loose the fierce elephant against the Buddha. After being given a large quantity of palm wine, the elephant was unleashed and rampaged through the city. Hearing the bell, the monks implored the Buddha not to collect alms in the city that day, but he ignored their pleas. A woman who was fleeing from the elephant dropped her child at the Buddha's feet. When the elephant charged, the Buddha spoke to him and suffused him with loving-kindness (MAITRĪ), causing the elephant to stop before him. When he stroked the elephant's head, it knelt at his feet and received teachings from the Buddha. The townspeople were so impressed by the miracle that they showered the elephant's body with jewelry; for this reason, the elephant was henceforth known as DHANAPĀLA, "Wealth Protector." In some sources, he is called Vasupāla.

Nivāpasutta. (C. Lieshi jing; J. Ryoshikyo; K. Yopsa kyong 獵師經). In Pāli, "Discourse on the Snare," the twenty-fifth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the 178th SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to an assembly of monks at the JETAVANA grove in the town of sRĀVASTĪ (P. Sāvatthi). The Buddha speaks of the obstacles that can hinder monks along the path to liberation using a simile of a hunter, his entourage, a green pasture, and four herds of deer being hunted as prey. The hunter represents MĀRA, the personification of evil and death, who seeks to entrap beings in the cycle of rebirth (SAMSĀRA). The hunter's entourage is Māra's hordes. The pastures are the bait of sensual pleasures that Māra uses to ensnare beings, and the four herds of deer are four types of brāhmanas and recluses whom Māra tempts. Progressively deeper levels of soteriological attainment, from the meditative absorptions (P. JHĀNA; S. DHYĀNA) to the extinction of the contaminants (P. ĀSAVAKHAYA; S. ĀSRAVAKsAYA), render one free from Māra's grasp.

Operation Ben Ami ::: Israeli operation during the 1948 War of Independence aimed at capturing the town of Acre.

Pāyāsisutta. (C. Bisu jing; J. Heishukukyo; K. P'yesuk kyong 弊宿經). In Pāli, "Discourse to Pāyāsi," the twenty-third sutta of the DĪGHANIKĀYA (a separate DHARMAGUPTAKA recension appears as the seventh SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the DĪRGHĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha's disciple Kumārakassapa (S. KUMĀRA-KĀsYAPA) to Pāyāsi, governor of the town of Setabyā in Kosala (S. KOsALA) country. Pāyāsi held the wrong views that there is neither another world, nor life after death, nor consequences of good and bad actions. Kumārakassapa convinced him of his errors and converted him to Buddhism through the skillful use of similes. He then taught the governor the proper way to make offerings to the three jewels (S. RATNATRAYA) of the Buddha, the DHARMA, and the SAMGHA so that they would bear the greatest fruition of merit.

Potaliyasutta. (C. Buliduo jing; J. Horitakyo; K. P'orida kyong 晡利多經). The "Discourse to Potaliya," the fifty-fourth sutta of the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the 203rd sutra in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to the mendicant (P. paribbājaka, S. PARIVRĀJAKA) Potaliya at a grove in the town of Āpana in the country of the Anguttarāpas. Potaliya had recently left the householder's life to cut off his involvement with the affairs of the world and had taken up the life of itinerant mendicancy. When the Buddha encounters him, Potaliya had not abandoned his ordinary layman's attire, so the Buddha addresses him as "householder," to which the new mendicant takes great offense. The Buddha responds by telling Potaliya that the noble discipline rests on the support of eight abandonments: the abandonment of killing, stealing, lying, maligning others, avarice, spite, anger, and arrogance. The Buddha then enumerates the dangers of sensual pleasure and the benefits of abandoning it. Having thus prepared the ground, the Buddha explains that the noble disciple then attains the three knowledges (P. tevijja, S. TRIVIDYĀ), comprised of (1) recollection of one's own previous existences (P. pubbenivāsānussati, S. PuRVANIVĀSĀNUSMṚTI); (2) the divine eye (P. dibbacakkhu, S. DIVYACAKsUS), the ability to see the demise and rebirth of beings according to their good and evil deeds; and (3) knowledge of the extinction of the contaminants (P. āsavakkhaya, S. ĀSRAVAKsAYA). This, the Buddha explains, is true cutting off of the affairs of the world. Delighted and inspired by the discourse, Potaliya takes refuge in the three jewels (RATNATRAYA) and dedicates himself as a lay disciple of the Buddha.

Rāstrapālaparipṛcchā. (T. Yul 'khor skyong gis zhus pa; C. Huguo pusahui [jing]; J. Gokoku bosatsue[kyo]; K. Hoguk posal hoe [kyong] 護國菩薩會[經]). In Sanskrit, "The Questions of RĀstRAPĀLA," one of the earliest MAHĀYĀNA sutras; the terminus ad quem for its composition is the third century CE, when DHARMARAKsA (c. 233-310) translated the sutra into Chinese (c. 270 CE), probably following a manuscript from the GANDHĀRA region in the KHAROstHĪ script. (The extant Sanskrit recension is much later.) There are also two later Chinese translations, one made c. 585-600 by JNĀNAGUPTA and other c. 980 by DĀNAPĀLA. The Rastrapāla represents a strand of early MAHĀYĀNA (found also in such sutras as the KĀsYAPAPARIVARTA and the UGRAPARIPṚCCHĀ) that viewed the large urban monasteries as being ill-suited to serious spiritual cultivation because of their need for constant fund-raising from the laity and their excessive entanglements in local politics. The Rāstrapāla strand of early Mahāyāna instead dedicated itself to forest dwelling (see ARANNAVĀSI) away from the cities, like the "rhinoceros" (KHAdGAVIsĀnA), and advocated a return to the rigorous asceticism (S. DHuTAGUnA; see P. DHUTAnGA) that was thought to characterize the early SAMGHA. To the Rāstrapāla author(s), the Buddha's own infinitely long career as a bodhisattva was an exercise in self-sacrifice and physical endurance, which they in turn sought to emulate through their own asceticism. The physical perfection the Buddha achieved through this long training, as evidenced in his acquisition of the thirty-two major marks of the superman (MAHĀPURUsALAKsAnA), receives special attention in the sutra. This approach is in marked contrast to other early Mahāyāna sutras, such as the AstASĀHASRIKĀPRAJNĀPĀRAMITĀ, which were suspicious of the motives of forest dwellers and supportive of cenobitic monasticism in the towns and cities, where monks and nuns would be in a better position to serve the laity by preaching the dharma to them.

Rāstrapāla. (P. Ratthapāla; T. Yul 'khor skyong; C. Laizhaheluo; J. Raitawara; K. Noet'ahwara 賴羅). In Sanskrit, an eminent ARHAT declared by the Buddha to be foremost among his monk disciples who renounced the world through faith. According to the Pāli account, he was born in Kuru as the son of a wealthy counselor who had inherited the treasure of a destroyed kingdom. He lived with his wives amid great luxury in his father's house in the township of Thullakotthita. He went to listen to the Buddha preach when the latter was visiting his city and decided at once to renounce the world and become a monk in the Buddha's dispensation. His parents refused to give their permission until he threatened to starve himself to death. They agreed on the condition that he return to visit their house as a monk. After his ordination, Rāstrapāla accompanied the Buddha to sRĀVASTĪ (P. Sāvatthi) and there, through assiduous practice, attained arhatship. Having received the Buddha's permission, Rāstrapāla resolved to fulfill his promise to his parents and returned to Thullakotthita, where he lived in the park of the Kuru king. On his alms round the next morning, he stopped at entrance of his parents' house. His father did not recognize him and mistook him for one of the monks who had enticed his son to abandon his home. He cursed Rāstrapāla and ordered him away. But a servant girl recognized him and offered him the stale rice she was about to throw away and then announced his true identity to his father. His father, filled with joy and hope at seeing his son, invited him to receive his morning meal at his home the next day. When he returned at the appointed time, Rāstrapāla's father tried to tempt him to return to the lay life with a vulgar display of the family's wealth and the beauty of his former wives. They taunted him about the celestial maidens for whose sake he had renounced the world. They fainted in disappointment when he addressed them as "sisters" in reply. At the end of his meal, he preached to his family about the impermanence of conditioned things, the uselessness of wealth, and the enticing trap of physical beauty. But even then they were not convinced, and it is said that Rāstrapāla flew through the air to return to his abode after his father bolted the doors to keep him at home and had servants try to remove his robes and dress him in the garb of a layman.

Sabbāsavasutta. (C. Loujin jing; J. Rojingyo; K. Nujin kyong 漏盡經). In Pāli, "Discourse on All the Contaminants," the second sutta in the Pāli MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the tenth SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA; there is also a recension of unidentified affiliation in the EKOTTARĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to a gathering of monks in the JETAVANA grove in the town of Sāvatthi (S. sRĀVASTĪ). The Buddha describes the contaminants or outflows (ĀSRAVA) that afflict the minds of ordinary worldlings and keep them bound to the cycle of birth and death. He then prescribes seven methods for controlling and eradicating the contaminants: by correct vision (of the nature of the self), restraint (of the senses), usage (i.e, correct usage of the monastic requisites), endurance (e.g., bearing hunger, climate, physical pain), avoidance (e.g., bad friends, unsuitable residences), removal (e.g., of sensuality and ill will), and development (of the seven limbs of awakening).

sāla. (P. sāla; T. sā la; C. shaluoshu; J. saraju/sharaju; K. sarasu 沙羅樹). In Sanskrit, the "sal" tree (Shorea robusta, [alt. Vatica robusta]); a species of tree native to South Asia, which figures prominently in the Buddhist tradition. In India, the tree grows upwards of one hundred feet in height and provides both timber and fragrant resin, which is burned for incense. In several of his discourses, the Buddha uses the growth of the sāla tree as an analogy for the development of wholesome qualities (KUsALA). This tree also is particularly significant in Buddhist hagiography because it was under this type of tree that the Buddha was born and died. Queen MĀYĀ, the Buddha's mother, is said to have given birth to the prince while clinging for support to the branches of a sāla tree that had bent itself down to help her. The Buddha chose a grove of sāla trees near the town of KUsINAGARĪ as the site of his PARINIRVĀnA. Different versions of the Buddha's demise represent these trees in various ways. One version says that the Buddha laid down between twin sāla trees and passed away. Another version says that the Buddha's deathbed was surrounded by pairs of sāla trees-two in each of the four cardinal directions-and at the moment of his death these trees blossomed out of season, rained petals upon him, and their trunks turned white. See also SIKU.

Sāleyyakasutta. In Pāli, the "Discourse to the Sāleyyakas"; the forty-first sutta contained in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears, but without title, in the Chinese translation of the SAMYUKTĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to a group of brāhmana householders at the town of Sālā in the Kosala (S. KOsALA) country. The Buddha describes for them the ten nonvirtuous actions that lead to unhappiness and unfortunate rebirths and the ten virtuous actions that lead to happiness and fortunate rebirths (see KARMAPATHA). The ten nonvirtuous actions are divided into three kinds of bodily misdeed: (1) killing, (2) stealing, (3) and sexual misconduct; four kinds of verbal misdeed: (4) lying, (5) divisive speech, (6) harsh speech, and (7) senseless prattle; and three kinds of mental misdeed: (8) covetousness, (9) harmful intent, and (10) wrong views. The ten virtuous actions are explained as the abstaining from the ten virtuous actions. The Buddha then describes the fortunate rebirths among humans and divinities that may be expected by those who perform virtuous deeds.

Sallekhasutta. (C. Zhouna wenjian jing; J. Shuna monkengyo; K. Chuna mun'gyon kyong 周那問見經). In Pāli, "Discourse on Effacement," the eighth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the ninety-first sutra in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA, as well as a recension of unidentified affiliation in the EKOTTARĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to Mahācunda, a master of meditative absorption (P. JHĀNA, S. DHYĀNA) in the JETAVANA grove in the town of Sāvatthi (S. sRĀVASTĪ). The Buddha explains that pride and speculative views regarding self and the nature of the world cannot be overcome by mere meditative absorption, but only through insight into the Buddhist truths (insight that implicitly will lead to stream-entry). Furthermore, true austerity is nothing other than refraining from forty-four types of unwholesome qualities; one mired in sensuality cannot help bring another to purity.

Sammāditthisutta. In Pāli, "Discourse on Right View," the ninth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a somewhat similar SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the twenty-ninth sutra in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA, although with a different title and interlocutor; there is also an untitled Sarvāstivāda recension in the Chinese translation of the SAMYUKTĀGAMA); preached by sĀRIPUTRA (P. Sāriputta) to a group of monks in the JETAVANA grove in the town of sRĀVASTĪ (P. Sāvatthi). sāriputra explains that when actions of body, speech, and mind are motivated by greed, hatred, and delusion they are deemed unwholesome (P. akusala; S. AKUsALA). When they are motivated by nongreed, nonhatred and nondelusion they are deemed wholesome (P. kusala; S. KUsALA). He further explains the significance of the FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS, the twelve links of dependent origination (P. paticcasamuppāda, S. PRATĪTYASAMUTPĀDA), and the afflictions.

Satipatthānasutta. (S. *Smṛtyupasthānasutra; T. Dran pa nye bar bzhag pa'i mdo; C. Nianchu jing; J. Nenjogyo; K. Yomch'o kyong 念處經). In Pāli, "Discourse on the Foundations of Mindfulness"; the tenth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the ninety-eighth SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA; there is another unidentified recension in the Chinese translation of the EKOTTARĀGAMA). An expanded version of the same sutta, titled the "Great Discourse on the Foundations of Mindfulness" (MAHĀSATIPAttHĀNASUTTANTA), which adds extensive discussion on mindfulness of breathing (P. ānāpānasati, S. ĀNĀPĀNASMṚTI), is the twenty-second sutta in the Pāli DĪGHANIKĀYA. This sutta is one of the most widely commented upon texts in the Pāli canon and continues to hold a central place in the modern VIPASSANĀ (S. VIPAsYANĀ) movement. The sutta was preached by the Buddha to a gathering of disciples in the town of Kammāsadhamma in the country of the Kurus. The discourse enumerates twenty-one meditation practices for the cultivation of mindfulness (P. sati, S. SMṚTI), a term that refers to an undistracted watchfulness and attentiveness, or to recollection and thus memory. In the text, the Buddha explains the practice under a fourfold rubric called the four foundations of mindfulness (P. satipatthāna, S. SMṚTYUPASTHĀNA). The four foundations are comprised of "contemplation of the body" (P. kāyānupassanā, S. KĀYĀNUPAsYANĀ); "contemplation of sensations" (P. vedanānupassanā, S. vedanānupasyanā), that is, physical and mental sensations (VEDANĀ) that are pleasurable, painful, or neutral; "contemplation of mind" (P. cittānupassanā, S. cittānupasyanā), in which one observes the broader state of mind (CITTA) as, e.g., shrunken or expanded, while under the influence of various positive and negative emotions; and "contemplation of phenomena" (P. dhammānupassanā, S. dharmānupasyanā), which involves the contemplation of several key doctrinal categories, such as the five aggregates (P. khandha, S. SKANDHA) and the FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS. The first of the four, the mindfulness of the body, involves fourteen exercises, beginning with the mindfulness of the inhalation and exhalation of the breath (P. ānāpānasati, S. ĀNĀPĀNASMṚTI). Mindfulness of the breath is followed by mindfulness of the four physical postures (P. iriyāpatha, S. ĪRYĀPATHA) of walking, standing, sitting, and lying down. This is then extended to a full general awareness of all physical activities. Thus, mindfulness is something that is also meant to accompany all of one's actions in the course of the day, and is not restricted to formal meditation sessions. This discussion is followed by mindfulness of the various components of the body, an intentionally revolting list that includes fingernails, bile, spittle, and urine. Next is the mindfulness of the body as composed of the four great elements (MAHĀBHuTA) of earth, water, fire, and air. Next are the "contemplations on the impure" (P. asubhabhāvanā, S. AsUBHABHĀVANĀ), viz., contemplation of a corpse in nine successive stages of decomposition. The practice of the mindfulness of the body is designed to induce the understanding that the body is a collection of impure elements that arise and cease in rapid succession, utterly lacking any kind of permanent self. This insight into the three marks of existence-impermanence, suffering, and no-self-leads in turn to enlightenment. Mindfulness of the body is presented as the core meditative practice, with the other three types of mindfulness applied as the meditator's attention is drawn to those factors. The sutta calls the foundations of mindfulness the ekayānamagga, which in this context might be rendered as "the only path" or "the one way forward," and states that correct practice of the four foundations of mindfulness will lead to the stage of the worthy one (P. arahant, S. ARHAT), or at least the stage of the nonreturner (P. anāgāmi, S. ANĀGĀMIN), in as little as seven days of practice, according to some interpretations. See also ANUPASSANĀ.

selectman ::: n. --> One of a board of town officers chosen annually in the New England States to transact the general public business of the town, and have a kind of executive authority. The number is usually from three to seven in each town.

Se ra. A large monastic complex counted among the "three seats" (GDAN SA GSUM) of the DGE LUGS sect of Tibetan Buddhism, located at the north end of the LHA SA valley. TSONG KHA PA wrote Rtsa she tik chen rigs pa'i rgya mtsho, his commentary on NĀGĀRJUNA's MuLAMADHYAMAKAKĀRIKĀ, in a hermitage above the future site of the monastery and predicted that it would become a great seat of learning. Foundations for the complex were laid in 1419 by Byams chen chos rje Shākya ye shes (Jamchen Choje Shākya Yeshe, 1354-1435), a disciple of Tsong kha pa. Begun as a center for tantric studies, four colleges were later established, which were later consolidiated into two: Se ra smad (Sera Me) and Se ra byes (Sera Je). Se ra byes, the larger of the two, was constructed by Kun mkhyen blo gros rin chen seng ge (Künkyen Lodro Rinchen Senge, fl. fifteenth century), a disciple of both Tsong kha pa and Byams chen chos rjes. A third college, the Sngags pa drwa tshang (Ngakpa Dratsang) or tantric college, was established in the eighteenth century, most likely under the patronage of the Mongolian ruler Lha bzang Khan. Traditionally said to house 5,500 monks, Se ra was home to roughly eight thousand monks at its peak, with some thirty-five regional dormitories (khams tshan). Monks from Se ra participated in the 1959 uprising against the Chinese People's Liberation Army, which led to the monastery being closed and used as an army barracks. It also suffered significant damage during the Chinese Cultural Revolution. After that, it reopened as a monastery, but with a much smaller monastic population. Following the exodus of Tibetans into exile after 1959, a new Se ra monastery was also established in south India, near the town of Bylakuppe.

Sinhŭngsa. (神興寺). In Korean, "Divinely Flourishing Monastery"; the third district monastery (PONSA) of the contemporary CHOGYE CHONG of Korean Buddhism, located in Outer Soraksan (Snowy Peaks Mountain) near the town of Sokch'o. The monastery was founded in 652 by the Silla VINAYA master CHAJANG (d.u.; fl. c. mid-seventh century), who named it Hyangsongsa, or City of Fragrances [see GANDHAVATĪ] (monastery), but it has been nicknamed "Monastery of Frequent Changes" because it has changed its location, name, and school affiliation so many times over the centuries. When Hyangsongsa burned down in 698, the Silla Hwaom (C. HUAYAN) teacher ŬISANG (625-702) had it rebuilt three years later near its current site and renamed it Sonjongsa (Meditative Absorption Monastery). The monastery was damaged during the Japanese Hideyoshi invasions of 1592-1598 and burned to the ground in 1642. The three monks who remained after the conflagration each dreamed of a spirit who told them that relocating the monastery's campus would protect it from any future damage by fire, water, or wind. Following the spirit's recommendation, the monks moved the site ten leagues (K. i; C. li) below where the monastery was then located and renamed it Sinhŭngsa, the name it has kept ever since. Sinhŭngsa proper is built on a foundation of natural stone with four large cornerstones. The visitor reaches the monastery along a half-mile-long path that is flanked by reliquaries and memorial stele until reaching the Ilchumun (Single Pillar Gate). Sinhŭngsa's main shrine hall is the Kŭngnak pojon (SUKHĀVATĪ Basilica), which faces west and is decorated on the outside by the ten ox-herding paintings (see OXHERDING PICTURES, TEN). Inside, AMITĀBHA is enshrined together with his companion BODHISATTVAs, AVALOKITEsVARA and MAHĀSTHĀMAPRĀPTA; they sit below a canopy of yellow dragons and in front of a painting of sĀKYAMUNI with an elderly KĀsYAPA and a young-looking ĀNANDA. Right after entering the Ilchumun is found the 14.6-meter (48 foot) high T'ongil Taebul (Unification Great Buddha) sitting on a 4.3 meter (14 foot) pedestal. Casting of this bronze image started in 1987 and was finished ten years later; it is now the largest seated bronze buddha image in the world, larger even than the Japanese KAMAKURA DAIBUTSU (at 13.35 meters, or 44 feet, high). Its pedestal is decorated with images of the sixteen ARHAT protectors of Buddhism (see sOdAsASTHAVIRA). This monastery should be distinguished from the homophonous Sinhŭngsa (Newly Flourishing Monastery), located in the T'aebaek Mountains near the city of Samch'ok in Kangwon province; that temple is the fourth district monastery of the Chogye order.

Sona-Kotikanna. (S. srona-Kotikarna; T. Gro bzhin skyes rna ba bye ba; C. Yi'er; J. Okuni; K. ogi 億耳). Pāli name of an ARHAT declared by the Buddha to be foremost among monks in eloquence (S. PRATIBHĀNA; P. patibhāna). Sona's mother was Kālī Kuraragharikā and his father a wealthy merchant. He received the epithet Kotikanna (S. Kotikarna) because he wore an earring (kanna) worth a crore (KOtI). Sona's mother had become a stream-enterer (SROTAĀPANNA) on the night he was born. The monk MAHĀKĀsYAPA was a family friend and often visited the family in the town of Kuraraghara. As a young man, Sona once traveled with a caravan headed towards Ujjayinī (P. Ujjeni), but along the way got left behind. Continuing the journey alone, he encountered a hungry ghost in the form of a man eating his own flesh. He learned that in an earlier existence the ghost had been a miserly merchant who cheated his customers. He then encountered two ghosts in the form of boys spitting up blood. In a previous life they had criticized their mother for feeding an arhat. Filled with misgiving, he returned to his home and related what he had seen to Mahākāsyapa, after which he requested permission to enter the order. Mahākāsyapa immediately ordained Sona as a novice and after three years gave him the UPASAMPADĀ higher ordination as a monk (P. bhikkhu, S. BHIKsU). The delay was caused by the fact that in the outlying town of Kuraraghara it was difficult to gather the quorum of ten monks needed to perform the upasaMpadā ceremony. Sona gained preeminence for perfectly reciting the AttHAKAVAGGA for the Buddha, a text he had learned from Mahākāsyapa. To reward his skill, the Buddha granted Sona a boon. Sona requested to be allowed to ordain new monks using a quorum of only five rather than ten monks to facilitate the performance of the ritual procedure in outlying areas.

stock character: A type of characterthat emerges frequently in a specific literary genre. Stock characters in western films might include the noble sheriff, the whorehouse madam, the town drunkard. Another example: Stock characters in medieval romances include the damsel in distress, handsome young knight, and the senex amans (the ugly old man married to a younger girl).

Sumangala. (Venerable Hikkaduva Sri Sumangala Nayaka Mahāthera) (1827-1911). Sumangala, whose given name was Niclaus, was born in the town of Hikkaduwa in the Galle District of southern Sri Lanka. Sumangala received his early education at the local village temple and, at age thirteen, began his monastic education at Totagamuwa. He received full ordination from the Malwatte chapter in Kandy in 1848. Sumangala is considered to be one of the most influential Pāli scholars of his time. He took a significant role in the Sinhalese Buddhist revival, especially in Colombo. He helped GUnĀNANDA prepare for the famous Panadura debate. An accomplished scholar, Sumangala studied Buddhist history, arithmetic, and archeology; he also knew Sinhala, Pāli, Sanskrit, and English. In 1867 he received the title Sripada from the British government, making him the high priest of Adam's Peak (Mt. Sumanakuta). The principal and founder of Vidyodaya College, Sumangala worked with Colonel HENRY STEEL OLCOTT and together they established Ananda College and Mahinda College in Colombo and Dharmaraja College in Kandy during the early 1890s. These schools helped to revitalize Buddhist education, which had dwindled under British colonialism. In 1891, Sumangala became the president of the Bodh Gaya Maha Bodhi Society in Colombo. SUMAnGALA was an inspirational figure for ANAGĀRIKA DHARMAPĀLA and the next generation of Sinhalese Buddhist scholars.

Sumedha. [alt. Sumegha] (C. Shanhui; J. Zen'e; K. Sonhye 善慧). Sanskrit and Pāli name of the BODHISATTVA who would become GAUTAMA Buddha. He was an ascetic at the time of DĪPAMKARA Buddha. Sumedha was born into a wealthy brāhmana family of AMARĀVATĪ. Disenchanted with the vanities of the householders' life, he renounced the world and took up his abode in the Himalaya mountains as an ascetic. There, he practiced assiduously and ultimately gained great yogic power. Once, when flying over the town of Ramma Nagara, he saw a crowd. He landed and asked a member of the crowd why they had gathered and was told that DīpaMkara Buddha was approaching. When he heard the word "buddha," he was overcome with joy. Seeing that people of the town were festooning the road DīpaMkara would be using with decorations, Sumedha decided to prepare and decorate a portion of the road himself. The Buddha arrived before his work was completed and, seeing that the Buddha was walking toward a mud puddle, Sumedha lay facedown and spread his long matted locks over the mud. While lying in the mud, Sumedha realized that, were he to follow DīpaMkara's teachings, he could become an ARHAT in that very lifetime. However, he resolved instead to achieve enlightenment at a time when there was no other buddha in the world, vowing to become a fully enlightened buddha (SAMYAKSAMBUDDHA) like DīpaMkara himself. DīpaMkara, using his supranormal powers, looked into the future and confirmed that Sumedha's vow (PuRVAPRAnIDĀNA) would be fulfilled and he would one day become GAUTAMA Buddha, the fourth of five perfect buddhas of the present age. It was with this vow, and with this confirmation by DīpaMkara Buddha, that the bodhisattva began the path to buddhahood, which, according to the Pāli tradition, he would complete four innumerable plus one hundred thousand eons later.

Tachikawaryu. (立川流). A strand of Japanese esoteric Buddhism that is generally regarded as heterodox by the mainstream SHINGONSHu tradition because of its involvement in ritual sex and magical elements. The school was established in 1114 in the town of Tachikawa (Izu province) by Ninkan (1057-1123), who is known to have combined Daoist yin-yang cosmology with Shingon rituals and taught sexual union as a direct way of attaining buddhahood. Its teachings were subsequently systematized by Raiyu (1226-1304). The school sought to achieve buddhahood in this very body (SOKUSHIN JoBUTSU) and taught that the loss of self that occurs through ritual sexuality was the most immediate approach to enlightenment; sexual climax, which the school termed the lion's roar (see SIMHANĀDA), constituted the moment of awakening. The Tachikawaryu was officially proscribed in the thirteenth century and its practices eliminated from the mainstream esoteric tradition through the efforts of the Shingon monk Yukai (1345-1416). Although its scriptures were lost (except for a few that are said to have been sealed so that they would never be reopened), some of its practices are thought to have continued to circulate in secret in Shingon circles.

The original Avesta consisted of 21 Nasks of which very few remain intact. Tabari (9th century Iranian historian) writes: “Thirty years after the reign of Kay Goshtasp, Zartusht Spitaman produced a book which was written in gold on 12,000 cowhides. Kay Goshtasp ordered that this book be kept in Dejh-Nebeshtak and be guarded by the Hierbads (the learned) away from the reach of the profane.” (Persian translation of Tarikh-e-Tabari, Tabari Hisrory, Book 11, p. 477) The Pahlavi Dinkard (of the 9th century) states that two complete copies of the Avesta existed: the one kept in the Dezh-Nebeshtak of Persopolis and the other in Ganj-e-Shizegan, which most likely was in the town of Shiz of Azarpategan. When Alexander burned down Persopolis, the copy there was destroyed; but the one in Shizegan was translated into Greek and sent to Aristotle, Alexander’s tutor. This translation has been lost. Bal’ami, historian and the minister of the Samanid kings (early 10th century), writes that Alexander “gathered Iranian philosophers and had their writings translated into Greek and sent them to Aristotle and other Greek philosophers. He destroyed the cities of Babel, Eragh and Pars, killed all men of eminence, and burned down all King Dara’s (Darius) libraries.” (Tarikh-e-Balami, Book 11, p. 699)

together ::: prep. --> In company or association with respect to place or time; as, to live together in one house; to live together in the same age; they walked together to the town.
In or into union; into junction; as, to sew, knit, or fasten two things together; to mix things together.
In concert; with mutual cooperation; as, the allies made war upon France together.


townhall ::: n. --> A public hall or building, belonging to a town, where the public offices are established, the town council meets, the people assemble in town meeting, etc.

townish ::: a. --> Of or pertaining to the inhabitants of a town; like the town.

Udgata. (P. Uggata; T. 'Phags pa; C. Yujiatuo; J. Utsukada; K. Ulgat'a 欝伽陀). Lay disciple of the Buddha deemed to be foremost among laymen who served the order (SAMGHA). According to the Pāli account, where he is known as Uggata, he was a wealthy householder living in the town of Hatthigāma. One day, while the Buddha was sojourning at the Nāgavanuyyāna garden in the town, Uggata visited the garden in a drunken state, accompanied by dancers, after a drinking binge that had lasted seven days. Seeing the Buddha, he was filled with shame and immediately sobered up. The Buddha preached to him, and he became a nonreturner (ANĀGĀMIN) on the spot. He dismissed the dancers and, from that time onward, devoted himself to serving the order. He used to receive visitations from the divinities, who told him of the attainments of various members of the order and suggested that he favor these above the rest. Uggata, however, treated all monks equally and showed no preference in his benefactions between those who had attained distinction as ĀRYAPUDGALA and those who were still unenlightened. When queried, Uggata said that there were eight wonderful things that happened to, and were done by, him in this life: he recovered his sobriety the very moment he saw the Buddha; he readily understood the Buddha's teaching of the FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS; when he took a vow of celibacy, he provided for his four wives even to the point of finding one of them a new husband of her choice; he shared his great wealth with persons of good conduct; he served monks wholeheartedly, listening to their sermons or preaching to them when they did not speak; he was equally generous to all monks without making distinctions; he was not prideful of his conversations with the divinities; and he did not worry about death, for the Buddha had assured him that he would not return to this world.

University of Edinburgh "body, education" A university in the centre of Scotland's capital. The University of Edinburgh has been promoting and setting standards in education for over 400 years. Granted its Royal Charter in 1582 by James VI, the son of Mary Queen of Scots, the University was founded the following year by the Town Council of Edinburgh, making it the first post-Reformation university in Scotland, and the first civic university to be established in the British Isles. Known in its early years as King James College, or the Tounis (Town's) College, the University soon established itself internationally, and by the 18th century Edinburgh was a leading centre of the European Enlightenment and one of the continent's principal universities. The University's close relationship with the city in which it is based, coupled with a forward-looking, international perspective, has kept Edinburgh at the forefront of new research and teaching developments whilst enabling it to retain a uniquely Scottish character. Edinburgh's academics are at the forefront of developments in the study and application of languages, medicine, micro-electronics, biotechnology, computer-based disciplines and many other subjects. Edinburgh's standing as a world centre for research is further enhanced by the presence on and around University precincts of many independently-funded, but closely linked, national research institutes {(http://ed.ac.uk/)}. Address: Old College, South Bridge, Edinburgh, Scotland EH8 9YL, UK. Telephone: +44 (131) 650 1000. See also {ABSET}, {ABSYS}, {Alice}, {ASL+}, {Baroque}, {C++Linda}, {Cogent Prolog}, {COWSEL}, {Echidna}, {Edinburgh Prolog}, {Edinburgh SML}, {EdML}, {ELLIS}, {ELSIE}, {ESLPDPRO}, {Extended ML}, {Hope}, {IMP}, {LCF}, {Lisp-Linda}, {Marseille Prolog}, {metalanguage}, {MIKE}, {ML}, {ML Kit}, {ML-Linda}, {Multipop-68}, {Nuprl}, {Oblog}, {paraML}, {Pascal-Linda}, {POP-1}, {POP-2}, {POPLER}, {Prolog}, {Prolog-2}, {Prolog-Linda}, {Scheme-Linda}, {Skel-ML}, {Standard ML}, {Sticks&Stones}, {supercombinators}, {SWI-Prolog}, {tail recursion modulo cons}, {WPOP}. (1995-12-29)

Vanapatthasutta. (C. Lin jing; J. Ringyo; K. Im kyong 林經). In Pāli, the "Discourse on Forest Dwelling"; the seventeenth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as SuTRA nos. 107-108 in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to a gathering of monks in the JETAVANA grove in the town of Sāvatthi (S. sRĀVASTĪ). The Buddha describes the suitable conditions for a monk to practice meditation. Should he find a place suitable for neither material support (e.g., alms food, robes, lodgings) nor meditation practice, he should abandon that place. Should he find a place suitable for material support but not practice, he should abandon that place also. Should he find a place suitable for meditation practice but not for support, he should remain there. Should he find a place suitable for material support and meditation practice, he should take up lifelong residence there.

Vatthupamasutta. (C. Shuijing fanzhi jing; J. Suijobonjikyo; K. Sujong pomji kyong 水淨梵志經). In Pāli, the "The Simile of the Cloth Discourse"; the seventh sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the ninety-third SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA, as well as an unidentified recension in the Chinese translation of the EKOTTARĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to a group of disciples in the JETAVANA grove in the town of Sāvatthi (S. sRĀVASTĪ). The Buddha describes the difference between a pure mind and a defiled mind by citing the example of cloth: just as only a clean cloth will absorb dye properly, so only a pure mind will be receptive to the dharma. The Buddha then lists a set of seventeen imperfections that defile the mind, which the monk must learn to abandon in order to gain confidence in the three jewels (RATNATRAYA) and ultimately liberation.

Venugrāmaka. (P. Beluvagāmaka/Velugāma; T. 'Od ma can gyi grong; C. Zhulincong; J. Chikurinso; K. Chungnimch'ong竹林叢). In Sanskrit, "Bamboo Town," near the city of VAIsĀLĪ; remembered as the town where the Buddha spent his last rains retreat (VARsĀ) prior to his passage into PARINIRVĀnA. Because there was a famine in the region, making it difficult for the local population to support a large group of monks, the Buddha went to Venugrāmaka accompanied only by ĀNANDA. During their sojourn there, the Buddha, already eighty, became seriously ill. However, he did not want to die without addressing the SAMGHA one last time, and, by using his powers of concentration (SAMĀDHI) to reduce the physical discomfort, the disease abated. It was while staying at Venugrāmaka that the Buddha made two famous statements to Ānanda. According to the Pāli MAHĀPARINIBBĀNASUTTANTA, when the Buddha expressed his wish to address the saMgha, Ānanda assumed that the Buddha had a teaching he had not yet delivered to the monks. The Buddha replied that he was not one who taught with a "teacher's fist" (P. ācariyamutthi) or "closed fist," holding back some secret teaching, but that he had in fact revealed everything. The Buddha also said that he was not the head of saMgha and that after his death each monk should "be an island unto himself," with the DHARMA as his island and his refuge.

VeraNjakasutta. In Pāli, the "Discourse to the VeraNjakas," the forty-second sutta in the Pāli MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (there is an untitled SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension included in the Chinese translation of the SAMYUKTĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to a group of brāhmana householders from VeraNja while he dwelt in the JETAVANA grove in the town of Sāvatthi (S. sRĀVASTĪ). The Buddha describes for them the ten demeritorious actions that lead to unhappiness and unfortunate rebirths and the ten virtuous actions that lead to happiness and fortunate rebirths. The ten unvirtuous actions are analyzed into three kinds of bodily misdeed: (1) killing and violence, (2) stealing, and (3) sexual misconduct; four kinds of verbal misdeed: (4) falsehood, (5) malicious gossip, (6) harsh speech, and (7) meaningless prattle; and three kinds of mental misdeed: (8) covetousness, (9) ill will, and (10) wrong views. The ten meritorious actions are explained as abstaining from the ten demeritorious actions. The Buddha then describes the fortunate rebirths among humans and the divinities that may be expected by those who live righteously and perform meritorious actions. The sutta is parallel in content to the SĀLEYYAKASUTTA, the forty-first sutta in the Majjhimanikāya.

VīmaMsakasutta. (C. Qiujie jing; J. Gugekyo; K. Kuhae kyong 求解經). In Pāli, "Discourse on Investigation"; the forty-seventh sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the 186th SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA); delivered by the Buddha to a gathering of monks in the JETAVANA grove at the town of Sāvatthi (sRĀVASTĪ). In this sutta, the Buddha describes specific means by which it may be determined whether or not the TATHĀGATA has in fact attained buddhahood. He directs the inquirer to rely on what he has seen and heard to determine whether the tathāgata possesses any defiled states, mixed states, or impure states; whether he possesses wholesome states; and whether he is free from the dangers of renown and fame, free from fear and sexual passion, and free from contempt for others due to their failings. Finally the Buddha states that the monk gains true confidence in the three jewels (RATNATRAYA) by learning the Buddha's teachings and confirming their truth through direct experience born of practice.

Vitakkasanthānasutta. (C. Zengshangxin jing; J. Zojoshingyo; K. Chŭngsangsim kyong 增上心經). In Pāli, "Discourse on Removing Distracting Thoughts," the twentieth sutta in the MAJJHIMANIKĀYA (a separate SARVĀSTIVĀDA recension appears as the 101st SuTRA in the Chinese translation of the MADHYAMĀGAMA); preached by the Buddha to an assembly of monks at the JETAVANA grove in the town of Sāvatthi (S. sRĀVASTĪ). The Buddha teaches five methods that can be used to overcome unwholesome, distracting thoughts (P. vitakka; S. VITARKA) that may arise during the course of meditation. These methods include replacing the unwholesome thought with a wholesome thought, contemplating the danger of the unwholesome thought, ignoring the unwholesome thought, progressively stilling the process of thought formation, and forcibly suppressing the unwholesome thought through the application of concentration. An analogous treatment of five methods of controlling thoughts also appears in the YOGĀCĀRABHuMIsĀSTRA.

Wat Phra That Phanom. In Thai, "Monastery of the Relic (P. DHĀTU) in the city of Phanom" (Phanom is the Lao and Khmer term for mountain); the most revered Buddhist shrine in northeast Thailand, located in the town of Nakhon Phanom. The STuPA on the site has a history dating back some fifteen hundred years, according to some local traditions, while other legends claim that it was originally built in 535 BCE, eight years after the death of the Buddha, as a reliquary for his breastbone. The structure is Lao in style, with a square base surmounted by slender tapering vertical columns in the shape of an elongated lotus bud. Its present appearance dates from 1977, after its predecessor collapsed under heavy rains in 1975, and is modeled after WAT THAT LUANG in Vientiane, Laos.

workhouse ::: n. --> A house where any manufacture is carried on; a workshop.
A house in which idle and vicious persons are confined to labor.
A house where the town poor are maintained at public expense, and provided with labor; a poorhouse.




QUOTES [1 / 1 - 1500 / 1750]


KEYS (10k)

   1 Baisao 1675-1763

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   36 Anonymous
   19 Haruki Murakami
   18 Stephen King
   16 Henry David Thoreau
   15 Ray Bradbury
   14 John Green
   12 Hermann Hesse
   10 Albert Camus
   9 Edgar Albert Guest
   8 Wendell Berry
   8 Robyn Carr
   8 Harper Lee
   8 Emily Dickinson
   7 John Steinbeck
   7 Ernest Hemingway
   7 Charles Dickens
   6 Zora Neale Hurston
   6 Malcolm Gladwell
   6 Lee Child
   6 Georges Rodenbach

1:I moved this morning to the center of the town. Waist deep in worldly dust. But Free of worldly ties. ~ Baisao 1675-1763,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:You do not know it but you are the talk of all the town. ~ ovid, @wisdomtrove
2:The usual dog about the town is much inclined to play the clown. ~ t-s-eliot, @wisdomtrove
3:From a proud tower in the town, Death looks gigantically down. ~ edgar-allan-poe, @wisdomtrove
4:A real Christian is a person who can give his pet parrot to the town gossip. ~ billy-graham, @wisdomtrove
5:The town kept its secrets, and the Marsten House brooded over it like a ruined king. ~ stephen-king, @wisdomtrove
6:Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip. ~ will-rogers, @wisdomtrove
7:In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stagecoach. ~ oliver-goldsmith, @wisdomtrove
8:The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove
9:You scour the Bowery, ransack the Bronx,/ Through funeral parlors and honky-tonks./ From river to river you comb the town/ For a place to lay your family down. ~ ogden-nash, @wisdomtrove
10:The best thing we're put here for's to see; The strongest thing that's given us to see with's a telescope. Someone in every town, seems to me, owes it to the town to keep one. ~ robert-frost, @wisdomtrove
11:City's just a jungle; more games to play Trapped in the heart of it, tryin' to get away I was raised in the country, I been workin' in the town I been in trouble ever since I set my suitcase down ~ bob-dylan, @wisdomtrove
12:The new American finds his challenge and his love in the traffic-choked streets, skies nested in smog, choking with the acids of industry, the screech of rubber and houses leashed in against one another while the town lets wither a time and die. ~ john-steinbeck, @wisdomtrove
13:Thus Gotama [Buddha] walked toward the town to gather alms, and the two samanas recognized him solely by the perfection of his repose, by the calmness of his figure, in which there was no trace of seeking, desiring, imitating, or striving, only light and peace ~ hermann-hesse, @wisdomtrove
14:The town has a sense, not of history, but of time, and the telephone poles seem to know this. If you lay your hand against one, you can feel the vibration from the wires deep within the wood, as if souls had been imprisoned in there and were struggling to get out. ~ stephen-king, @wisdomtrove
15:I was always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing strange characters and manners. Even when a mere child I began my travels, and made many tours of discovery into foreign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents, and the emolument of the town-crier. ~ washington-irving, @wisdomtrove
16:The town was glad with morning light; places that had shown ugly and distrustful all night long, now wore a smile; and sparkling sunbeams dancing on chamber windows, and twinkling through blind and curtain before sleepers’ eyes, shed light even into dreams, and chased away the shadows of the night. ~ charles-dickens, @wisdomtrove
17:Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature. ~ john-steinbeck, @wisdomtrove
18:My prayer for you is that you may grow in the likeness of Christ, being real carriers of God's love and that you really bring his presence, first, into your own family, then, to the next door neighbor, the street you we live in, the town we live in, the country we live, then only, in the whole world, that living example of God's presence. ~ mother-teresa, @wisdomtrove
19:To me heaven would be a big bull ring with me holding two barrera seats and a trout stream outside that no one else was allowed to fish in and two lovely houses in the town; one where I would have my wife and children and be monogamous and love them truly and well and the other where I would have my nine beautiful mistresses on nine different floors. ~ ernest-hemingway, @wisdomtrove
20:Halfway down the stairs, is a stair, where I sit. There isn't any, other stair, quite like, it. I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top; So this is the stair, where, I always, stop. Halfway up the stairs, isn't up, and isn't down. It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town. And all sorts of funny thoughts, run round my head: It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead! ~ a-a-milne, @wisdomtrove
21:Because it is in the nature of things that they become extreme, we have passed down from manliness to cruelty. If I had been told when I was 20 that there was a tavern in the town where the brave and the cruel were gathered together, I would have run all the way and I would have gone up to the largest and leatheriest of the denizens and said: If you truly love me, kill the bartender. ~ quentin-crisp, @wisdomtrove
22:How can the mind be so imperfect?" she says with a smile. I look at my hands. Bathed in the moonlight, they seem like statues, proportioned to no purpose. "It may well be imperfect," I say, "but it leaves traces. And we can follow those traces, like footsteps in the snow." "Where do the lead?" "To oneself," I answer. "That's where the mind is. Without the mind, nothing leads anywhere." I look up. The winter moon is brilliant, over the Town, above the Wall. "Not one thing is your fault," I comfort her. ~ haruki-murakami, @wisdomtrove
23:I was too tired to think. I merely felt the town as a unique unreality. What was it? I knew - the moon's picture of a town. These streets with their houses did not exist, they were but a ludicrous projection of the moon's sumptuous personality. This was a city of Pretend, created by the hypnotism of moonnight. - Yet when I examined the moon she too seemed but a painting of a moon and the sky in which she lived a fragile echo of color. If I blew hard the whole shy mechanism would collapse gently with a neat soundless crash. I must not, or lose all. ~ e-e-cummings, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:the town. These people were ~ Dana Stabenow,
2:I modelled my looks on the town tramp. ~ Dolly Parton,
3:Even in the stifling bosom of the town, ~ William Cowper,
4:The town was paper, but the memory was not. ~ John Green,
5:The town was paper but the memories were not ~ John Green,
6:The town was paper, but the memories were not ~ John Green,
7:The town was paper, but the memories were not. ~ John Green,
8:Though logic-choppers rule the town, ~ William Butler Yeats,
9:God made the country, and man made the town. ~ William Cowper,
10:in 1912, a developer paid the town of Pleasant ~ Carolyn Brown,
11:Nobody in the town liked to meet the hangman. ~ Oliver P tzsch,
12:You do not know it but you are the talk of all the town. ~ Ovid,
13:and the most insane gossip tortured the town ~ Margaret Mitchell,
14:The town isn't big enough for two homicidal maniacs. ~ Jeph Loeb,
15:being in the town is prosaic, sensuous, alcoholic. ~ Stephen King,
16:It became necessary to destroy the town to save it. ~ Peter Arnett,
17:The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. ~ Anne Sexton,
18:My uncle was the town drunk - and we lived in Chicago. ~ George Gobel,
19:Tell her the Town told you to come read old dreams. ~ Haruki Murakami,
20:The Town and the City The Scripture of the Golden Eternity ~ Anonymous,
21:outside, the clear-cut strokes of the town clock counting ~ Joseph Conrad,
22:Rumor, that wingless bird, had shadowed over the town. ~ Zora Neale Hurston,
23:The usual dog about the town is much inclined to play the clown. ~ T S Eliot,
24:From a proud tower in the town, Death looks gigantically down. ~ Edgar Allan Poe,
25:I’ve even written a role for Dolly Parton to play the town mayor! ~ Heidi Montag,
26:You’re like the town bicycle. You give rides. You don’t date. ~ Michelle Leighton,
27:The town was paper, but the memories were not. - Quentin "Q" Jacobsen ~ John Green,
28:and the town was rid of one more pensioner, which no one regretted. ~ Hermann Hesse,
29:the only point, of the town hall theatrics was to get their buy-in—to ~ Fred Kaplan,
30:The town I came from really had one industry, and that was furniture. ~ Eric Church,
31:the fat off. Then she took a walk upon the roofs of the town, looked out ~ Jacob Grimm,
32:The whole race of scribblers flies from the town and yearns for country life. ~ Horace,
33:During the fall and winter we built Fort Meade and the town of Sturgis. ~ Calamity Jane,
34:The town is as full as ever of 'characters,' all created by each other. ~ Wilfrid Sheed,
35:The Internet is becoming the town square for the global village of tomorrow. ~ Bill Gates,
36:A real Christian is the one who can give his pet parrot to the town gossip. ~ Billy Graham,
37:Georgia had beaten Auburn last night. The town was sleeping off the win. ~ Karin Slaughter,
38:I don't like the idea of not being able to knock about the town, you know. ~ Ewan McGregor,
39:A real Christian is a person who can give his pet parrot to the town gossip. ~ Billy Graham,
40:The town was Newport, Rhode Island, U.S.A., Earth, Solar System, Milky Way. ~ Kurt Vonnegut,
41:A Good School deserves to be call'd, the very Salt of the Town, that hath it. ~ Cotton Mather,
42:None of the buildings in the town of Sisters are really more than one story tall. ~ Peter Rock,
43:What can I tell you about the town? I suppose if you had driven through it back ~ Fannie Flagg,
44:Every morning the world flung itself over and exposed the town to the sun. ~ Zora Neale Hurston,
45:The town in which … I had spent my youth … had nothing to give me but memories. ~ Hermann Hesse,
46:If your ideas are bigger than the town you're in, you've got to get out of there. ~ Brian Fallon,
47:So live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip. ~ Will Rogers,
48:By midafternoon, the town of Poughkeepsie was pulsating with humanity. Hotel ~ Daniel James Brown,
49:Keep the town for occasions, but the habits should be formed in retirement. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
50:The town council met at the school. That meant we knew exactly how to sneak in. ~ Kelley Armstrong,
51:Hope springs eternal in the town of dreams...and so does despair and humiliation. ~ Chet Williamson,
52:The town kept its secrets, and the Marsten House brooded over it like a ruined king. ~ Stephen King,
53:Lead your life so you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip. ~ Will Rogers,
54:The town motto seems to be if you can't keep it on the down-low, then out you must go. ~ Stephen King,
55:In the town of Bethlehem many years ago, a man got religion and he changed the status quo. ~ Phil Ochs,
56:Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip. ~ Will Rogers,
57:The headless trunk was discovered impaled on a metal fencepost on the edge of the town park. ~ C J Box,
58:According to legend. Telford is so dull that the by-pass was built before the town. ~ Victor Lewis Smith,
59:In the town live witches nine: three in worsted, three in rags, and three in velvet fine... ~ Celia Rees,
60:what was happening to the town seemed to some like an almost biblical set of afflictions. ~ Peter Straub,
61:I don't know what they call Hollywood anymore. The whole meaning of the town has changed. ~ Claire Trevor,
62:I was hot for the town sheriff. I was hot for a man who I absolutely did not like one bit. ~ Devney Perry,
63:if we think first about making sure the town is taken care of, we’ll do just fine. And we do. ~ Robyn Carr,
64:She wanted no invisible sky fathers hanging over the Town, mandating irrational behavior. ~ Erika Johansen,
65:Then the town will rise to his hand," I whispered. "One for the sea, and one for the land. ~ Jordan L Hawk,
66:Eight days ago, we were the toast of the town. Eight days later we're Thanksgiving turkeys. ~ Wayne Gretzky,
67:It beareth the name of Vanity Fair, because the town where 't is kept is lighter than vanity. ~ John Bunyan,
68:I come from the Town of Stupidity; it lieth about four degrees beyond the City of Destruction. ~ John Bunyan,
69:So live that you wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip. — Will Rogers ~ Anonymous,
70:The pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
71:Everything today has been heavy and brown. Bring me a Unicorn to ride about the town. ~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh,
72:Beyond the town, darker than dark, King Haggard's castle teetered like a lunatic on stilts... ~ Peter S Beagle,
73:Screw what Mom and Dad think. Screw the rest of the town. Screw perfection. This girl is mine. ~ Katie McGarry,
74:Being a teacher at a restaurant in the town where you lived was a little like being a TV star... ~ Meg Wolitzer,
75:I'm kind of the town pump. I think I have a pretty good ear for what sounds good in this style. ~ Michael McKean,
76:When I first came to the Town—it was in the spring—the beasts had short fur of varying colors. ~ Haruki Murakami,
77:I felt as though I were following the headsman to the town square to receive my just punishment. ~ Orest Stelmach,
78:Live in such a way that you would not be ashamed to sell your parrot to the town gossip. —Will Rogers ~ Cleo Coyle,
79:I always see about six scuffles a night when I come to San Francisco. That's one of the town's charms. ~ Errol Flynn,
80:I kind of moved out of the town I grew up in as quick as I could. I left right after high school. ~ Rosemarie DeWitt,
81:I've had tonsilitis and I'm not sure if I can sing on Saturday [whilst out on the town in the West End] ~ Leona Lewis,
82:Within three months I had gone from being this black sheep of the town to suddenly becoming a pop star. ~ Alison Moyet,
83:Apparently Super Max was pretty content with taking care of half the town, such was his wonderfulness. ~ Kristen Ashley,
84:I smashed into the town moose, my whole face is swollen, I lost my suede boots and the car is demolished. ~ Marie Force,
85:Think of the country mouse and of the town mouse, and of the alarm and trepidation of the town mouse. ~ Marcus Aurelius,
86:My mother was the prettiest woman in the town. He was a bit older than her. They made me. And he split. ~ Pierce Brosnan,
87:As though with everything else in my life, the town means more to me than I ever did, ever could, to it. The ~ Lyla Payne,
88:Never had the town been rocked by so many outlandish escapades. One of Byron’s servants stabbed a man. ~ Charlotte Gordon,
89:With her head bent low into the breeze, she trudged through the town as quickly as the frozen footpaths ~ Patricia Gibney,
90:He’s a genius with my Prius,” says the co-owner of Left Bank Books, the town’s independent bookstore. The ~ Michael Finkel,
91:His book, The Dreams of Ada, was published by Viking in April 1987 and was greatly anticipated by the town. ~ John Grisham,
92:Ifemelu liked the name of the town, Willow; it sounded to her like freshly squeezed beginnings. ~ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie,
93:The town itself is disagreeable; but then, all around, you find an inexpressible beauty of Nature. ~ William Allan Neilson,
94:We're sort of like the town whore that's finally become an institution. We're finally becoming respectable. ~ Jerry Garcia,
95:We stopped under a railroad bridge and got out of the car to admire the river that ran through the town. ~ Jeannette Walls,
96:In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stagecoach. ~ Oliver Goldsmith,
97:It was hot, but the town had a cool, fresh, early-morning smell and it was pleasant sitting in the café. ~ Ernest Hemingway,
98:You wouldn't believe how the town was named for me. I was met by the whole population, headed by the mayor. ~ Lillie Langtry,
99:If the town were a black hole, I was the helpless star being sucked into oblivion. It was an oblivion I craved. ~ J D Stroube,
100:The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
101:It made the air heavy and the sky appear frozen, as if the town were being forced to slow down until the next hour. ~ Tara Sim,
102:The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky. ~ Anne Sexton,
103:You told all this to the people in the town,” he said. “They said they can’t do anything because of no proof. ~ China Mi ville,
104:probably (as the rumour had spread through the town, reaching her ears) one of the poor maddened turn-outs, ~ Elizabeth Gaskell,
105:The man was a hero. He had given his life to save not just his son and Gabz, but all the children of the town. ~ David Walliams,
106:The town itself is disagreeable; but then, all around, you find an inexpressible beauty of nature. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
107:In New York it seems like there's no Monday or Saturday or Sunday. The town is always moving. The vibe is great. ~ Thierry Henry,
108:No matter what you say about the town, and anything you say probably is true, there's never been another like it. ~ Hedda Hopper,
109:She launched the airplane and it caught a current and circled down toward the town, like a promise of something good. ~ A S King,
110:I am leaving the town to the invaders: increasingly numerous, mediocre, dirty, badly behaved, shameless tourists. ~ Brigitte Bardot,
111:In the town where I live, I have frequently observed a phenomenon I have come to think of as Samish-Sex Marriage. ~ George Saunders,
112:Kings may usurp thrones, republics may be established, but the town scarcely stirs. Plassan sleeps while Paris fights. ~ mile Zola,
113:The town cares for devil's work no more than it cares for God's or man's. It knew darkness. And darkness was enough. ~ Stephen King,
114:The town cares for devil’s work no more than it cares for God’s or man’s. It knew darkness. And darkness was enough. ~ Stephen King,
115:We can't wait around for Superman to come in here and save the town, save the team. It's up to us to get it done. ~ Jermaine O Neal,
116:For without you, I swear, the town Has become like a prison to me. Distraction and the mountain And the desert, all I desire. ~ Rumi,
117:Folks who work here are professors. Don't replace all the knowers with guessors keep'em open they're the ears of the town ~ Tom Waits,
118:Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville.

Tears are shed in my heart like the rain on the town. ~ Paul Verlaine,
119:If we got rid of everybody in Washington who sold access for donations, then the town would be empty. But it's unseemly. ~ David Brooks,
120:I did my New York debut at 21. It was “On the Town” at the George Gershwin Theatre. New York is my artistic home. ~ Jesse Tyler Ferguson,
121:Savannah is amazing with the town squares and the hanging moss and the French Colonial houses. It's brutally romantic. ~ David Morrissey,
122:The town was Newport, Rhode Island, U.S.A., Earth, Solar System, Milky Way. The walls were those of the Rumfoord estate. ~ Kurt Vonnegut,
123:instead of venting my anger, which is really just hurt dressed up for a night on the town, I ask if anyone needs a drink. ~ Ron Currie Jr,
124:People almost always imagine that life is going to be better in town and that the streets of the town are paved with gold. ~ Desmond Tutu,
125:Texas and football. Almost as big as God and Country. Sometimes it was bigger, depending on the town and that year’s team. ~ Sam Sisavath,
126:We made an amazing video about Newtown's struggle to figure out what to do with all the letters and art sent to the town. ~ Clara Jeffery,
127:As mayor of Burlington, I helped establish two sister-city programs. One was with the town of Puerto Cabezas in Nicaragua. ~ Bernie Sanders,
128:Mulberry Garden, now the only place of refreshment about the town for persons of the best quality to be exceeding cheated at. ~ John Evelyn,
129:the atmosphere of the town was an artificial creation whose existence relied on the subtle attentions of its inhabitants. ~ Jeff VanderMeer,
130:They moved out of Jena early the next morning, with Prince Louis and the rest of the advance guard, for the town of Saalfeld, ~ Naomi Novik,
131:For without you, I swear, the town
Has become like a prison to me.
Distraction and the mountain
And the desert, all I desire. ~ Rumi,
132:Perhaps no place in any community is so totally democratic as the town library. The only entrance requirement is interest. ~ Lady Bird Johnson,
133:The sun is lowering below the lines of the mountains that encase the town and stars sparkle across the sky like dragonflies. ~ Jessica Sorensen,
134:I still think we ought to just hire the town and take it with us. Then we’d have a good barkeep and someone to play the pianer. ~ Larry McMurtry,
135:The leaning of sophists toward the bypaths of apocrypha is a constant quantity. The highroads are dreary but they lead to the town. ~ James Joyce,
136:But she rarely did so, for every one in the town was ready to look after her as being an idiot, and so specially dear to God. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
137:Making Saudi Arabia a world judge on women's rights and religious freedom would be like naming a pyromaniac as the town fire chief. ~ Hillel Neuer,
138:He heard him long before he saw him limping slightly, his shoe scuffing against the ground in the smoke that crawled through the town. ~ Tara Brown,
139:In a few years you may find a Starbucks, which will bring the town what it yearns for: prepackaged, preapproved mainstream hipness. ~ Gillian Flynn,
140:I love hearing stories, telling stories, sharing stories. I've shared 37,000 on the Oprah show! Every day I was like the town crier. ~ Oprah Winfrey,
141:So, for me the town hall meetings are really an opportunity to engage in two-way dialogue with people, and they've been very helpful. ~ Jack Markell,
142:Steam rose from the river, from the building rooftops, from the mud, from the trees surrounding the town—antediluvian jungle. I ~ Richard Paul Russo,
143:From the town of Lincoln Nebraska with a sawed off .410 on my lap, through the Badlands of Wyoming I killed everything in my path. ~ Bruce Springsteen,
144:The town maps in the 1939 [Michelin] guide were so accurate they were used by the Allied forces in 1944 during the liberation of France. ~ Peter Mayle,
145:Your father died the night the town believed he did, and my captor was born from his ashes. Two men, not alike, strangers to each other. ~ Julie Berry,
146:And in the town too were innumerable white cantinhas, where one could drink forever on credit, with the door open and the wind blowing. ~ Malcolm Lowry,
147:[B]aseball is diffracted by the town and ballpark where it is played... Does baseball, like a liquid, take the shape of its container? ~ Thomas Boswell,
148:There is a mountain range behind the town, called the Sierra de Sangre de Cristo. It means the 'Blood of Christ Mountains' in Spanish. ~ Douglas Preston,
149:For some reason, Joey seemed to think that the entire male population of the town left Tammie and me alone because of his presence only. ~ Claire Farrell,
150:TO BE AN EXECUTIVE IS NOT A FUNCTION OF PUTTING TIES,WEARING SUIT NOR CRUZIN AROUND THE TOWN,IS A FUNCTION OF BEIN SOMEONE WHO EXECUTE PLAN. ~ Sam Adeyemi,
151:colossal, billion-dollar data center built by Apple, Inc., in the town of Maiden, North Carolina, had created only fifty full-time positions. ~ Martin Ford,
152:Our Father who art in nature...must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys. ~ John Steinbeck,
153:In life I've rung all changes through,
Run every pleasure down,
'Midst each excess of folly too,
And lived with half the town. ~ Anthony Trollope,
154:I was at the first Minor Threat show, and you could tell, 'This band is going to be the king of the town.' It was obvious. They were so good. ~ Henry Rollins,
155:some of his students and colleagues from Oklahoma. They gathered together the death certificates from residents of the town, going back as ~ Malcolm Gladwell,
156:They bowed down to him rather, because he was all of these things, and then again he was all of these things because the town bowed down. ~ Zora Neale Hurston,
157:As it was, the lethal mustiness blended hideously with the town’s general fishy odour and persistently focussed one’s fancy on death and decay. ~ H P Lovecraft,
158:Boston was a great town to go to college in. Maybe that's why there's so many colleges there. I love the town, and I loved Boston University. ~ Jason Alexander,
159:I don't know what brings you up here, but to me the town looks prettier and the people look nicer and even the worst of them look almost kind. ~ Jennifer Niven,
160:I was a big rugby player and into my motocross, so I lost loads of weight and a rumor went around the town that I had picked up a drug addiction! ~ John Newman,
161:The only difference between Las Vegas and Washington, D.C. is that at least Vegas has the decency to admit the town is full of hookers and crooks. ~ Glenn Beck,
162:I've become one of those people who prowl around at night in their cars. God, I am the town's Boo Radley, just like in To Kill A Mockingbird. ~ Kathryn Stockett,
163:There is no life here but the slow death of days, and so when the evil falls on the town, its coming seems almost preordained, sweet and morphic. ~ Stephen King,
164:Winter walks up and down the town swinging his censer, but no smoke or sweetness comes from it, only the sour, metallic frankness of salt and snow. ~ Mary Oliver,
165:George Jessel’s newest pick-me-up which is receiving attention from the town’s paragraphers is called a Bloody Mary: half tomato juice, half vodka. ~ Lucius Beebe,
166:You think of outside your room, of the streets of the town, the lonely little squares over by the station, of those winter Saturdays all alike. ~ Marguerite Duras,
167:I think the first time I ever wore a tuxedo was when I played at the Talk Of The Town in 1967, because it was a nightclub and that was the thing to do. ~ Tom Jones,
168:Ninety percent of the time, I'm wearing imaginary people's clothing. I don't feel a huge pressure to go out and like, hit the town, hit the boutiques. ~ Lucas Neff,
169:When people read his books they have an uncontrollable desire to hang the author in the town square. I can’t think of a higher honor for a writer. ~ Roberto Bolano,
170:When people read his books they have an uncontrollable desire to hang the author in the town square. I can’t think of a higher honor for a writer. ~ Roberto Bola o,
171:The elections have a different platform, the town hall is the platform for it. But the other question behind all this is should I run for president? ~ Werner Herzog,
172:This is like the town council just hired a new marshal to clean up the town, I guarantee you, if I stay here long enough, they'll get rid of me, too. ~ Bobby Knight,
173:I hear they whip you for stealing."
"Or put you in jail, or sell you into slavery, or kill you, depending on the town and what mood they're in. ~ Orson Scott Card,
174:Mr. Hardy looked out the window of his second-floor study as if searching for the answer somewhere in the town of Bayport, where the Hardys lived. ~ Franklin W Dixon,
175:Strange how my body and its purity have become the town's sacred possessions, yet they spare me no pity. It's as if they were the ones wronged, not me. ~ Julie Berry,
176:For the sight of the angry weather saddens my soul and the sight of the town, sitting like a bereaved mother beneath layers of ice, oppresses my heart. ~ Khalil Gibran,
177:It's like squeezing tripe: nothing comes out,' he said, meaning the Colasberna brothers, their partners, the town in general and Sicily as a whole. ~ Leonardo Sciascia,
178:My town was all-white and shut down Section 8 housing because they didn't want black people to move into the town. And I thought that was wrong - duh. ~ Cecily McMillan,
179:Rawlins was carried again to Cardiff, to a loathsome prison in the town, called Cockmarel, where he passed his time in prayer, and in the singing of Psalms. ~ John Foxe,
180:accepted Randy’s offer to sit beside him at the town’s Fourth of July ice cream social and band concert, he’d marched up the gazebo steps and announced his ~ JoAnn Durgin,
181:At eight o'clock the street filled up with Italians, as though the town had been turned upside down like a sack and its people spilled into the morning. ~ Charles McCarry,
182:Bob Taylor and I playing brothers. And I was a Mexican bandit. And he was the sheriff of the town. And we loved each other. We loved each other very much. ~ Anthony Quinn,
183:to seek a more peaceful residence in a provincial town, provided always the town shall afford me the means of living, bread, a bed, books, rest, and solitude. ~ Anonymous,
184:ninety miles west of the city near the town of Bangor, Pennsylvania. The following year, fifteen Rosetans left Italy for America, and several members of ~ Malcolm Gladwell,
185:You haven’t been to Cavalleria Rusticana? I thought it too lovely! He’s giving a concert this evening, but we can’t go because it’s to be in the town hall. ~ Marcel Proust,
186:As for seeing the town, the idea never occurred to him, for he was the sort of Englishman who, on his travels, gets his servant to do his sightseeing for him. ~ Jules Verne,
187:Then I walked down the street toward Angel’s Flight, wondering what I would do that day. But there was nothing to do, and so I decided to walk around the town. ~ John Fante,
188:There can be no better grounding for a lifetime as an author than to see humanity in all its various guises through the lens of the reporter for the town. ~ Terry Pratchett,
189:A man of correct insight among those who are duped and deluded resembles one whose watch is right while all the clocks in the town give the wrong time. ~ Arthur Schopenhauer,
190:Get out and see the town. Get to know the land, the people." Her eyes sparkled with joy. "It's a beautiful place. Full of life. Everywhere I look, I see God. ~ Jenny B Jones,
191:Most of the town couldn't stand Momma, yet would show up because it was the proper thing to do then proceed to judge us on the pageantry of her burial. ~ Denise Grover Swank,
192:Strangely enough, the first character in Fried Green Tomatoes was the cafe, and the town. I think a place can be as much a character in a novel as the people. ~ Fannie Flagg,
193:In Taiji, the town was malefic and the people could be horrid, but the cove’s most demanding challenges were personal ones: How do you survive your own sadness? ~ Susan Casey,
194:Norman Maclean once wrote that “when you work outside of a town for a couple of months you get feeling a lot better than the town and very hostile toward it. ~ Philip Connors,
195:The town was made of cubical buildings with steep roofs, each one painted a bright primary color that through the long winters was said to be cheering. ~ Kim Stanley Robinson,
196:[Donna] Brazile had sent an email to a top [Hillary] Clinton aide the day before the town hall warning of just that question with almost the identical wording. ~ Donna Brazile,
197:...he was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town he had left, yet does not say 'The town is near,' but turns his eyes upon the distant soaring ranges. ~ Thomas Wolfe,
198:They drove a long way through the snowy woods, till they came to the town of Pepin. Mary and Laura had seen it once before, but it looked different now. ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder,
199:39 “No, go back to your family, and tell them everything God has done for you.” So he went all through the town proclaiming the great things Jesus had done for him. ~ Anonymous,
200:The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things I'd done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me. ~ John Green,
201:and she rarely forgot that while her grammar and accent were above the town standard, she wore a plain cap, cooked the family dinner, and darned all the stockings. ~ George Eliot,
202:But you can't ever live in the place you dream about, the town you long for. ...the moment you become conscious of your desire, and then fulfill it, it evaporates. ~ Haven Kimmel,
203:His long journey to school typically took him about half an hour. The school was a mile away, and despite the small size of the town, that was still quite a walk. ~ Ryan C Thomas,
204:where Route 119 became Bannerman Road, named after the town’s longest serving sheriff, an unlucky fellow who had come to a bad end on one of the town’s back roads. ~ Stephen King,
205:Within a year Ivan Dmitritch was completely forgotten in the town, and his books, heaped up by his landlady in a sledge in the shed, were pulled to pieces by boys. ~ Anton Chekhov,
206:Isn’t there perhaps something the matter with you and me? (May I join you in the honor of having something the matter?)” “(Yes, thanks.) No, I think it’s the town. ~ Sinclair Lewis,
207:The town knew about darkness.
It knew about the darkness that comes on the land when rotation hides the land from the sun, and about the darkness of the human soul ~ Stephen King,
208:..my father was the best man in the world and probably worth a hundred of me, but he didn't understand me. The town he lived in and the town I lived in were not the same. ~ Bob Dylan,
209:Danny strolled to the town common, sat on one of the benches in Teenytown and took one of the bottles out of the bag, looking down on it like Hamlet with Yorick's skull ~ Stephen King,
210:The town, the team, it's a family. That has helped. For some people who have had to deal with some of the problems I have had to deal with don't have football as an out. ~ Brett Favre,
211:(I'm fucking the grave, I thought, I'm
bringing the dead back to life, marvelous
so marvelous
like eating cold olives at 3 am
with half the town on fire) ~ Charles Bukowski,
212:It was a strange combination to absorb - the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London. ~ Stephenie Meyer,
213:Paths you don’t use, houses you don’t use and even towns and cities you don’t use will be the path of nature, the house of nature, the town and the city of nature! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
214:Hey, if you decided to tear up the town, you can always use the leftover bread from my breakfast in place of your cane. I'm pretty sure it's hard enough to bust heads. ~ Jennifer Rardin,
215:The world was full of life, more life than they could hold back with guns or fences; it came into the town at night; it seduced the children and year by year crept closer. ~ C J Cherryh,
216:Alright next question: I saw someone walking a guinea pig on a leash down Main Street of the town I live in Is this normal behavior I should copy?” “Oh gosh. No. Tell them NO! ~ K M Shea,
217:In our language rhyme is a barrel. A barrel of dynamite. The line is a fuse. The line smoulders to the end and explodes; and the town is blown sky-high in a stanza. ~ Vladimir Mayakovsky,
218:The town draws a veil over certain events. This is a small community, where everyone knows that sometimes the contract to forget is as important as any promise to remember. ~ M L Stedman,
219:At one time it was reported about the town that our little circle was a hotbed of nihilism, profligacy, and godlessness, and the rumour gained more and more strength. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
220:Here is the difference between Dante, Milton, and me. They wrote about hell and never saw the place. I wrote about Chicago after looking the town over for years and years. ~ Carl Sandburg,
221:It is desirable that a man live in all respects so simply and preparedly that if an enemy take the town... he can walk out the gate empty-handed and without anxiety. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
222:By the time Doc Holliday rode into Tombstone in 1880, the town already had an estimated 110 saloons, 14 gambling halls, a plentiful number of brothels, and 1 bowling alley. ~ Bill O Reilly,
223:No, not officially. But you know what they say about Gunshot: the population never goes up and never goes down, because everytime a woman gets pregnant, a man leaves the town. ~ John Green,
224:It is these black clothes," said Strange. "I am like a leftover piece of funeral, condemned to walk about the Town, frightening people into thinking of their own mortality. ~ Susanna Clarke,
225:On the top of the hill looking out over the town I wanted to see further than anybody had seen. That wasn't arrogance; it was desire. I was all desire, desire for life. ~ Jeanette Winterson,
226:Well, that's the tackiest color I've ever seen, and we'll have half the town talking about us, but if it can lift May's heart like that, I guess she aught to live inside it. ~ Sue Monk Kidd,
227:I still don't get it" Coach Hedge muttered as they roamed the centre aisle. "They named a whole town after Leo's table?"
"I think the town was here first, Coach" Nico said. ~ Rick Riordan,
228:The best thing we're put here for's to see; The strongest thing that's given us to see with's a telescope. Someone in every town, seems to me, owes it to the town to keep one. ~ Robert Frost,
229:The town office building has a giant filing cabinet full of death certificates that say choked to death on his own anger or suffocated from unexpressed feelings of unhappiness. ~ Miriam Toews,
230:Wouldn’t hear of it. Long as you don’t need me to drive a getaway car for your bank robbery I’ll happily take you wherever you need to go. Think of it as the town welcome wagon. ~ Neil Gaiman,
231:Everyone looked at me, because I was the most beautiful woman in the town. I don’t say this to boast, because there is nothing in it to boast of. It was nothing I did myself. ~ Madeline Miller,
232:Hester received Punishment Flair. She was sent an A to wear upon her chest and told she must stand before the town with her baby, Pearl.
Hester is not enjoying her flair. ~ Sarah Schmelling,
233:Matt and I have set a date. Matt and I will tie the knot New Years Day in the town of Swampscott, Massachusetts. Reserve your hotel rooms now. I will be having a gay marriage. ~ Ben Affleck,
234:There was an Old Person of Brussels, Who lived upon Brandy and Mussels; When he rushed through the town, he knocked most people down, Which distressed all the people of Brussels. ~ Edward Lear,
235:I think I was very shy and introverted when I was younger, and yet, when I got in front of the camera or went out on the town, I was able to go out half-naked and do anything. ~ Marisa Berenson,
236:Just when you think you know who you are, life has this way of throwing a curveball and landing you back in the town of confusion; population: a vast majority of the human race. ~ Connor Franta,
237:that he live in all respects so compactly and preparedly that, if an enemy take the town, he can, like the old philosopher, walk out the gate empty-handed without anxiety. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
238:And on every rooftop stood unimaginably tall television antennae. These silver feelers groped about in the air, in defiance of the mountains that formed a backdrop to the town. ~ Haruki Murakami,
239:I don't need them," I whispered, squinting out at the town, the shadows. "I don't need anybody." It was true, maybe, but I didn't like how my words sounded more mean than strong. ~ Dan Gemeinhart,
240:After all, many people came here for vaguely therapeutic reasons, believing there were medicines dispensed by the very mood of the town’s quaint streets and its sea-licked shores. ~ Thomas Ligotti,
241:Basically, I was pretty ostracized in my hometown. Me and a few other guys were the town freaks- and there were many occasions when we were dodging getting beaten up ourselves. ~ Bruce Springsteen,
242:I guarantee you that two directors that are any good can take the same story, change the name of the characters, change the name of the town, and make an entirely different picture. ~ Howard Hawks,
243:In the bare room under the old library on the hill in the town at the tip of the small peninsula on the cold island so far from everything else, I lived among strangers and birds. ~ Rebecca Solnit,
244:If one really wants to learn, one has to decide what is important. Spending an evening on the town? Attending a ball game? Or learning something that can be with you your life long? ~ Louis L Amour,
245:It makes no difference to the audience. For the few minutes we see the town, we get lost in the story. It all appears real. Whether it’s a façade or a ghost town, the illusion works. • ~ Jake Knapp,
246:People are so helpful. People will stop what they're doing to show you something, to walk with you through a section of the town, or explain how a suspension bridge really works. ~ David McCullough,
247:Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounce it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. ~ William Shakespeare,
248:For splendor, there must somewhere be rigid economy. That the head of the house may go brave, the members must be plainly clad, and the town must save that the State may spend. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
249:From whatever you wish to know and measure you must take your leave, at least for a time. Only when you have left the town can yousee how high its towers rise above the houses. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
250:the philanthropic banker his brother-in-law, who predominated so much in the town that some called him a Methodist, others a hypocrite, according to the resources of their vocabulary; ~ George Eliot,
251:There were so many dead their spirits could no longer be contained in the darkness, and, like deer, their population had spilled over into parts of the town reserved for the living. ~ Daniel Wallace,
252:A hundred francs," thought Fantine. "But in what trade can one earn a hundred sous a day?" "Come!" said she, "let us sell what is left." The unfortunate girl became a woman of the town. ~ Victor Hugo,
253:I grew up in a suburban situation and I was constantly looking for the central, the town. I grew up craving. "Where's the town? Where's the people?" You get into a very isolated shell. ~ Debra Granik,
254:In the town, children go down on their backs in the  drifted snow and move their arms and, when they rise,  leave behind them impressions, mysterious and ominous,  of winged creatures. ~ John Gardner,
255:On crack. It was as if the town had been placed in a blender with a giant disco ball, shaken with a Mardi Gras parade, and then had vomited a pile of glitter and tinsel all over itself. ~ Gina Damico,
256:The slaughter of Oxford’s dogs and cats had been well intentioned, but the result had been an explosion in the town’s population of rats, with few surviving predators to keep them down, ~ Ann Swinfen,
257:And in general, the residents of the town wondered why they all felt hollow just beneath the throat, the result of missing something they had never been able to name in the first place. ~ Jodi Picoult,
258:That night, Hallie was relieved when Linda Soares, the town librarian who'd spent years trying to impress Nick with her low-cut shirts and book recommendations, joined them for dinner. ~ Patry Francis,
259:The superb grottoes or caves of Adjuntah, which rival those of Ellora, and perhaps in general beauty surpass them, occupy the lower end of a small valley about half a mile from the town. ~ Jules Verne,
260:This was a place where it was impossible to borrow a book, attend a concert, say a prayer, consult a parish record or give to charity. In short, the town was an end state of consumerism. ~ J G Ballard,
261:Nobody knew me at Buckton. Clem had chosen the town because of that; and besides, even if I had wimp out, there was not enough gas to help me going further north. - I spit on your graves , ~ Boris Vian,
262:We're hoping that this will also be the key to starting community events in a place where the whole community can come together. We've been working with the town on the total renovation. ~ Andy Kaufman,
263:Nevertheless, he had offered her a home under his own roof, which Lavinia accepted with the alacrity of a woman who had spent the ten years of her married life in the town of Poughkeepsie. ~ Henry James,
264:There is a sense of violation in learning that, unbeknownst to me, my mind has maintained such a strong connection with the town, as if my brain's been sneaking around behind my back. ~ Jonathan Tropper,
265:There was an exciting atmosphere about the place that uplifted her. It was as if she could actually feel the accelerated steady pulse of the town's heart beating in time with her own. ~ Margaret Mitchell,
266:while Mr. Edwards was in the town, and they had no other minister to preach to them, they carried on public worship among themselves, and without any preaching, rather than invite him. ~ Jonathan Edwards,
267:Most think that they are above being supported by the town; but it oftener happens that they are not above supporting themselves by dishonest means, which would be more disreputable. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
268:Once a Altman's film has been in a town, it kind of wrecks the town. It doesn't even matter what the film is because, suddenly, everybody's hip and stores start doubling prices or whatever. ~ Debra Winger,
269:Our goal was Munich in Bavaria in southern Germany, the town where Hitler had gotten his start in a beer hall. But on the way, we made a stop to liberate the concentration camp at Dachau. ~ Charles Brandt,
270:We look out upon the Town. The Clocktower, the River, the Bridges, the Wall, and smoke. All is drawn under a vast snow-flecked sky, an enormous cascade falling over the End of the World. ~ Haruki Murakami,
271:Equality was not freedom, it had only been the mistaken yearning to become like the people of the town. And who wanted to become like the very ones feared and hated? Envy was not freedom. ~ Nadine Gordimer,
272:I have met the town idiot, who declares that all the automobiles in the world are of less value than a single human life. I have met the most harmless inhabitant of Pine Beach: a wise man. ~ Vilhelm Moberg,
273:One did not walk around the town with one’s birth certificate stuck on one’s back; why then should clothes have their labels on the outside? It was a very vulgar display, she felt, ~ Alexander McCall Smith,
274:I love leather and it's great to be a bad girl at times. But there is a time and place for everything. When I'm with Grandma it's flowers, and when I'm out on the town scoping guys, you know. ~ Eliza Dushku,
275:Of course the town fed off all the sweat and labour of the miners and the poor selectors on the plains below but in those grand stone buildings they could bankrupt or hang you as they pleased. ~ Peter Carey,
276:Three fishers went sailing away to the west, Away to the west as the sun went down; Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town. ~ Charles Kingsley,
277:you’ll learn how to recognize when you’re living in the country called “Sad” in the town called “Victimville” on the street called “Hurt Lane” so you don’t stay there longer than you need to. ~ Lisa Nichols,
278:City's just a jungle; more games to play Trapped in the heart of it, tryin' to get away I was raised in the country, I been workin' in the town I been in trouble ever since I set my suitcase down ~ Bob Dylan,
279:It had enough room for all of us at a price we could easily pay off in ten years or so, which wasn’t too bad, considering that it was in Key West and the town was founded by rapacious pirates. ~ Jeff Lindsay,
280:The market consumes half of Kolaghat's day; after it closes, even though it is only mid-afternoon, a cloud of lethargy descends over the town, until the market reopens the next morning. ~ Samanth Subramanian,
281:Once in 1919, when I was traveling at night by train, I wrote a short story. In the town where the train stopped, I took the story to the publisher of the newspaper who published the story. ~ Mikhail Bulgakov,
282:Apparently the town, a triumph of post-war socialist planning was a sewer, full of tattooed beasts and violent zombies, with vomit and blood frothing in the gutters. I couldn't wait to see it. ~ Hanif Kureishi,
283:I remembered how is disheartening and dreadful when you're seeing it for the first time. I thought of my parents and the town where I was born, and suddenly everything around me seemed less real. ~ Daniel Kine,
284:The energy of the town threatened to suck me into it, and realized how much weaker I was than before. Everyone has trouble living. I know that. But the present me is nearly powerless in this city. ~ Inio Asano,
285:I don't want to do anything to embarrass my family or my church because the town that I come from is so small. There are certain things that I just can't be part of because of my foundation. ~ Michelle Williams,
286:It is not the desire of new acquisitions, but the glory of conquests, that fires the soldier's breast; as indeed the town is seldom worth much, when it has suffered the devastations of a siege. ~ Samuel Johnson,
287:Red Hook Road made me happy, and happy to be alive. It took me out of my home on the coast of South Carolina, placed me in the town along Red hook Road, and changed me the way good books always do. ~ Pat Conroy,
288:One of the peculiar children's perspective out of time allows him to take minute interest in every resident of the town and to chronicle everything we did for the entire day he lives over and over. ~ Ransom Riggs,
289:The town had a faint air of benign neglect that only added to its charm: a seaside village with white clapboard buildings, seagulls wheeling overhead, uneven brick sidewalks and local shops. They ~ Douglas Preston,
290:A short distance away, just outside the town of Harvard, Bronson Alcott’s Fruitlands dream lives on in a way he could not have imagined, as an intriguing museum and a place of exceptional beauty. ~ Geraldine Brooks,
291:My parents were working in a hospital in Memphis. But I didn't live there for any length of time that I remember. The first thing I remember is the town in Mississippi that I live in now, Charleston. ~ Morgan Freeman,
292:We even switched to a newly-formed church across the town that gave one hundred and twenty trading stamps each time we attended. (We now worship a brown and white chicken with a sunburst on its chest.) ~ Erma Bombeck,
293:WHEN WE EVENTUALLY ARRIVED in Venice late in the afternoon, we had to park the car in a large lot before we were allowed to enter the town itself, because Venice doesn’t have a single proper street. ~ Jostein Gaarder,
294:There was a pleasantness to the air and a spirit about the town that did not come from its color, but from some inner, tasty citrus quality. It made Alexia wonder fancifully if cities could have souls. ~ Gail Carriger,
295:Traces of him showed around the child's eyes and jaw. There was the same two-stage smile, and the same frown when answering a question. To the town women she was perfectly polite.
She was called Ellen. ~ Murray Bail,
296:Fat Angie led the pack of runners as the town went from yawn to full awake. Dryfalls was abuzz with the sight. Snow sticking to the sidewalks, windshields, rooftops. Still they all ran. Together. ~ E E Charlton Trujillo,
297:In the town of Ravella, where I have a house, when the Supreme Court said that an act of sodomy, as they describe it, could not be committed between a man and his wife, the entire square burst into laughter. ~ Gore Vidal,
298:There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There's a little marble cross below the town, There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the yellow god forever gazes down. ~ J Milton Hayes,
299:Houses do fall, people are drowned and left rotting, but the general outline of the town persists, swelling here, shrinking there, like some low but indestructible form of life. Inland, the prospect alters. ~ Noah Lukeman,
300:In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone. ~ Carson McCullers,
301:I think that we have a unique opportunity as performers and artists to be kind of the town criers and also to get more people to listen, so that's a blessing and a responsibility that I take very seriously. ~ Bonnie Raitt,
302:Jacob is like a sex-starved woman in her mid-thirties, so he can’t possibly understand why you wouldn’t want to take a ride on the town bike.”

I glanced at Jacob, and he just shrugged and said, “Very true. ~ J Lynn,
303:Danzhol. The one with the marriage proposal and the objections to the town charter in central Monsea. "Bacon," Bitterblue muttered. "Bacon!" she repeated, then carefully made her way up the spiral stairs. ~ Kristin Cashore,
304:If there were a silent observer, Mirabelle would be seen as a carefree, happy girl who is preparing for a night on the town. But in reality, these activities are the physical manifestations of her stillness. ~ Steve Martin,
305:There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain. ~ Charles Dickens,
306:Excite the soul, and the weather and the town and your condition in the world all disappear; the world itself loses its solidity, nothing remains but the soul and the Divine Presence in which it lives. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
307:Roswell, New Mexico, the town where an alien spaceship had supposedly crashed and been covered up by the Air Force.  HOME OF THE MOST BIZARRE CONSPIRACY IN U.S. HISTORY, a sign on one of the tourist traps said. ~ Mike Wells,
308:She hurried to the front door, opened it, and stepped onto the porch. Dark cumulus clouds hovered low over the town, and a warm wind whipped through the trees, carrying stray leaves and dust through the street. ~ Ted Dekker,
309:Soon you give up, don't look for her anymore, either in the town or at night or in the daytime.
Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened. ~ Marguerite Duras,
310:The rain swirls over the trees and roofs of the town, and the parched earth soaks it up, exuding a fragrance that comes only once in a year, the fragrance of quenched earth, the most exhilarating of all smells. ~ Ruskin Bond,
311:(Ali was horrified and enraged when in March of 2001 the Taliban dynamited the stone Buddhas that had stood watch over the town for centuries. What man had the right to write the future by blowing up the past?) ~ Doug Stanton,
312:I didn't come from any kind of academic background, but I lived in a college town and I knew people who weren't without pretense. There was this idea in the town that if something was European it would be good. ~ Sarah Vowell,
313:Maybe we should try not to burn down any more fields,” I mentioned at dinner one night after the operation to re-seize the town. “Maybe they shouldn’t put out IEDs in the first place,” was the unanimous reply. ~ Brian Castner,
314:She was the avatar of the town as it used to be in some Old South utopia that only existed if you were white and well-to-do and Baptist and didn’t notice how folks who weren’t all of those things had fared. ~ Joshilyn Jackson,
315:But when it comes down to actually packing and leaving, I can't bring myself to do it. Can you see what I mean?If the town's really going to die, then the urge to stay on and see the town to its end wins out. ~ Haruki Murakami,
316:The forest, not the town, offers the safest sanctuary and it is grandfathers who have been more exposed to modernity than their grandchildren. I can think of nowhere else on the planet where the same can be true. ~ Tim Butcher,
317:The day I was engaged to be married, I was fourteen. I had no say in the decision. The town’s matchmaker told Papa, “The only medicine that will help your mother regain her health will be news of Willow’s marriage. ~ Anchee Min,
318:The town of GUILDFORD, which (taken with its environs) I, who have seen so many, many towns, think the prettiest, and, taken all together, the most agreeable and most happy-looking, that I ever saw in my life. ~ William Cobbett,
319:The town of Split grew up around…” He faltered when he looked at Leo, who was mimicking taking notes with an air pencil. “Go on, Professor Grace!” he said, wide-eyed. “I wanna get an A on the test.” “Shut up, Leo. ~ Rick Riordan,
320:And I rose
In a rainy autumn
And walked abroad in shower of all my days
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke. ~ Dylan Thomas,
321:There wasn't even a movie theater in the town. Nothing. Not even any fast food chains of any kind. Regardless, I knew that I was going to leave and become an actor, and be in film and television, and I've done it. ~ Kristen Hager,
322:The shepherds will give you milk, cheese, and chestnuts; and you will have nothing to fear from the law or from the dead man’s relatives, except when you have to go down to the town to replenish your ammunition. ~ Prosper M rim e,
323:If you dissect my career as an actor, and you can pull out more than enough of those type of movies, from The Hurt Locker and The Town and so on and so forth, and that's kind of where our wheelhouse is. We love it. ~ Jeremy Renner,
324:In America, people rarely stay in the town where they grew up, rarely stay in close proximity to their parents throughout their lives. You rarely find parents in their old age being taken care of by their children. ~ Robert Benton,
325:The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown:
The Lion beat the Unicorn all around the town.
Some gave them white bread, some gave them brown:
Some gave them plum-cake and drummed them out of town. ~ Lewis Carroll,
326:As a kid growing up in a small town in Washington State, my only exposure to New York City was through movies. The town with its towering skyscrapers, fascinating people and teeming energy absolutely captivated me. ~ Robert Osborne,
327:In the dark, I get a glimpse of myself from way above, like in a movie. I've become one of those people who prowl around at night in their cars. God, I am the town's Boo Radley, just like in To Kill a Mockingbird ~ Kathryn Stockett,
328:Out in the fjord I dragged myself up at once, wet with fever and exhaustion, and gazed landwards, and bade farewell for the present to the town – to Christiania, where the windows gleamed so brightly in all the homes. ~ Knut Hamsun,
329:She let out a small choked sound that might have been a laugh or genuine distress. “Café…Nirvana?” He didn’t try to hold back his amusement at her shock. “That’s right.” “Café Nirvana, in the town of Little Paradise? ~ Jill Shalvis,
330:the town of Sentinel was becoming vital, acquiring a consciousness of the future, a sense of belonging. A strong land growing, a land which would give birth to strong sons who could build and plant and harvest. Fitz ~ Louis L Amour,
331:They wanted to expand the territory, so that spring they followed the Maumee River down past the ruins of Toledo, and then the Auglaize River into Ohio, and they eventually walked into the town where I lived. ~ Emily St John Mandel,
332:In one opinion, the house in which you stay, the church you attend and the town in which you reside may not determine the size of your dreams, but they can influence the rate of maturity of what you have planted. ~ Israelmore Ayivor,
333:That clock’s a lot like the town, she decided. Looks good, sounds great, pretends to be some sort of masterpiece. But it’s broken. It’s rotten and broken right down inside where its heart’s cogs meet. That’s Toll. ~ Frances Hardinge,
334:The tune here is an old-fashioned town-crowd melody--kind of like how the people from the town in The Music Man might sound if Harold Hill had brought an infant homosexual to town instead of wind instruments. ~ David Levithan,
335:They entered there into the unconscious philosophy of the town; that life was an incomprehensible marvel, since it was incessantly wasted and spent, yet none the less it lasted and endured 'like the bridge on the Drina'. ~ Ivo Andri,
336:I do not speak with any fondness but the language of coolest history, when I say that Boston commands attention as the town whichwas appointed in the destiny of nations to lead the civilization of North America. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
337:They entered there into the unconscious philosophy of the town; that life was an incomprehensible marvel, since it was incessantly wasted and spent, yet none the less it lasted and endured 'like the bridge on the Drina'. ~ Ivo Andric,
338:When the two of us were at last free and clear of our past entanglements, social and professional, Sara and I were married here, at the Town Hall, by a justice of the peace who was a distant cousin of my grandmother, ~ Michael Chabon,
339:He who can see truly in the midst of general infatuation is like a man whose watch keeps good time, when all clocks in the town in which he lives are wrong. He alone knows the right time; what use is that to him? ~ Arthur Schopenhauer,
340:Since that moment when in a house with low eaves
A doctor from the town cut the navel-string
And pears dotted with white mildew
Reposed in their nests of luxurious weeds
I have been in the hands of humans. ~ Czes aw Mi osz,
341:He is between worlds, this boy. Between the river and the town, between the hogshead and the house, between the taint of his mother and the stain of his pap. He knows some things that he can never say, not even to himself. ~ Jon Clinch,
342:I could live here,” Del said. “No, you couldn’t. You’d turn into a coot and hang out at the general store, with your fly down,” Lucas said. “You’d be known for goosing middle-aged women. You’d be the town embarrassment. ~ John Sandford,
343:Lovers of the town have been content, for the most part, to say they loved it. They do not brag about its uplifting qualities. They have none of the infernal smugness which makes the lover of the country insupportable. ~ Agnes Repplier,
344:William Cowper said that God made the country, and man made the town. If it was the opposite, there would be no country; because town can be created from the country but the country cannot be created from the town! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
345: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,
346:My boarding school had been in Sedona, Arizona. Pioneers didn't roll up on the town until the turn of the century, so it wasn't real hard to tell the difference between an ancient Yavapai potter and, say, my gym teacher. ~ Myra McEntire,
347:The boy looked down at his feet deep in the rivers, in the fields of wheat, in the wind that already was rushing him out of the town. He looked up at the old man, his eyes burning, his mouth moving, but no sound came out. ~ Ray Bradbury,
348:The library drew Bean down the street, as it had drawn all of us over the years. Our parents had trained us to become readers, and the town’s library had been the one place, other than church, that we visited every week. ~ Eleanor Brown,
349:The secret to holding power for any length of time was the occasional exercise of that power. You couldn’t expect to be king forever if you didn’t chop off a head every now and then in the town square for everyone to see. ~ Sam Sisavath,
350:When I go back to the town in summer, I walk the same streets we did and sit on the stone steps of the same warehouse and look at the ocean. Sometimes I want to cry, but the tears don't come. It's that kind of a thing. ~ Haruki Murakami,
351:In its great days Greece was not one state; it was made up of a series of little states: city-states, as they are now called. There was a single town with a tract of land around it; everyone could walk into the town in a day. ~ Anonymous,
352:It seemed most of the town rallied around her, and the attention and caring seemed to boost Nina’s spirits. It gave Sonnet hope, too. There was something powerful in the energy that came from friends and neighbors and family. ~ Susan Wiggs,
353:Marion's town slogan was "Where Main Street Meets Mountain." That was one of the reasons she'd loved the town, with the nearby woods, its colorful shops, and the feeling that time hadn't touched it the way it had the cities. ~ Cindi Madsen,
354:My parents came to this country after World War II, Jews from Czechoslovakia who had survived Auschwitz and Dachau. They settled with my sister in rural Ohio in the 1950s, where my dad became the town doctor and I was born. ~ Julie Salamon,
355:The disadvantage of men not knowing the past is that they do not know the present. History is a hill or high point of vantage, from which alone men see the town in which they live or the age in which they are living. ~ Gilbert K Chesterton,
356:Then they all heard the town clock chime. The goblin put his head to one side as if he was counting. The clock chimed twelve times, and then the goblin giggled. “Twelve o’clock,” he said, rubbing his hands together with glee. ~ Daisy Meadows,
357:and in some of the people of the town and community surrounding it, one of the characteristic diseases of the twentieth century was making its way: the suspicion that they would be greatly improved if they were somewhere else. ~ Wendell Berry,
358:That’s fine until Ethan’s sitting in his room waiting for his nightly booty call. When you’re a no-show, and he thinks that we’re out on the town, he’s going to think something happened to us and get everyone all freaked out. ~ Samantha Chase,
359:The town is mobbed out with Saturday shoppers looking for Christmas bargains. You can almost breathe in the raw greed which hangs in the air like vapour. As the late afternoon darkness falls, the lights look tacky and sinister. ~ Irvine Welsh,
360:Angelica The Doorkeeper
The falcon soars
The town's gates are even higher
Angelica's their doorkeeper
She's wound the sun round her head
She's tied the moon round her waist
She's hung herself with stars.
~ Anonymous,
361:In 1836, due to a balloting error, a cow was elected mayor of Yawnee Valley. (After earning record-high approval ratings, the cow was reelected to a second term.) A statue of that cow still stands in the center of the town square. ~ Mac Barnett,
362:nodded to the birds, a dozen of them in a black line, wise-eyed and watching. The town-square ran red. Blood in the gutters, blood on the flagstones, blood in the fountain. The corpses posed as corpses do. Some comical, reaching ~ Mark Lawrence,
363:The people of the town, though, remained strangers: I could not realize that I must be seeing some of them over and over again, it was as though each passed through only once, as though there were always new strangers coming here, ~ Lydia Davis,
364:You must not refuse to do this, or you, too, will be accused. In the town they have convicted entire families.” Richard said, “There was another carpenter, once, and he would have refused to do this thing. Him I will follow. ~ Madeleine L Engle,
365:He don’t have no orgies,” he said. “How do you know?” “Nobody’s never had no orgies in Merridale. It’s in the town code. If you have an orgy, you get hit by lightning.” “Bullshit,” said Fred Hibbs. “You ever read the town code? ~ Chet Williamson,
366:passed through the town before they knew it. Aunt Claire continued down Main Street and five minutes later she pulled onto an unmarked gravel road. The road wound through a thick stand of pine trees before ending at a grassy ~ Roderick J Robison,
367:The beach was a desert of heaps of sea and stones tumbling wildly about, and the sea did what it liked, and what it liked was destruction. It thundered at the town, and thundered at the cliffs, and brought the coast down, madly. ~ Charles Dickens,
368:The general, unable to control his irritation, will launch his men to the assault like swarming ants, with the result that one-third of his men are slain, while the town still remains untaken. Such are the disastrous effects of a siege. ~ Sun Tzu,
369:We need 21st century programs. We have to change the dynamic because the world - we're not in the Industrial Revolution anymore, where you could leave high school, go work at the town factory for 50 years, and retire with a pension. ~ Marco Rubio,
370:You know that thing when you break up with someone and you’re walking around the town where you both live and you’re just really hoping to see them? You know that you’re not supposed to see them, but there’s nothing you want more. ~ Kit Harington,
371:There is no life here but the slow death of days, and so when the evil falls on the town, its coming seems almost preordained, sweet and morphic. It is almost as though the town knows the evil was coming and the shape it would take. ~ Stephen King,
372:This visit has compacted the court's quarrels and intrigues, trapped them in the small space within the town's walls. The travelers have become as intimate with each other as cards in a pack: contiguous, but their paper eyes blind. ~ Hilary Mantel,
373:It is true that my shunning was a message from our community to my mother. Her rejection of me was a measure of the humiliation she felt. She believed until her death that I caused her to lose her friends and her stature in the town. ~ Meredith Hall,
374:The best moment in writing any book is when you just can't wait to get back to the writing, when you can't wait to re-enter that fictional place, when your fictional town feels even more real than the town where you actually live. ~ Edwidge Danticat,
375:The jail was Maycomb’s only conversation piece: its detractors said it looked like a Victorian privy; its supporters said it gave the town a good solid respectable look, and no stranger would ever suspect that it was full of niggers. As ~ Harper Lee,
376:The town of Goslar hosted both the annual meetings of the German Bauernstand and the ideological department of the RNS. The Nordic peasant association and the newly created international office for peasant affairs were all located there. ~ Anonymous,
377:Late in February, she stood on Munich Street and watched a single giant cloud come over the hills like a white monster. It climbed the mountains. The sun was eclipsed, and in its place, a white beast with a gray heart watched the town. ~ Markus Zusak,
378:But the people cannot have wells, and so they take rain-water. Neither can they conveniently have cellars or graves, the town being built upon "made ground"; so they do without both, and few of the living complain, and none of the others. ~ Mark Twain,
379:Initiation Day. The day she had always known would come was here at last. In less than two hours, she would be standing in the town square, among the young men and women of Charlestown, many of whom she had known since childhood. ~ Andreas Christensen,
380:Angelica The Doorkeeper
The falcon soars
The town's gates are even higher
Angelica's their doorkeeper
She's wound the sun round her head
She's tied the moon round her waist
She's hung herself with stars.
~ Anonymous Americas,
381:At nine o’clock he went into an estate agent’s office and asked if they had a map of the town. He was afraid they would not give him one unless they thought he was a serious purchaser, so he came out with an armful of property details too ~ Ann Cleeves,
382:Free enterprise runs on self interest. This is socialism and it runs on loyalty . . . if people were going to live by comparison shopping, the town would go bust . . . If you live there you have to take it as a whole. That's loyalty. ~ Garrison Keillor,
383:Castle Rock Middle School was a frowning pile of red brick standing between the Post Office and the Library, a holdover from the time when the town elders didn’t feel entirely comfortable with a school unless it looked like a reformatory. ~ Stephen King,
384:In Göttingen, after the Americans took the town but before they established full control, mobs composed of women, the elderly and teenagers too young to have been called up ranged around the central area, looting shops and warehouses. ~ Frederick Taylor,
385:The Encyclopedia Qwghlmiana had made much use of the definite article—the Town, the Castle, the Hotel, the Pub, the Pier. Waterhouse stops in at the Shithouse to deal with some aftershocks of the sea voyage, and then walks up the Street ~ Neal Stephenson,
386:The fever lit on the town of Loughgillan like a flock of Death's own crows, at first perching wherever their talons could grip easily--upon the very old and the very young. And then, the birds seemed to settle anywhere and everywhere. ~ Carrie Anne Noble,
387:[Locating, from scratch, the gene related to a disease is like] trying to find a burned-out light bulb in a house located somewhere between the East and West coasts without knowing the state, much less the town or street the house is on. ~ Francis Collins,
388:Sometimes Sonny felt like he was the only human creature in the town. It was a bad feeling, and it usually came on him in the mornings early, when the streets were completely empty, the way they were one Saturday morning in late November. ~ Larry McMurtry,
389:They say that in the hour before an earthquake the clouds hang leaden in the sky, the winds slows to a hot breath, and the birds fall quiet in the trees of the town square. Yes but these are the same portents that precede lunchtime, frankly. ~ Chris Cleave,
390:As they made their way from the small marina across the campsite and through the town gate to the bakery, an orc came toward them carrying an armful of baguettes. It was accompanied by an elf dressed up as Legolas, its eyes glued to its iPhone. ~ Nina George,
391:Good roads, canals, and navigable rivers, by diminishing the expence of carriage, put the remote parts of the country more nearly upon a level with with those of the neighbourhood of the town. They are upon that the greatest of all improvements. ~ Adam Smith,
392:I grew up in church and I don't think I necessarily understood what it meant to be called into the culture and the community in the city that you're in or the town that you're in and live effectively and be informed and be gracious with people. ~ Shane Harper,
393:in the summer, it's short greens and tall greens and sometimes a smudge of other colors. In winter, it's squinty white,and sometimes deep when it looks flat. In early spring and late fall, the town gets brown and black, like an old photograph. ~ Blue Balliett,
394:Swing Song
Here I go up in my swing
Ever so high.
I am the King of the fields, and the King
Of the town.
I am the King of the earth, and the King
Of the sky.
Here I go up in my swing...
Now I go down.
~ Alan Alexander Milne,
395:To know if a tale is worth its weight in gold, check if it reveals threefold.
In your bloodstream. In the town square. In the turning of galaxies.
If it does: Gold.
If it makes you giddy just to think of the scope of the tale: Gold. ~ Amruta Patil,
396:All of Africa's resources should be declared resources of the state and managed by the nation. Our experience in Bolivia shows that when you take control of natural resources for the people of the town and village, major world change is possible. ~ Evo Morales,
397:Connor and Cameron look wide-eyed at the carnage. Cameron slowed the speedboat down to a crawl. She and Connor looked at Jason.
“Oops,” Jason said meekly. Nothing else seemed appropriate.
“Oops?” Connor shouted. “You blew up half the town. ~ Mark A Cooper,
398:Somewhere, the billion dreams of the town since its origin stirred in a maelstrom far from the reach of the shrimpers’ nets. Old dreams still burned with the power of their one night on earth, but burned deep and forbidden in regions denied to men. ~ Pat Conroy,
399:The Main Street is wide, ridiculously wide, as though when it was built, the town was expecting something amazing to arrive, a thousand people to stake their claim to a patch of soggy green land, a huge boat, Titanic-size, on the back of a truck. ~ Karen Foxlee,
400:And I wondered if these people too, who seemed able to move as they wished about the yard, were in truth constrained to behave as they did and were only pretending to be free, as we ourselves had done when we came in procession through the town. ~ Barry Unsworth,
401:Just as there was a day every spring when the women of the town, as though by some secret signal, appeared in their summer dresses before the first heat was felt, there was as well a day when winter showed the knife before the first laceration. ~ Robert Goolrick,
402:The new American finds his challenge and his love in the traffic-choked streets, skies nested in smog, choking with the acids of industry, the screech of rubber and houses leashed in against one another while the town lets wither a time and die. ~ John Steinbeck,
403:The U.S. Chamber of Commerce, the American Petroleum Institute, and other industry representatives, it turned out, had created a “grassroots” group called Energy Citizens that joined Tea Party organizations in packing the town halls with protesters. ~ Jane Mayer,
404:And at twilight, dreading to repass that ominous spot, I walked circuitously back to the town by the curving road on the south. I vaguely wished some clouds would gather, for an odd timidity about the deep skyey voids above had crept into my soul. ~ H P Lovecraft,
405:One death has already been attributed to the Glow Cloud.

But listen, it's probably nothing. If we had to shut down the town for every mysterious event that at least one death could be attributed to, we'd never have time to do anything, right? ~ Joseph Fink,
406:I don't know about the press, but I know in the town where I live everybody was aware that I was in Africa, because I remember after I got back some of the people told me that Mayor Dura of our town said he just wished they would boil me in tar. ~ Fannie Lou Hamer,
407:The grey of a bitter, starved-looking morning. The town like a mortally wounded creature, torn by shells, gashed open by bombs. Dead streets - streets of death - death in streets and their houses; yet people still able to sleep and still sleeping. ~ Radclyffe Hall,
408:"Buddha walked toward the town to gather alms, and the two samanas recognized him solely by the perfection of his repose, by the calmness of his figure, in which there was no trace of seeking, desiring, imitating, or striving, only light and peace." ~ Hermann Hesse,
409:A little instruction in the elements of chartography—a little practice in the use of the compass and the spirit level, a topographical map of the town common, an excursion with a road map—would have given me a fat round earth in place of my paper ghost. ~ Mary Antin,
410:Does not  l wisdom call?         Does not  m understanding raise her voice? 2    On  n the heights beside the way,         at the crossroads she takes her stand; 3    beside  o the gates in front of  p the town,         at the entrance of the portals she ~ Anonymous,
411:Storybooks were like gold-dust—anything you could read was treasured, back before the town had a lending library. When my grampaw got sent a storybook from his brother in Bavaria, all the Germans in town met up in the town hall to hear him read it, and ~ Neil Gaiman,
412:The world was evaporating under the sun and I was floating. The town was evolving according to the laws of some sublime chemical reaction in which matter went from solid to gas, avoiding the liquid stage, peeling off gradually as layers of mist. ~ Marie Darrieussecq,
413:he knew from studying maps in preparation: the broad avenues leading to the Brandenburg Gate. He had played Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos records many times, intricate magic alive in the air. The gate that led to the town of Brandenburg an der Havel. ~ Gregory Benford,
414:It’s 4 A.M. Nasruddin leaves the tavern and walks the town aimlessly. A policeman stops him. “Why are you out wandering the streets in the middle of the night?” “Sir,” replies Nasruddin, “if I knew the answer to that question, I would have been home hours ago! ~ Rumi,
415:For most of the hours of the day—and most of the months of the year—the sun had the town trapped deep in dust, far out in the chaparral flats, a heaven for snakes and horned toads, roadrunners and stinging lizards, but a hell for pigs and Tennesseans. ~ Larry McMurtry,
416:By the way, the town where Asklepios’ sanitarium existed, I read now, is up in the mountains. Probably the climate was and is cool and moist; I read it’s heavily wooded. I bet the stars are quite visible there. It’s the place I yearn for. Out of memory. ~ Philip K Dick,
417:And so Gotama wandered into the town to obtain alms, and the two Samanas recognized him only by his complete peacefulness of demeanor, by the stillness of his form, in which there was no seeking, no will, no counterfeit, no effort - only light and peace. ~ Hermann Hesse,
418:These monster cities we live in today are blights of modern society. They will certainly give way to planned cities interlinked to the countryside. Everybody will live with the natural advantages of the country and the cultural associations of the town. ~ James P Cannon,
419:I came here from Kansas,” he announced to his captive. “This is a slave state. I want to free all the Negroes in this state. I have possession now of the United States armory, and if the citizens interfere with me, I must only burn the town and have blood. ~ Tony Horwitz,
420:Like many Southern towns, Greenwood is struggling to break free from the burdens of race and history. The town’s leaders say it long ago shed its Jim Crow legacy and now embraces diversity, although it still has separate white and black American Legion posts. ~ Anonymous,
421:A local butcher offered me money to put in my next book a portrayal of a customer he didn't like that would make him ashamed to show his face in the town. It was like the tradition of the Gaelic poets, who were paid money to write in derision about people. ~ John McGahern,
422:And though there were no children playing, no doves, no blue-shadowed roof tiles, I felt that the town was alive. And that if I heard only silence, it was because I was not accustomed to silence - maybe because my head was still filled with sounds and voices. ~ Juan Rulfo,
423:Half a mile from Haverstraw there lived a halfwit fellow,
Half his house was brick and red, and half was wood and yellow;
Half the town knew half his name but only half could spell it.
If you will sit for half an hour, I’ve half a mind to tell it. ~ James Thurber,
424:It seemed to me that their love was based on their common need for order and mannerliness in their lives. Both had endured lives of chaos and incivility in their first marriages, and they provided each other with safe harbor at last. The town of Waterford had ~ Pat Conroy,
425:I returned from Boston and rallied my fellow librarians to defend the town,” Quinn replied, as if the answer should have been obvious. He offered me a small bow from his seat. “The librarians are at your disposal, Widdershins. We will fight to the last man. ~ Jordan L Hawk,
426:It’s just so beautiful,” said Lyra, miming wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Our little Valerie’s learning how to play nicely with the other children.” “I will kill you all in your sleep,” I said. Lyra was still laughing when the town car arrived. ~ Seanan McGuire,
427:The Coppersmith is a bird who makes a noise exactly like the beating of a little hammer on a copper pot; and the reason he is always making it is because he is the town crier to every Indian garden, and tells all the news to everybody who cares to listen. ~ Rudyard Kipling,
428:Help, and you will make a huge impact in the life of the street, the town, the country and our planet. If only one out of four of each one hundred of you choose to help on any given day, in any given cause, incredible things will happen in the world you live in. ~ Tom Hanks,
429:Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London is invaluable. As is Nicolas Freleng's The Kitchen, David Blum's Flash in the Pan, the Batterberrys' fine account of American restaurant history, On the Town in New York, and Joseph Mitchell's Up in the Old Hotel. ~ Anthony Bourdain,
430:Thus we see that the all important thing is not killing or giving life, drinking or not drinking, living in the town or the country, being unlucky or lucky, winning or losing. It is how we win, how we lose, how we live or die, finally, how we choose. ~ Reginald Horace Blyth,
431:It would be worth the while if in each town there were a committee appointed to see that the beauty of the town received no detriment. If we have the largest boulder in the county, then it should not belong to an individual, nor be made into door-steps. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
432:The estrangement between Edwards and his people began in 1744, in connection with a case of discipline in which a large number of the youth belonging to the leading families of the town were brought under suspicion of reading and circulating immoral books. ~ Jonathan Edwards,
433:I looked without meaning to at the jagged black shape outline beyond the town in stars and had a stupid vision of a cave somewhere in those razor crags where the logic of everyone who had tried to take things from this place lay stacked in little glass boxes. ~ Natasha Pulley,
434:Thus Gotama [Buddha] walked toward the town to gather alms, and the two samanas recognized him solely by the perfection of his repose, by the calmness of his figure, in which there was no trace of seeking, desiring, imitating, or striving, only light and peace ~ Hermann Hesse,
435:But every Sunday morning, in the clear blue sky before the church of St Stephen, the good Lord hovers above the town, invisible and merciful, righteous and terrible, ever present and everywhere the same, be it in Sárszeg or in Budapest, in Paris or New York. ~ Dezs Kosztol nyi,
436:crippled the town, the primary symptom was chaos. They were pure primitives, moving and striking without thought or strategy. Michael could not believe that now they might be waiting patiently for him, luring him out into a trap. No, they were mindless savages, ~ K R Griffiths,
437:When writers die they become books, which is, after all, not too bad an incarnation."

[As attributed by Alastair Reid in Neruda and Borges, The New Yorker, June 24, 1996; as well as in The Talk of the Town, The New Yorker, July 7, 1986] ~ Jorge Luis Borges,
438:For behind the wooden wainscots of all the old houses in Gloucester, there are little mouse staircases and secret trap-doors; and the mice run from house to house through those long narrow passages; they can run all over the town without going into the streets. ~ Beatrix Potter,
439:In lands I never saw, they say,
Immortal Alps look down,
Whose bonnets touch the firmament,
Whose sandals touch the town, ―

Meek at whose everlasting feet
A myriad daisies play.
Which, sir, are you, and which am I.
Upon an August day? ~ Emily Dickinson,
440:My father was often impatient during March, waiting for winter to end, the cold to ease, the sun to reappear. March was an unpredictable month, when it was never clear what might happen. Warm days raised hopes until ice and grey skies shut over the town again. ~ Tracy Chevalier,
441:Often I hear people say they do not have time to read. That's absolute nonsense. If one really wants to learn, one has to decide what is important. Spending an evening on the town? Attending a ball game? Or learning something that can be with you your life long. ~ Louis L Amour,
442:I'm not ready to pack my bags and leave the town and my business that I love and my kids that I love more than anything and pack them up and come to Hollywood. I love California. I love Hollywood. But I'm not ready to uproot what I believe in to come to Hollywood. ~ Dwight Henry,
443:The photo used on the news had been taken by a tourist passing through Sopchoppy—that was the actual name of the town near which their church compound stood—who, alerted by a local, had snapped a picture of “those angel-cult freaks” when they came in for supplies. ~ Laini Taylor,
444:The town has a sense, not of history, but of time, and the telephone poles seem to know this. If you lay your hand against one, you can feel the vibration from the wires deep within the wood, as if souls had been imprisoned in there and were struggling to get out. ~ Stephen King,
445:I'd like a stocking made for a giant, And a meeting house full of toys, Then I'd go out in a happy hunt For the poor little girls and boys; Up the street and down the street, And across and over the town, I'd search and find them everyone, Before the sun went down. ~ Eugene Field,
446:It was the kind of town that made you feel like Humphrey Bogart: you came in on a bumpy little plane, and, for some mysterious reason, got a private room with a balcony overlooking the town and the harbor; then you sat there and drank until something happened. ~ Hunter S Thompson,
447:The clocks in the hotel, and the clocks outside in the town, all began to strike six as he got into bed, and when the last clock had struck, the vague rumour of innumerable cockcrows rang in his head. And as he fell asleep he heard the first chatter of waking birds. ~ Ngaio Marsh,
448:These are the towns secrets. And some will be later known and some will never be known.
The town keeps them all with the ultimate poker face
The town cares for the Devil’s work no more than God’s or mans.
The town knew darkness
And darkness was enough. ~ Stephen King,
449:because the rubber, too, is bulletproof. And so relentless is the wind that it rakes the street, pushing along this burden of crippled vermin, trundling this tide of suffering always in the wake of the Town Car as it reaches Spaulding Square. Fissures of lightning ~ Chuck Palahniuk,
450:For years, my mom dated a man who was really active in the Baptist church in the town next to the town I grew up in, and so he used to drag me to these Baptist church services that lasted forever. I remember that I didn't like the church services, but I really liked the music. ~ Moby,
451:King Drowden has given his men instructions to infiltrate the town, bribe townspeople for the secrets of their neighbors, steal the neighbors’ hidden treasures. Much more subtle than Drowden’s usual smash and burn technique. We do hope Drowden isn’t growing a brain. ~ Kristin Cashore,
452:As often as not our whole self...engages itself in the most trivial of things, the shape of a particular hill, a road in the town in which we lived as children, the movement of wind in grass. The things we shall take with us when we die will nearly all be small things. ~ Storm Jameson,
453:people that chased him. Eventually, surely, they would be pulled away toward other, more interesting prey, and he could think about exiting the station, and the town, and just how he was going to get to Aberystwyth before the infection reached it. There was no time for ~ K R Griffiths,
454:She set aside the Lively St. Lemeston Intelligencer with a sigh and picked up the Times. “No murders in Sussex this week.” Every Tuesday, when the town newspaper came out, they met at the Makepeaces’ coffeehouse to go through all the week’s papers for interesting crimes. ~ Rose Lerner,
455:The clocks were striking midnight at different places all over the town as I stepped through the door of my college. The rain had cleared. Moonlight gave the grass and towers an air of unreality, as if all would be removed in the morning to make way for another scene. ~ Anthony Powell,
456:We grew up as kids watching those movies and we were exposed to themes of civil rights, unfairness, bigotry and fathers struggling against the kind of mob of the town, so you remember how you felt as a kid being taken seriously, that you are part of the human drama. ~ Rachel Griffiths,
457:I felt no particular allegiance to the town. This was the place my sister died, the place I started cutting myself. A town so suffocating and small, you tripped over people you hated every day. People who knew things about you. It’s the kind of place that leaves a mark. ~ Gillian Flynn,
458:Snow Flakes
I counted till they danced so
Their slippers leaped the town,
And then I took a pencil
To note the rebels down.
And then they grew so jolly
I did resign the prig,
And ten of my once stately toes
Are marshalled for a jig!
~ Emily Dickinson,
459:The late Franz Borkenau once said, after he had broken with the Communist Party, that he could no longer put up with the practice of discussing municipal regulations in the categories of Hegelian logic, and Hegelian logic in the spirit of meetings of the town council. ~ Theodor W Adorno,
460:The town itself was a hard, distant storyland; you could see it from afar. There was all the straw-like landscape, and marathons of sky. Around it, a wilderness of low scrub and gum trees stood close by, and it was true, it was so damn true: the people sloped and slouched. ~ Markus Zusak,
461:They who have already enjoyed the crowds and noise of the great city, know their desire to return is little more than the restlessness of a vacant mind, that they are not so much led by hope as driven by disgust, and wish rather to leave the country than to see the town. ~ Samuel Johnson,
462:is desirable that a man be clad so simply that he can lay his hands on himself in the dark, and that he live in all respects so compactly and preparedly that, if an enemy take the town, he can, like the old philosopher, walk out the gate empty-handed without anxiety. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
463:Humanity has a strange fondness for following processions. Get four men following a banner down the street, and, if that banner is inscribed with rhymes of pleasant optimism, in an hour, all the town will be afoot, ready to march to whatever tune the leaders care to play. ~ John Dos Passos,
464:the soles off your shoes!' Then he took out a sack of pearls which lay in the rushes, and without another word he dragged it away and disappeared behind a stone. It happened that soon afterwards the mother sent the two children to the town to buy needles and thread, and laces ~ Jacob Grimm,
465:Rangoon
ust a changing sea of colour
Surging up and flowing down;
And pagodas shining golden, night and noon;
And a sun-burst-tinted throng
Of young priests that move along
Under sun-burst-hued umbrellas through the town.
That's Rangoon.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
466:The town had a basketful of feelings good and bad about Joe's positions and possessions, but none had the temerity to challenge him. They bowed down to him rather, because he was all of these things, and then again he was all of these things because the town bowed down. ~ Zora Neale Hurston,
467:Your son, my dear friend, is troubling you, and also me. The young bird is accustomed to a different life, to a different nest. He did not run away from riches and the town with a feeling of nausea and disgust as you did; he has had to leave all these things against his will. ~ Hermann Hesse,
468:It is desirable that a man be clad so simply that he can lay his hands on himself in the dark, and that he live in all respects so compactly and preparedly, that, if an enemy take the town, he can, like the old philosopher, walk out the gate empty-handed without anxiety. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
469:There were hardly any coloured people in the town I grew up in – how am I to know?’ And she hated herself for her next question, but she could not hold it back: ‘Don’t you think I deserve some credit, for trying to be human, for not being a part of all that, for – walking out? ~ James Baldwin,
470:How do you give someone a piece of sky?
Late in February, she stood on Munich Street and watched a single giant cloud come over the hills like a white monster. It climbed the mountains. The sun was eclipsed, and in it's place, a white beast with a gray heart watched the town. ~ Markus Zusak,
471:New Haven cultivates ... an open gloom that seems happy to acknowledge disrepair and the superfluity of appearance. ... I realized that what cramped the town was the weight of unwritten volumes: they scored lines of unfinished writing on every second face that walked the streets. ~ Sara Suleri,
472:The town’s young parents especially prized this idea of Newton as a child’s paradise. Many of them had left the hip, sophisticated city to move here. They had accepted massive expenses, stultifying monotony, and the queasy disappointment of settling for a conventional life. To ~ William Landay,
473:the normal laws of development are inverted here in the Congo. The forest, not the town, offers the safest sanctuary and it is grandfathers who have been more exposed to modernity than their grandchildren. I can think of nowhere else on the planet where the same can be true.” p141 ~ Tim Butcher,
474:Finney asked everyone to carve pumpkins and light them to mark the path from the crossroad to the town. The tradition caught on, and soon crossroads all over the world opened on that one night and the mortal realm was haunted by ghosts, goblins, witches, werewolves, and vampires. ~ Colleen Houck,
475:This is aeons older than you or your family. Older than the town. Blood makes the sun shine and the crops grow. This is the truth of the world."
Tate stared down at her, then said in a soft, deadly voice that was almost a whisper, "Fuck the world. I just want my sister back. ~ Brenna Yovanoff,
476:Odessa eked out a living from the livestock trade, all dreams of Utopia gone forever when the town’s first sheriff, Elias Dawson, decided that the ban on alcohol constituted cruel and unusual punishment and became the proprietor, along with his brother, of the town’s first saloon. ~ H G Bissinger,
477:The fog still slept on the wing above the drowned city, where the lamps glimmered like carbuncles; and through the muffle and smother of these fallen clouds, the procession of the town's life was still rolling in through the great arteries with a sound as of a mighty wind. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson,
478:A roll of thunder signaled another rain shower passing over the town. Simon pulled Magdalena close and kissed her until, locked in a tight embrace, they sank to the ground in a puddle of blood, mud, and horse piss. A small bundle of humanity in the midst of the thundering downpour. ~ Oliver P tzsch,
479:In the time of Spanish rule, and for many years afterwards, the town of Sulaco--the luxuriant beauty of the orange gardens bears witness to its antiquity--had never been commercially anything more important than a coasting port with a fairly large local trade in ox-hides and indigo. ~ Joseph Conrad,
480:Then suddenly she’s completely out of your reach when you’re forced to marry the town’s crazy-playing slut, your father is a sleazebag, albeit a rich one, and even though you were shoved in the mud but risked a lot to pull yourself out and get clean, you’d never quit feeling dirty. ~ Kristen Ashley,
481:The Thames is a wretched river after the Mersey and the ships are not like Liverpool ships and the docks are barren of beauty ... it is a beastly hole after Liverpool; for Liverpool is the town of my heart and I would rather sail a mudflat there than command a clipper out of London ~ John Masefield,
482:He likes it. The fairy-tale topography of the town. A make-believe world of walled gardens. The quietness of summer. The stone-floored lodge and the deferential porter. Yes, a make-believe world, like something imagined by a shy child.

Somewhere to hide.

Dreaming spires. ~ David Szalay,
483:I put my sadness in a box. The box went soft and wet and weak at the bottom. I called it Thursday. Today is Sunday. The town is empty.

I stood in the road looking forward and back, to see if it would change something. After a while, I went back inside and tripped over the box. ~ Richard Siken,
484:Jimmy went to John’s truck, opened the door, and saw the keys in the ignition. He walked to the back and looked in the bed. Some of John’s camping gear, his bolt-action Enfield rifle, and his cellphone. “What the hell?” Jimmy murmured. He looked around the town, glanced down, and froze. ~ Ron Ripley,
485:the Covenstead at the center of the town . . . no, the Saints called it a Meeting House. The center was a big hall lit by clerestory windows around the edge where the bright light of dawn showed. One half was full of pews, the second—oddly—equipped with basketball hoops and a recessed ~ S M Stirling,
486:Two hours later, I arrived in the small town near the New Mexico border. The address hadn’t shown up on GPS, so I had to drive the roads of the town until I found what I was looking for. It was a cracker box house on the outskirts of town. A one- car detached garage sat off to the side. ~ Helen Hardt,
487:And ask them about the town that was by the sea - when they transgressed in [the matter of] the sabbath - when their fish came to them openly on their sabbath day, and the day they had no sabbath they did not come to them. Thus did We give them trial because they were defiantly disobedient. ~ Anonymous,
488:Had it not been for Mr. Drawlight and Mr. Lascelles (benevolent souls!) the Town would have been starved of information of any sort, but they drove diligently about London making their appearance in a quite impossible number of drawing-rooms, morning-rooms, dining-rooms and card-rooms. ~ Susanna Clarke,
489:her shoes. The world seems to sway gently back and forth, as though the town is drifting lightly away. As though back onshore, all of France is left to bite its fingernails and flee and stumble and weep and wake to a numb, gray dawn, unable to believe what is happening. Who do the roads ~ Anthony Doerr,
490:Manner and morals have improved, improved wages and world travel during the war have had effect, and the farm labourer now is an intelligent, self respecting workman, on a level at least with the town artisan. The village rustic of the past no longer exists outside of the comic papers. ~ Flora Thompson,
491:The most impactful moments of my life have been the clean ones. The clean streets in the early a.m. hours—the town is mine to own. The blank pages—no story yet written. The new friendship, the new name, the new pair of eyes staring into mine and I can be whoever I want from now on. ~ Charlotte Eriksson,
492:They had somehow taken a group of women from the town through the (concentration) camps to show them what had been right there, and Tommy's brother said that although some of the women wept, some of them put their chins up, and looked angry, as if they refused to be made to feel bad. ~ Elizabeth Strout,
493:You see?" she said. "I've been leading you without you knowing it. Of course that's because you're new to the town, and you give yourself up to the guidance of an old citizen."

"I'm not so sure, Miss Adams. It might mean that I don't care where I follow so long as I follow you. ~ Booth Tarkington,
494:On Decoration Day, while everyone else in town was at the cemetery decorating the graves of our Glorious War Dead, Willie Beaner and me, Robert Burns Hewitt, took Mabel Cramm's bloomers and run them up the flagpole in front of the town hall. That was the beginning of all my troubles. ~ Katherine Paterson,
495:They are en route to Farnham, a small hunting party, when a report is galloped along the road: cases of plague have appeared in the town. Henry, brave on the battlefield, pales almost before their eyes and wrenches around his horse’s head: where to? Anywhere will do, anywhere but Farnham. ~ Hilary Mantel,
496:As I sat there, the town clock struck twelve, and the sound reminded me of the legend, which affirms that all dumb animals are endowed with speech for one hour after midnight on Christmas Eve, in memory of the animals who lingered near the manger when the blessed Christ Child was born. ~ Louisa May Alcott,
497:From the town on the edge of obscurity with a post office and general store to the city with the mega malls and towering skyscrapers that scream of American Genericality, there is use for a dead cheerleader, a werewolf carrying business cards and a vampire fishing off a rickety pier. ~ Benjamin X Wretlind,
498:[...] for it was the approaching dawn that held him in its spell, that 'promise kept each morning' that the earth, along with the town and his own person, would emerge from beneath the shadow of the night, and that the delicate glimmer of dawn would yield to the bright light of day... ~ L szl Krasznahorkai,
499:I’d spent my whole life waiting to awake on an ordinary morning in the town that was destined to be my home, in the arms of the woman I was destined to love, knowing the people and doing the work that would make up the changing but essentially invariable landscape of my particular destiny. ~ Michael Chabon,
500:One bulls-eye and you're rich and famous. The rich get more famous and the famous get rich. You're the talk of the town....The sense of so much depending on success is very hard to ignore, perhaps impossible. It leads to disproportionate anxiety and disproportionate relief or disappointment. ~ Tom Stoppard,
501:The Wind Has Such A Rainy Sound
The wind has such a rainy sound
Moaning through the town,
The sea has such a windy sound, Will the ships go down?
The apples in the orchard
Tumble from their tree. Oh will the ships go down, go down,
In the windy sea?
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
502:When the weaver bird flies, nobody talks; when the busy bee flies, no one will make comments... But when a human being begins to fly, you begin to hear talks in the town such as "abomination!... where did he get the wings from?". Never mind! Your dreams are your wings, so decide to fly! ~ Israelmore Ayivor,
503:Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: We cannot fight for love, as men ay do; We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well. ~ William Shakespeare,
504:Sometimes, during those same bleak middle-of-the-nights, he held secret fears he never said aloud. Demons had come in the dark, come with the famous Dryden fog that rolled through the town, and taken possession of his lovely, smart, kindhearted wife. And next they'd come for his daughter too. ~ Megan Abbott,
505:He lived in the Hotel Coma--named perhaps for some founder of the town, some California explorer or pioneer, or for some long-deceased Italian immigrant who founded only the hotel itself. Whoever it commemorated, the hotel was a poor monument, and Billy Tully had no intention of staying on. ~ Leonard Gardner,
506:I grew up on a farm in a small town where you do or say one thing and everybody knows about it. You see it happen, there's always the town gossip - 'Oh did you hear about so and so, or did you hear what went on in this household?' So I learned at a very young age just to keep my mouth shut. ~ Garrett Hedlund,
507:prescribed exercise, still ran through boskage between the partisan bivouacs. The circle of villas in the outskirts of the town abandoned precipitately by their owners had been allotted by the partisans to various official purposes. In the largest of these the Russian mission lurked invisibly. ~ Evelyn Waugh,
508:She managed to clear her throat. "I'm sure this is impossible for you to comprehend, Deuce, but somehow, some way, without formal therapy or controlled substances, every single resident in the town of Rockingham, Massachusetts, has managed to survive your long absence. Every. Single. One. ~ Roxanne St Claire,
509:My feeling about growing up in New Jersey was, 'How come I'm not in New York?' That being said, I'm older and I have a better worldview now, and so I think I grew up in an incredibly privileged position. The town I grew up in is beautiful. I got a great education, and I'm very grateful for it. ~ Anne Hathaway,
510:My footsteps echoed down small-town Main Streets. On one, a pharmacist left a note in the window of her store. She had enjoyed serving the town, she wrote, but couldn’t hang on anymore and she hoped they’d understand why she was leaving like all the rest. She left no forwarding address. Walmart ~ Sam Quinones,
511:Richard wanted to take me to all the town's secret places, the nooks only the locals knew about. Places where people meet to screw or smoke dope, where teens drink, or folks go to sit by themselves and decide where their lives had unraveled. Everyone has a moment where life goes off the rails. ~ Gillian Flynn,
512:And on the last day, the bad days become so difficult to recall, because one way or another, she had made a life here, just as I had. The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things I’d done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me. ~ John Green,
513:the soundtrack. This was the era of disco, and it's used to good effect here. You want hip? You want to be with it? You want the right chariot for your night out on the town? You want the Datsun 280ZX Black Gold. 0:08--After a slow unveil, we see the 10th Anniversary Datsun 280ZX in its full glory. ~ Anonymous,
514:Whenever humans come together for any reason, music is there: weddings, funerals, graduation from college, men marching off to war, stadium sporting events, a night on the town, prayer, a romantic dinner, mothers rocking their infants to sleep ... music is a part of the fabric of everyday life. ~ Daniel Levitin,
515:The vegetation has crawled mile for mile towards the towns. It is waiting. When the town dies, the Vegetation will invade it, it will clamber over the stones, it will grip them, search them, burst them open with its long black pincers; it will bind the holes and hang its green paws everywhere. ~ Jean Paul Sartre,
516:After Mother got her picture, we all stood around the fire truck eating moon-shaped cookies dusted with powdered sugar that the mayor's wife had brought in some Tupperware. It was stuff like that that'd break your heart about Leechfield, what Daddy meant when he said the town was too ugly not to love. ~ Mary Karr,
517:Anywhere he went in the town he could hear water running. Beulah had told him Yuneetah was the white man’s corruption of an Indian word for the spirit of the river. She said the Cherokees who once lived on its shores had called it Long Man, with his head in the mountains and his feet in the lowlands. ~ Amy Greene,
518:They decide all of that in the office. And in their smart little conferences. The teachers, they sit around in this big circle jer-jerk and all they say is Yeah, Yeah, Right, Right. All they give a fuck about is whether you behaved yourself in grammer school and what the town thinks of your family. ~ Stephen King,
519:In the afternoon the wind shifts, becoming hot, urgent, swirling, picking up whatever it can lift, twirling what it carries, around the houses, the trees, the town, up to the mountain, in a kind of rhythmic, purposeful, twisting, turning dance, as if trying to shake something off, trying to get relief. ~ A M Homes,
520:I was always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing strange characters and manners. Even when a mere child I began my travels, and made many tours of discovery into foreign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents, and the emolument of the town-crier. ~ Washington Irving,
521:The reader is to be pulled in by the preponderance of the evidence that he or she has been sifting through. As you read, the details fall like snow that suddenly is ash. The character is clearly visible once he is coated, like a status in the town square after such a storm, with a film of detail. ~ Michael Martone,
522:They agreed it was wrong to throw the stick, but insisted that Chase couldn’t have predicted it would result in serious injury. Ha! The real reason was that Chase was the town sports hero—and the son of the last town sports hero. Chase’s dad had a lot of admirers on that board. And my family didn’t. ~ Gordon Korman,
523:I left the apartment without even bothering to close the door behind me. Once outside, I faced a world of buildings and faces that seemed strange and distant. I started to walk aimlessly, oblivious to the cold and the rain-filled wind that was starting to lash the town with the breath of a curse. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zaf n,
524:Nicholas Adams drove on through the town along the empty, brick-paved street ... on under the heavy trees of the small town that are a part of your heart if it is your town and you have walked under them, but that are only too heavy, that shut out the sun and that dampen the houses for a stranger. ~ Ernest Hemingway,
525:the highest joy he was capable of, he received from having a piece of news in his possession an hour or two sooner than any other person in the town. His advices, however, were seldom authentic; for he would swallow almost anything as a truth—a humour which many made use of to impose upon him. "Thus ~ Henry Fielding,
526:The town was glad with morning light; places that had shown ugly and distrustful all night long, now wore a smile; and sparkling sunbeams dancing on chamber windows, and twinkling through blind and curtain before sleepers’ eyes, shed light even into dreams, and chased away the shadows of the night. ~ Charles Dickens,
527:In Lands I Never Saw—they Say
124
In lands I never saw—they say
Immortal Alps look down—
Whose Bonnets touch the firmament—
Whose Sandals touch the town—
Meek at whose everlasting feet
A Myriad Daisy play—
Which, Sir, are you and which am I
Upon an August day?
~ Emily Dickinson,
528:A whole bunch of things happened. Moynahan and the Cadillac driver spun around and around, trying to see it all. Trying to stay eyes-on. First the right-hand helicopter pounced ahead on a wide track to the east, sliding in again behind the town and heading due south, full speed, which was pretty damn fast. ~ Lee Child,
529:Midnight then and the town clocks chiming on toward one and two and then three in the deep morning and the peals of the great clocks shaking dust off old toys in high attics and shedding silver off old mirrors in yet higher attics and stirring up dreams about clocks in all the beds where children slept. ~ Ray Bradbury,
530:The train whistled, and chuffed out of the station. The children pressed their noses to the window and watched the dirty houses and the tall chimneys race by. How they hated the town! How lovely it would be to be in the clean country, with flowers growing everywhere, and birds singing in the hedges! Pg 5 ~ Enid Blyton,
531:weren't nearly as bad as the silence. He sighed, returning his attention to the parade of stores out the window. "And people said I was guilty of highway robbery." I kept an eye out for a parking spot. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just insult my job," I said, locating an empty spot up ahead in the town ~ Angie Fox,
532:Crime was up, especially among the youth; simple, common trust in one’s neighbor was diminishing; never had the town been so full of rumors, scandals, and malicious gossip. In the shadow of fear and suspicion, life here was gradually losing its joy and simplicity, and no one seemed to know why or how. ~ Frank E Peretti,
533:It's the rising tide of enmity in the country, Donald Trump attacking judges, Donald Trump attacking John McCain, Senator [Richard] Blumenthal, the town halls, the riots in Berkeley. You have got the incivility on the floor of the United States Senate. You have got just a rising tide, every single story. ~ David Brooks,
534:Near where I grew up in northern England is the town of Saltaire, created by Sir Titus Salt, a Victorian wool magnate who believed so strongly in temperance that the town was built without a single pub. (The principle has been undermined in recent years by the opening of a bar called Don’t Tell Titus.) ~ Tom Wainwright,
535:After the war young men from tenant farms all over the county flocked to Maycomb and erected matchbox wooden houses and started families. Nobody quite knew how they made a living, but they did, and they would have created a new social stratum in Maycomb had the rest of the town acknowledged their existence. ~ Harper Lee,
536:But our friendship was, at the same time, like a city you hadn’t visited in a long time, where you know the streets by heart but the shops and restaurants have changed, so you can find your way from the church to the town square, no problem, but you don’t know where to get ice cream or a decent sandwich. ~ Claire Messud,
537:He is like a superhero, practicing living a normal life before starting his career as a defender of libraries, books, and the all-important art of reading. When elections come, and the town realizes the threat it is facing, he will fight for what is good and right in the world, and protect us from disaster. ~ Alice Ozma,
538:On blue jean day everybody in town was supposed to wear blue jeans or get thrown in the lake. I put on my only suit and necktie and slowly, like Billy the Kid, with all eyes on me, I walked slowly through the town, looking in windows, stopping for cigars. I broke that town in half like a wooden match. ~ Charles Bukowski,
539:St Michael’s RC secondary sat on a promontory overlooking the town of Auchenlea. The choice of site was an indirect consequence of a past mistake in vocational guidance, leading someone who had a pathological hatred of children into town planning, rather than the more traditional field of teaching. ~ Christopher Brookmyre,
540:The devil, who lives in the dripping, dank cellar of the town church and manipulates things through the weak preacher, takes over the town. The real question, though, was why the devil wanted to take over the town to begin with. All it was was a miserable nothing of a few blocks surrounded by cornfields. ~ Haruki Murakami,
541:YOU MIGHT THINK FINDING YOURSELF is tough and ends in high school. I wish that were true. Finding yourself is a lifelong journey. Just when you think you know who you are, life has this way of throwing a curveball and landing you back in the town of confusion; population: a vast majority of the human race. ~ Connor Franta,
542:I've consciously taken on material that's a bit too much for me but not an overreach. The first movie, just about performances. 'The Town,' I learned how to work broader material, develop tension, direct bigger scenes, action sequences. 'Argo,' I experimented with film stock, widened the scope of my geography. ~ Ben Affleck,
543:Other, dryer customers came and went, having just stepped out of their conveyances or popped down the street from their houses in the town. They left their umbrellas dripping at the door, and looked at her with that particular combination of sympathy and amusement that the soaked seem always to elicit in the dry. ~ Jo Baker,
544:They spent their first night in America sleeping on the floor of a tavern on Mulberry Street, in Manhattan’s Little Italy. Then they ventured west, eventually finding jobs in a slate quarry ninety miles west of the city near the town of Bangor, Pennsylvania. The following year, fifteen Rosetans left Italy ~ Malcolm Gladwell,
545:As surely as the town of Rochelle is Protestant I can see you now becoming impatient. The covers of my book are between your relentless palms. A single hint of insolence on this page, the faintest shine of gloating over all these delays, and you will slam the volume shut - don't claim I can't predict it! ~ William T Vollmann,
546:But as he grew older he thought less of it, grew accustomed to the days lived. Each day he climbed the hill, as he used to, and helped build the factory. He visited the town. The seasons passed. Then the years. His father a curtained room. His mother, too. This blank space in his life that he was unable to paint. ~ Paul Yoon,
547:Anyone can buy a car or a night on the town. Most of us shell our days like peanuts. One in a thousand can look at the world with amazement. I don't mean gawking at the Chrysler Building. I'm talking about the wing of a dragonfly. The tale of the shoeshine. Walking through an unsullied hour with an unsullied heart ~ Amor Towles,
548:Other wounds, too, the small, invisible kind. Just this morning, in the town, a man’s hot eyes on her body, and the man’s wife beside him, burning at Fire with jealousy and hatred. Or the monthly humiliation of needing a guard during her woman’s bleedings to protect her from monsters who could smell her blood. ~ Kristin Cashore,
549:Anyone can buy a car or a night on the town. Most of us shell our days like peanuts. One in a thousand can look at the world with amazement. I don't mean gawking at the Chrysler Building. I'm talking about the wing of a dragonfly. The tale of the shoeshine. Walking through an unsullied hour with an unsullied heart. ~ Amor Towles,
550:My time as a doorman was quite volatile and bloody, no door registration schemes or training courses could have prepared you for what it was like back then. You didn’t have vanloads of police patrolling up and down the town then, you were lucky if you even seen a couple of bobbies in a car, never mind on foot. ~ Stephen Richards,
551:Once outside, the stranger continued his warning. "Go back to the old ways! Hibernate! Only those who hibernate shall be saved! So says I.M. Weird!"
Officer Marguerite closed the door. But out of sight isn't always out of mind. The raggedy stranger's warning cast a spell of gloom over the Town Hall audience. ~ Stan Berenstain,
552:Take him into the town; take him to his mother’s house. There will be servants there; take him to them. And if they are no longer there, take him to a teacher, not just for the sake of education, but so that he can meet other boys and girls and be in the world to which he belongs. Have you never thought about it? ~ Hermann Hesse,
553:As Hiro crests the pass on his motorcycle at five in the morning, the town of Port Sherman, Oregon, is suddenly laid out before him: a flash of yellow loglo wrapped into a vast U-shaped valley that was ground out of the rock, a long time ago, by a big tongue of ice in an epochal period of geological cunnilingus. ~ Neal Stephenson,
554:If every single man and woman, child and baby, acts and conducts itself in a known pattern and breaks no walls and differs with no one and experiments in no way and is not sick and does not endanger the ease and peace of mind or steady unbroken flow of the town, then that unit can disappear and never be heard of. ~ John Steinbeck,
555:We ate away, reminiscing about our victories over the enemies from different streets and villages and competing with each other in casting curses. A few golden butterflies and dragonflies were fluttering around us. The afternoon air was warm and clean, and the town below us seemed like a green harbor full of white sails. ~ Ha Jin,
556:Kossola was born circa 1841, in the town of Bantè, the home to the Isha subgroup of the Yoruba people of West Africa. He was the second child of Fondlolu, who was the second of his father’s three wives. His mother named him Kossola, meaning “I do not lose my fruits anymore” or “my children do not die any more. ~ Zora Neale Hurston,
557:You’ve told me I’m only yours, and you haven’t even touched me. Why do you care what happens to my body?” “Because I’m selfish and possessive over what’s mine.” “This home is yours, and you share it with others. You invited half the town here last night.” “And you think I should invite half the town to your body? ~ Jessica Hawkins,
558:A Christmas Wish
I'd like a stocking made for a giant,
And a meeting house full of toys,
Then I'd go out in a happy hunt
For the poor little girls and boys;
Up the street and down the street,
And across and over the town,
I'd search and find them everyone,
Before the sun went down.
~ Eugene Field,
559:Comely was the town by the curving river that they dismantled in a year's time. Beautiful was Colleton in her last spring as she flung azaleas like a girl throwing rice at a desperate wedding. In dazzling profusion, Colleton ripened in a gauze of sweet gardens and the town ached beneath a canopy of promissory fragrance. ~ Pat Conroy,
560:Now, kill every man, woman and child in the town!” The warriors balked. Did they hear him correctly? “You heard what I said. KILL THEM ALL!” The warriors rode through the town to accomplish the diabolical command of their king. Nimrod whispered into Saul’s ear, “Yahweh wants a holy war of herem, I will give him herem. ~ Brian Godawa,
561:Spirit Woods. They’d buried Max in the shadows of the forest—a forest that had quite a reputation. She’d been born and raised in Jamesville, had been spoon-fed the town’s mythology, had heard dozens of tales about strange, jewel-toned lights, odd weather patterns, and the whisper of voices that echoed among the trees. ~ Liliana Hart,
562:On the fifth day the governor of the town called all the tribal chieftains to an audience in the market square, to hear their grievances. He didn't always do anything about them, but at least they got heard, and he nodded a lot; and everyone felt better about it, at least until they got home. This is politics. ~ Terry Pratchett,
563:The established church of the town of Mansoul has the Devil for its archbishop. Sin has enclasped our nature as a boa constrictor encircles its victim, and when it has maintained its hold for twenty, forty, or sixty years, I hope you are not so foolish as to think that holy things will easily get the mastery. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,
564:If somebody has a property in the middle of a 7,000 job factory, as an example, that's going to move into the town - but they need this one corner of this property, and it's going to provide 7,000 jobs in a community that's dying, of which we have many in this country, OK? I am for that. That's a big economic development ~ Donald Trump,
565:Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a well-furnished dining parlor, in the town of P——, in Kentucky. There were no servants present, and the gentlemen, with chairs closely approaching, seemed to be discussing some subject with great earnestness. ~ Harriet Beecher Stowe,
566:One notable example is the successful challenge led by the NAACP Legal Defense Fund to a racist drug sting operation in Tulia, Texas. The 1999 drug bust incarcerated almost 15 percent of the black population of the town, based on the uncorroborated false testimony of a single informant hired by the sheriff of Tulia. ~ Michelle Alexander,
567:isn’t that technology’s job? To lighten our burden? To broaden our horizons? To make it possible to talk to your attorney and listen to a Styx album and check the obituaries in the town where your parents continue to live and videotape a race riot and send a text message and stun someone into submission all at the same time? ~ David Sedaris,
568:... our landlord and landlady. Their house, just outside the town, was quite a little chateau, and the evil that dwelt within its highly polished salons, that reclined on its lace-covered beds, and was coiled deep in the stuffing of its exquisitely upholstered chairs and sofas, was enough to make the blood turn icy in the veins. ~ Kay Boyle,
569:To hang about a stable, and collect a gang of the most disreputable dogs to be found in the town, and lead them out to march round the slums to fight other disreputable dogs, is Montmorency’s idea of “life;” and so, as I before observed, he gave to the suggestion of inns, and pubs., and hotels his most emphatic approbation. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
570:Baby, you gave that to someone else, it wouldn’t be mine. Now it’s mine. No one can ever have it. It’ll always be mine. I love it. I think it’s beautiful. So I absolutely do not think the town’s sweet, cute, pretty, shy librarian who held onto that for as long as you did then gave it to me is anything but really fuckin’ good. ~ Kristen Ashley,
571:In the nine years before Scarlett was born, the town had been called, first, Terminus and then Marthasville, and not until the year of Scarlett’s birth had it become Atlanta. When Gerald first moved to north Georgia, there had been no Atlanta at all, not even the semblance of a village, and wilderness rolled over the site. ~ Margaret Mitchell,
572:THERE WAS NO news. There were no letters. One monthly bleeding passed for Fire, with all its attendant aches and embarrassments. Everyone in her house, in Archer’s house, and in the town knew what it signified whenever she stepped outside with an entourage of guards. Eventually another passed like the first. Summer was near. ~ Kristin Cashore,
573:They drove through the town of Collegeville on Route 29, a winding two-lane road, and continued past colonial vintage houses, then rolling hills and pastured horses. The farmland turned into a vast open space, and Christine sensed they were approaching the prison. “I think we’re almost there,” she said, glancing over. Lauren ~ Lisa Scottoline,
574:...a guest editorial decrying the town's mordant defeatism and criticizing the current Republican administration's unspoken policies, which could be summed up, he claimed, in nine words: No Spending. None. Ever. On Anything. Under Any Circumstances. Why not string one last banner across the street, he suggested: Let's Eat Dirt. ~ Richard Russo,
575:Even the small satisfaction of writing letters was denied us. It came to this: not only had the town ceased to be in touch with the rest of the world by normal means of communication, but also—according to a second notification—all correspondence was forbidden, to obviate the risk of letters’ carrying infection outside the town. ~ Albert Camus,
576:It sometimes happens that the town child is more alive to the fresh beauty of the country than a child who is country born. My brother and I were born in London...but our descent, our interest and our joy were in the north country'.

Quoted in The Tale of Beatrix Potter a Biography by Margaret Lane, First Edition p 32-33 ~ Beatrix Potter,
577:So abased, so monotonous is everything that meets the eye, that when the Ganges comes down it might be expected to wash the excrescence back into the soil. Houses do fall, people are drowned and left rotting, but the general outline of the town persists, welling here, shrinking there, like some low but indestructible form of life. ~ E M Forster,
578:Clifden doesn't have a Starbucks. In Starbucks' desire to dominate the world coffee market, not even they can be bothered with the town of Clifden; it's another sign I have to get away. I think it would do well here; people would go there to meet instead of going to the pub. Our livers would be better but we'd be a bit more wilted. ~ James Mylet,
579:I like things that are kind of eclectic, when one thing doesn't go with another. That's why I love Rome. The town itself is that way. It's where Fascist architecture meets classic Renaissance, where the ancient bangs up against the contemporary. It has a touch of everything. That's my style, and that's what my work is about. ~ Giambattista Valli,
580:Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature. ~ John Steinbeck,
581:The rise of the anti-hero can be traced to a litany of social reasons. Post World War I, for instance, saw the blooming of some pretty dark stuff - I'm thinking of Dashiell Hammett's Red Harvest, for instance, when "The Continental Op" shows up in Poisonville to clean up the town...and proceeds to kill something like thirty people. ~ Tod Goldberg,
582:One conceals oneself standing silently beside the trunk of a tree and what there is of a reflective tendency in his nature is intensified. One shudders at the thought of the meaninglessness of life while at the same instant, and if the people of the town are his people, one loves life so intensely that tears come into the eyes. ~ Sherwood Anderson,
583:Things will be different this time," Caine said. "There was too much contention, too much violence the last time. I tried to be a peaceful leader. But thing went badly."

"I wonder why," Diana muttered.

"These people," Caine said grandly, sweeping his arm towards the town, "need more than a leader. They need...a king. ~ Michael Grant,
584:And yet in Port William, as everywhere else, it was already the second decade of the twentieth century. And in some of the people of the town and the community surrounding it, one of the characteristic diseases of the twentieth century was making its way: the suspicion that they would be greatly improved if they were someplace else. ~ Wendell Berry,
585:Capitalist agricultural production prevents the return to the soil of its elements consumed by man in the form of food and clothing; it therefore violates the conditions necessary to lasting fertility of the soil. By this action it destroys at the same time the health of the town labourer and the intellectual life of the rural labourer. ~ Karl Marx,
586:Rained gently last night, just enough to wash the town clean, and then today a clean crisp fat spring day, the air redolent, the kind of green minty succulent air you'd bottle if you could and snort greedily on bleak, wet January evenings when the streetlights hzzzt on at four in the afternoon and all existence seems hopeless and sad. ~ Brian Doyle,
587:The kindness which consists in upholding a woman of the town against a citizen, the police agent against the mayor, the man who is down against the man who is up in the world, is what I call false kindness. That is the sort of kindness which disorganizes society. Good God! it is very easy to be kind; the difficulty lies in being just. ~ Victor Hugo,
588:There were thermal springs, and at the end of the preceding century the town had been laid out modestly as a spa. Hot water still ran in the bath house. Two old gardeners still kept some order in the ornamental grounds. The graded paths, each with a “view-point,” the ruins of a seat and of a kiosk, where once invalids had taken their ~ Evelyn Waugh,
589:Three miles long and two streets wide, the town curls around the bay ... a gaudy run with Mediterranean splashes of color, crowded steep-pitched roofs, fishing piers and fishing boats whose stench of mackerel and gasoline is as aphrodisiac to the sensuous nose as the clean bar-whisky smell of a nightclub where call girls congregate. ~ Norman Mailer,
590:I stayed in the town until early evening, and when the sun began to sink, my heart did too. This is your last chance to go back, I told myself. Once it gets completely dark, you might never be able to leave here. I went home on the same buses that had brought me there. I arrived before seven, and no one noticed that I had run away. ~ Haruki Murakami,
591:If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,-- One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country-folk to be up and to arm. ~ Paul Revere,
592:"Baby, you gave that to someone else, it wouldn't be mine. Now it's mine. No one can ever have it. It'll always be mine. I love it. I think it's beautiful. So I absolutely do not think the town's sweet, cute, pretty, shy librarian who held onto that for as long as you did then gave it to me is anything but really fuckin' good." ~ Kristen Ashley,
593:We would also go to musicals. So Singing In the Rain, On the Town, and West Side Story. Especially West Side Story because played that a lot before VCRs, so that would be something that would be a big deal if it came on, you caught it. So that really started, my family was not in show business at all but really loved that kind of thing. ~ Marisa Tomei,
594:Let no one think that I do not love the old ministers. They were, probably, the best men in their generation, and they deserve that their biographies should fill the pages of the town histories. If I could but hear the "glad tidings" of which they tell, and which, perchance, they heard, I might write in a worthier strain than this. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
595:My prayer for you is that you may grow in the likeness of Christ, being real carriers of God's love and that you really bring his presence, first, into your own family, then, to the next door neighbor, the street you we live in, the town we live in, the country we live, then only, in the whole world, that living example of God's presence. ~ Mother Teresa,
596:Growing up the way I did, it was tough being one of only a few black people in the town and in school. What my upbringing got me is never feeling completely safe emotionally. Never knowing when something racial was going to pop off based on how I look. So that's something I've carried with me personally and is reflected in my work. ~ Gina Prince Bythewood,
597:Two centuries ago, when talk of witch-blood, Satan-worship, and strange forest presences was not laughed at, it was the custom to give reasons for avoiding the locality. In our sensible age—since the Dunwich horror of 1928 was hushed up by those who had the town’s and the world’s welfare at heart—people shun it without knowing exactly why. ~ H P Lovecraft,
598:His vision of contented farmers controlling their own timber, grass, and water clear to the drainage divides, and settling their problems by an extension of the town meeting, is touched with a prophetic, and perhaps a pathetic, piety. Science and Reason have always been on the side of Utopia; only the cussedness of the human race has not. ~ Wallace Stegner,
599:German forces in Belgium entered quiet towns and villages, took civilian hostages, and executed them to discourage resistance. In the town of Dinant, German soldiers shot 612 men, women, and children. The American press called such atrocities acts of “frightfulness,” the word then used to describe what later generations would call terrorism. On ~ Erik Larson,
600:I'm not from the heart of Atlanta, I'm from the Eastern outskirts. Stone Mountain is the town - Gambino is from there, Danger Mouse is from there. So there's a lot more greenery, lakes and a mountain you can climb everyday - all kinds of stuff that I'm into. I wear sandals, or a harness - I'm prepared to be outdoors because that's just how I am. ~ Gucci Mane,
601:The ride had begun.

The theatre and club spectaculars seemed to stick up into the sky at all sorts of crazy angles, probably because most of them were planted diagonally on rooftops. Follow Thru, Whoopee, Show Boat, El Fay Club, Club Richman, Texas Guinan's. It gave the town the appearance of standing on its ear. ("The Number's Up") ~ Cornell Woolrich,
602:I'm convinced no one actually likes clubs. It's a conspiracy. We've been told they're cool and fun; that only "saddoes" dislike them. And no one in our pathetic little pre-apocalyptic timebubble wants to be labelled "sad" - it's like being officially declared worthless by the state. So we muster a grin and go out on the town in our millions. ~ Charlie Brooker,
603:The sign on the front door explaining what kind of meeting:

NA-NARCOTICS ANONYMOUS

Someone had attached a sticky note that said: EMPHASIS ON THE A, PEOPLE!

Ty didn't know wheather to be amused that only in Lucky Harbor would the extra note be necessary, or appalled that the town was trusted with the anonymous at all. ~ Jill Shalvis,
604:To the newcomer to the south, hearing that a coworker plans a weekend visit to 'mama and them's' (the correct plural possessive, don'tchaknow), might make him think that mama has been left alone either throught an act of scoundreldom involving the town's resident hoochie-mama (an altogether different kind of mama) or Daddy's untimely demise. ~ Celia Rivenbark,
605:Visitors to Lyme in the nineteenth century, if they did not quite have to undergo the ordeal facing travellers to the ancient Greek colonies -Charles did not actually have to deliver a Periclean oration plus comprehensive world news summary from the steps of the Town Hall- were certainly expected to allow themselves to be examined and spoken to. ~ John Fowles,
606:but he was afraid of being insincere and telling lies in the presence of death. It was on a fine winter’s day, shot through with sunlight. In the pale blue sky, you could sense the cold all spangled with yellow. The cemetery overlooked the town, and you could see the fine transparent sun setting in the bay quivering with light, like a moist lip. ~ Albert Camus,
607:I’d laughed at him. “I think you’ve been drinking too much, Héctor Ricardo.” “Yes,” he’d replied. “I am the town drunk, dear Marina. But don’t let that fool you. Héctor Ricardo is a defender all the same. And besides, show me a man without vice and I’ll show you one without virtue!” Years later, he’s one of the few people I can call a friend. It ~ Pittacus Lore,
608:I stayed in the town until early
evening, and when the sun began to sink, my heart did too. This is your last chance to go
back, I told myself. Once it gets completely dark, you might never be able to leave here. I
went home on the same buses that had brought me there. I arrived before seven, and no one
noticed that I had run away. ~ Haruki Murakami,
609:I have a number of such wells in mind. In county Longford, not far from the town of Granard, a spring bubbles in some rough ground a few yards from the roadside. Climb the old wire fence where it ties into a tree, walk in a north-westerly direction, and look out for some unexpected ferns and water fronds; the big green blades will catch your eye. ~ Frank Delaney,
610:I see that you are not sure of what you should do. You must remain steadfast, Monsieur. It would be a great wrong for you to leave and an irreparable scandal to the town and the Company. If you were to abandon the house, I do not think people would ever be willing to welcome us back. Fear not; calm will follow the storm, and perhaps soon. ~ Saint Vincent de Paul,
611:I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down! ~ Edna St Vincent Millay,
612:There was no doubt that the town respected him and even admired him in a way. But any man who walks in the way of power and property is bound to meet hate. So when speakers stood up when the occasion demanded and said “Our beloved Mayor,” it was one of those statements that everybody says but nobody actually believes like “God is everywhere. ~ Zora Neale Hurston,
613:Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was cordially hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town, because he was idle and lawless and vulgar and bad—and because all their children admired him so, and delighted in his forbidden society, and wished they dared to be like him. ~ Mark Twain,
614:This night they sang in the town of Bethlehem there is born a little baby who shall be the saviour of the world. He is the prince of peace and the son of god and his name is Jesus. Peace on earth and good will toward men. Rejoice everyone and sing with the angels for this night a saviour is born. Peace peace peace on earth and good will toward men. ~ Dalton Trumbo,
615:Since both Eliza and Angelica were pregnant, sister Peggy crept downstairs to retrieve the endangered child. The leader of the raiding party barred her way with a musket. “Wench, wench! Where is your master?” he demanded. “Gone to alarm the town,” the coolheaded Peggy said.24 The intruder, fearing that Schuyler would return with troops, fled in alarm. ~ Ron Chernow,
616:He was in blue jeans and a work shirt, which is another weird quirk of Rich Old Men. Just one of the guys here. Blue jeans and a work shirt, salt of the earth, working man like yourself. Like they're somehow uncomfortable about being rich enough to sleep in a bed made of vaginas being pulled around the town at night by a fleet of gold-covered midgets. ~ Warren Ellis,
617:It was a quiet morning, the town covered over with darkness and at ease in bed. Summer gathered in the weather, the wind had the proper touch, the breathing of the world was long and warm and slow. You had only to rise, lean from your window, and know that this indeed was the first real time of freedom and living, this was the first morning of summer. ~ Ray Bradbury,
618:This was a normal town once, and we were normal people. Most of us worked at the plastics factory on the outskirts of town. Then one day there was an accident... something escaped from the factory, a yellow gas. It floated over the town so fast that we didn't see it, didn't realize... and then it was too late, and Dark Falls wasn't a normal town anymore. ~ R L Stine,
619:They do so have a choice... Of course they have a choice. Bunch of guys could get together and dig up a bunch of dirt and fill that fucking bog. Stone Age tools. You cut that shit down, you get everybody together and you carry dirt from the town and you fill it in. Human beings been doing it for thousands of years. They'd rather come home and fuck off. ~ Dan Morrison,
620:Even the English language is rife with words and phrases that sexualize women’s walking. Among the terms for prostitutes are streetwalkers, women of the streets, women on the town, and public women (and of course phrases such as a public man, man about town, or man of the streets mean very different things than do their equivalents attached to women). ~ Rebecca Solnit,
621:Greenmantle had always liked the idea of being a mysterious hit man, but that career goal invariably paled in comparison with his enjoyment of going out on the town and having people admire his reputation and driving his Audi with its custom plate (GRNMNTL) and going on cheese holidays in countries that put little hats above their vowels like so: ê. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,
622:To me heaven would be a big bull ring with me holding two barrera seats and a trout stream outside that no one else was allowed to fish in and two lovely houses in the town; one where I would have my wife and children and be monogamous and love them truly and well and the other where I would have my nine beautiful mistresses on nine different floors. ~ Ernest Hemingway,
623:and the name of that Town is Vanity; and at the Town there is a Fair kept, called Vanity Fair: it is kept all the year long; it beareth the name of Vanity Fair, because the Town where ‘tis kept is lighter than Vanity; and also because all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is Vanity. As is the saying of the wise, All that cometh is Vanity. Section ~ John Bunyan,
624:Outside the wind howled down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely against the windows. It was strange there, in the very depths of the town, with ten miles of man's handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip of Nature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all London was no more than the molehills that dot the fields. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
625:FLUELLEN-
Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born!

GOWER-
Alexander the Great.

FLUELLEN-
Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase
is a little variations. ~ William Shakespeare,
626:Della never set foot more than a few paces off the waterfront. A sweet little thing with brassy hair and misty green eyes, she made a living off being shapely and willing, with no other means to support herself. As the town whore, she lived above one of the ramshackle dockside establishments and catered to men coming in off a fishing boat, reeking of the ~ Ann Howard Creel,
627:General Robert Baden-Powell, later founder of the Boy Scouts, drastically cut African rations in an attempt to spare not just his own men but any white civilians trapped in the town with them. His plan was to starve the native population until they were forced to break out of the besieged city in search of food, thus reducing the number of mouths to feed. ~ Candice Millard,
628:Prisoners are literally an enslaved workforce, not only to external companies like Starbucks and Whole Foods, but to the state of California itself. The prison provides jobs in the town for guards and nurses, a couple of counselors. But not for janitors, cooks, people who make furniture. These are all parts of America's sprawling slave labor system. ~ Patrisse Khan Cullors,
629:The courier will depart next day, she's told.
She sews a warrior's gown all night.
Her fingers feel the needle cold.
How can she hold the scissors tight?
The work is done, she sends it far away.
When will it reach the town where warriors stay?
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Li Bai, Ballads Of Four Seasons: Winter
,
630:Let’s get this straight. He told you his name? Yes. Now— I like that … I like that! He’s been giving me gyp for years, simply because I could have spilled the beans, and now he’s telling any old broad he meets, free of charge! Who else knows? Faquarl? Nouda? Did he deck his name out in neon lights and parade it round the town? I ask you! And I never told anyone! ~ Anonymous,
631:Lydia had been fantasizing about him to the point she nearly drove him insane with it. It had taken four days for his energy to weaken inside her enough that he could go and visit her without fear she would throw him across the town in a gust of wind, and thus cause a scene. Although, getting run out of town after one day would be a new MacGregor record. ~ Michelle M Pillow,
632:The town was very nice and our house was very fine. The river ran behind us and the town had been captured very handsomely but the mountains beyond it could not be taken and I was very glad the Austrians seemed to want to come back to the town some time, if the war should end, because they did not bombard it to destroy it but only a little in a military way. ~ Ernest Hemingway,
633:The earliest mention of the place dated from a history of Macbeth, the king of Scotland, who had been struck down with food poisoning whilst passing through (an anecdote that was somehow left out of the play). Apparently, between bouts of vomiting, the monarch had expressed his mild incredulity that the town continued to exist, and that had been in 1050. Since ~ Daniel O Malley,
634:Lex struggled to take it all in. She had never seen a bank that looked as though it could double as a summer home. Nor could she conceive of a place that didn’t seem to have a single traffic light. And the quaint, nostalgic street sign labeled Dead End rather than Main Street only confirmed her suspicions that the town had surely lost its quaint, nostalgic marbles. ~ Gina Damico,
635:They seemed simple people, and he imagined that their society had no machines at all, but as they brought him through the town gates he saw delicate airborne ships of wood and glass rising like dragonflies from tall stone mooring-towers. Silvery discs, like misty mirrors, swivelled and pivoted on their undersides, and the air beneath them rippled like a heat-haze. ~ Philip Reeve,
636:Sheriff Fox was running his fingers through his thin hair. In a few short years, he’d look bald as a peeled apple. The Snoop sisters and their sidekick, the town’s bag lady no less, had traipsed into his office without knocking first. His admin (he couldn’t remember their names to save his life) had ushered them in, and they’d just dumped this hot potato into his lap. ~ Ed Lynskey,
637:Although Davos has a reputation as an exclusive resort, I was surprised to discover that it wasn’t fancy at all. The town has an almost industrial and utilitarian feel. It’s one of the most populated towns in the Swiss Alps and is lined with large, functional apartment blocks that look more like public housing than something you’d expect in a quaint Swiss ski resort. ~ Bill Browder,
638:Carter swiped a hand over his face. “And it’s basically a cover for a not-so-secret society of busybodies. And those three are some of the busiest. Their favorite thing to do is pick out poor singles and pair them up. They claim it makes the town a better place to live if everyone is ‘in love.’” Carter threw up the air quotes and Summer bit her lip trying not to laugh. ~ Lucy Score,
639:Allegedly Jesus went through the town and spread the word and the word was God. You know what I mean? And Sean Price... Jesus Price... is going through the hood spreading the word and the word is good hip-hop. That's where it started. There ain't no pictures in there with nails on a cross, I ain't walking no water, I ain't turning water to wine, none of that crazy s**t. ~ Sean Price,
640:I make jokes about it, but it's the truth that I kind of patterned my look after the town tramp. I didn't know what she was, just this woman who was blond and piled her hair up, wore high heels and tight skirts, and, boy, she was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. Momma used to say, "Aw, she's just trash," and I thought, That's what I want to be when I grow up. Trash. ~ Dolly Parton,
641:I was surprised to see you at practice.”
“Are you kidding? I’m all about baseball.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. Bird and I haven’t missed a Rattler practice or game since the town got the team.”
“I’ve never known a girl who was that into baseball.”
“Well, now you do.”
Tell your friends. Step right up. Meet the most amazing girl you’ve ever known. ~ Rachel Hawthorne,
642:When I would knock about the town in London, I was doing it with my head down, walking very quickly and it had become the norm for me because I'm recognized there. And people are not unkind but occasionally there's a sort of British who do you think you are sort of, I don't really think I'm anybody. I just go about my normal day. But sometimes you're faced with that. ~ Ewan McGregor,
643:Churchwarry knows it matters little how much of it he believes, only that Simon believed. And he’d like to as well. For all the wideness of the water, the town he is in feels closed, isolated. Perhaps the book opened a door; books have a way of causing ripples. He watches a card dip and vanish under a whitecap and sees in the water’s spray a hope so bright it blisters. ~ Erika Swyler,
644:In the year 1648, the wicked Ukrainian hetman, Bogdan Chmelnicki, and his followers besieged the city of Zamosć but could not take it, because it was strongly fortified; the rebelling haidamak peasants moved on to spread havoc in Tomaszów, Bilgoraj, Kraśnik, Turbin, Frampol - and in Goray, too, the town that lay in the midst of the hills at the end of the world. ~ Isaac Bashevis Singer,
645:A great melancholy was hanging in the air, giving their love a more languid, more tender feeling. It was like the love one feels before a separation, it was like love in a country where there is a war, in a town where epidemics are raging. A strong love, from feeling close to death. Here death reigned, it was as if the town were the Museum of Death. ("The Dead Town") ~ Georges Rodenbach,
646:Elizabeth Castle looked up from her screen and focused on nothing much, as if running through a number of possible scenarios, and the consequent next steps in all the different circumstances, starting, Reacher assumed, with him being an idiot and getting the town wrong, in which case the next step would be to get rid of him, no doubt politely, but also no doubt expeditiously. ~ Lee Child,
647:I grew up in the town that received the first distress signal saying the Titanic was going down. It was the only thing we were ever renowned for. In fact, we prided ourselves on our failure to save the sinking, which is maybe part of the reason I prided myself on drinking my first fifth of whiskey at twelve years old. It's cold where I come from. I learned to drown young. ~ Andrea Gibson,
648:None of this I'd mine. My father is not mine- not in that way. His death and what he's done are not mine. Nor are my upbringing not my town nor its tragedies. How can these things be mine? Holding me responsible for keeping hidden this information is ridiculous. I was born into a town and a family and the town and my family happened to me. I own none of it. It's everyone's. ~ Dave Eggers,
649:The town knew about darkness. It knew about the darkness that comes on the land when rotation hides the land from the sun, and about the darkness of the human soul. The town is an accumulation of three parts which, in sum, are greater than the sections. The town is the people who live there, the buildings which they have erected to den or do business in, and it is the land. ~ Stephen King,
650:Afternoon on a Hill"

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down! ~ Edna St Vincent Millay,
651:Nasty thing that happened up there. It's stayed in the town's consciousness, too. Of course, tales of nastiness and murder are always handed down with slavering delight from generation to generation, while students groan and complain when they're faced with a George Washington Carver or a Jonas Salk. But it's more than that, I think. Perhaps it's due to a geographical freak. ~ Stephen King,
652:Poem to Be Read at 3:00 A.M.
by Donald Justice

Excepting the diner
On the outskirts
The town of Ladora
at 3 A.M.
Was dark but
For my headlights
And up in
One second-story room
A single light
Where someone
Was sick or
Perhaps reading
As I drove past
At seventy
Not thinking
This poem
Is for whoever
Had the light on ~ Donald Justice,
653:You tell me there is no fighting or hatred or desire in the Town. That is a beautiful dream, and I do want your happiness. But the absence of fighting or hatred or desire also means the opposites do not exist either. No joy, no communion, no love. Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without despair or loss, there is no hope. ~ Haruki Murakami,
654:If on a winter's night a traveler, outside the town of Malbork, leaning from the steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow in a network of lines that enlace, in a network of lines that intersect, on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave-What story down there awaits its end?-he asks, anxious to hear the story. ~ Italo Calvino,
655:That place where I was born was a cold town. Even the mountains stood away. They were not sure, no more than me, of that dark spot, those same mountains.
There was a black river that flowed through the town, and if it had no grace for mortal beings, it did for swans, and many swans resorted there, and even rode the river like some kind of plunging animal, in floods.
~ Sebastian Barry,
656:Pluto was a well-known fixture in Bad Münstereifel, at least among those who lived in the old part of town. A large, foul-tempered, and unsterilized inky-black tomcat, he had once made it onto the front page of the local free paper (admittedly during a quiet week as regards other news) after a resident of the town accused him of making an unprovoked attack on her pet dachshund. ~ Helen Grant,
657:The sky is purple, the flare of a match behind a cupped hand is gold; the liquor is green, bright green, made from a thousand herbs, made from altars. Those who know enough to drink Chartreuse at Mardi Gras are lucky, because the distilled essence of the town burns in their bellies. Chartreuse glows in the dark, and if you drink enough of it, your eyes will turn bright green. ~ Poppy Z Brite,
658:If on a winter's night a traveler, outside the town of Malbork, leaning from the steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow in a network of lines that enlace, in a network of lines that intersect, on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave-What story down there awaits its end? - he asks, anxious to hear the story. ~ Italo Calvino,
659:Afternoon On A Hill
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!
~ Edna St. Vincent Millay,
660:It must have been like this for Margo, too. With all the planning she'd done, she must have known she was leaving, and even she couldn't have been totally immune to the feeling. She'd had good days here. And on the last day, the bad days become so difficult to recall, because one way or another, she had made a life here, just as I had. The town was paper, but the memories were not. ~ John Green,
661:Halfway down the stairs, is a stair, where I sit. There isn't any, other stair, quite like, it. I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top; So this is the stair, where, I always, stop. Halfway up the stairs, isn't up, and isn't down. It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town. And all sorts of funny thoughts, run round my head: It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead! ~ A A Milne,
662:All of childhood's unanswered questions must finally be passed back to the town and answered there. Heroes and bogey men, values and dislikes, are first encountered and labeled in that early environment. In later years they change faces, places and maybe races, tactics, intensities and goals, but beneath those penetrable masks they wear forever the stocking-capped faces of childhood. ~ Maya Angelou,
663:From where you are you can hear in Cockle Row in the spring, moonless night, Miss Price, dressmaker and sweetshop-keeper, dream of her lover, tall as the town clock tower, Samson syrup-gold-maned, whacking thighed and piping hot, thunderbolt-bass'd and barnacle-breasted, flailing up the cockles with his eyes like blowlamps and scooping low over her lonely loving hotwaterbottled body. ~ Dylan Thomas,
664:No one has ever asked them to translate a sentence from Carson McCullers (In the town there were two mutes, and they were always together) into German (In der Stadt gab es zwei Stumme, und sie waren immer zusammen) and pass it around the room, retranslating as they go, until it comes out as playground gibberish: In the bar there were two potatoes together, and they were trouble. ~ Andrew Sean Greer,
665:Podor is a nice town. It's at the north of Senegal near the river. The town faces the other country that is Mauritania. It is a very cultural town, because at the beginning it was closest stop when you come from the Sahara and also when you come from the south to go to the north part of Africa. It was just at the middle, and so it's where a lot of cultures of West Africa come together. ~ Baaba Maal,
666:Because it is in the nature of things that they become extreme, we have passed down from manliness to cruelty. If I had been told when I was 20 that there was a tavern in the town where the brave and the cruel were gathered together, I would have run all the way and I would have gone up to the largest and leatheriest of the denizens and said: If you truly love me, kill the bartender. ~ Quentin Crisp,
667:For nonwhites, racial microaggressions find a way into every part of every day. Microaggressions are constant reminders that you don’t belong, that you are less than, that you are not worthy of the same respect that white people are afforded. They keep you off balance, keep you distracted, and keep you defensive. They keep you from enjoying an outing on the town or a day at the office. ~ Ijeoma Oluo,
668:The town could not talk, and would not listen. "How'd you like to hear about the war?" he might have asked, but the place could only blink and shrug. It had no memory, therefore no guilt. The taxes got paid and the votes got counted and the agencies of government did their work briskly and politely. It was a brisk, polite town. It did not know shit about shit, and did not care to know. ~ Tim O Brien,
669:I know that’s how they talk. But if there’s a real war why don’t they do anything? Don’t you see that if the official version were true these chaps up here would attack and sweep the Town out of existence? They’ve got the strength. If they wanted to rescue us they could do it. But obviously the last thing they want is to end their so-called “war”. The whole game depends on keeping it going. ~ C S Lewis,
670:I said, 'Who killed him?' and he said 'I don't know who killed him, but he's dead all right,' and it was dark and there was water standing in the street and no lights or windows broke and boats all up in the town and trees blown down and everything all blown and I got a skiff and went out and found my boat where I had her inside Mango Key and she was right only she was full of water. ~ Ernest Hemingway,
671:We were Worthy, a town and a team. The town was small, just 4,162 souls calling it home. And we knew just about all of them in one way or another. Small as the town was, we had at least one of every kind of church, and it didn’t matter whether you were a good person or a straight-up heathen; you showed up in one of them on Sunday morning. If you didn’t, we would talk about you. ~ Marybeth Mayhew Whalen,
672:Moving is what the deal is. I wish I could spend more time in places, but I find I either want to be in a place for an afternoon or like 10 days or a month. I don't like the two-day thing, so I just wish the drives were shorter so you could wake up, take a walk, and spend three hours in one part of the town. I always thought there should be 28 or 30 hours in a day - you know what I mean? ~ Justin Vernon,
673:The town was its green suburban lawns, sure, but it was also its secrets. The kind of place where people double-checked the locks at night or pulled their kids closer in the grocery store. They hung horseshoes over their front doors and put up bells instead of wind chimes. They wore crosses made from stainless steel instead of gold because gold couldn't protect them from people like me. ~ Brenna Yovanoff,
674:For years, Zagreb, Croatia’s chief city, was a layover on the way to the country’s island-studded coast. No more. Tourism had shot up more than 20 percent from 2011 to 2013, when Croatia joined the European Union. Accompanying that rise is a raft of modernized and recently built lodgings, including some three dozen hostels — important additions to the town’s once-inadequate accommodation scene. ~ Anonymous,
675:The Town Hall Pub on a Wednesday night was just regulars anyway, so we could play whatever. Worst case scenario, it would be the same seven people who were always at the bar getting drunk, and they would be there for us. But we just told our friends and family, and they came out to support us. Then they told their friends, who told their friends, who told their friends. It was a full-on event. ~ Josh Young,
676:1015
The Spry Arms Of The Wind
The spry Arms of the Wind
If I could crawl between
I have an errand imminent
To an adjoining Zone I should not care to stop
My Process is not long
The Wind could wait without the Gate
Or stroll the Town among.
To ascertain the House
And is the soul at Home
And hold the Wick of mine to it
To light, and then return ~ Emily Dickinson,
677:It was customary for the town’s three churches—Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian—to unite and listen to one visiting minister, but occasionally when the churches could not agree on a preacher or his salary, each congregation held its own revival with an open invitation to all; sometimes, therefore, the populace was assured of three weeks’ spiritual reawakening. Revival time was a time of war: ~ Harper Lee,
678:I was reminded of the Winchester Mystery House, which I’d seen as a child on a trip with my parents. From above, there was the same sort of random conglomeration—peaked roofs connected to flat roofs, shakes and shingles, tarpaper and skylights—and I realized that Frank had constructed his house from the town, connecting the buildings until they made one enormous edifice. “Jesus,” I breathed. ~ Bentley Little,
679:Soldiers have been looting and burning for generations. Perhaps they burned the town because of you, or perhaps they did it because they disliked the whiskey. Soldiers kill and rape and loot for a thousand reasons. The one thing I am certain of is that neither you nor I did this burning.” Tool reached down and turned Mahlia’s gaze to meet his own. “Do not seek to own what others have done. ~ Paolo Bacigalupi,
680:Bakers of bread rolls and pastry cooks will not buy grain before eleven o'clock in winter and noon in summer; bakers of large loaves will not buy grain before two o'clock. This will enable the people of the town to obtain their supply first. Bakers shall put a distinctive trademark on their loaves, and keep weights and scales in their shops, under penalty of having their licenses removed. ~ Cardinal Richelieu,
681:I asked Phil Prentiss what he would do if they never got a baby and he said they’d die with a lot of excess love in their hearts….” “And let’s not,” Jack said. “Let’s spend every drop. On the kids, on our families, on your patients, on the town. On people we don’t know yet and the ones who have been our good friends forever. On each other. Let’s spend our last drop as we’re taking our last breaths. ~ Robyn Carr,
682:If I was designing a home for Libby Strout, it would be exceptional. It would be one of a kind. It would be bright red with a tin roof, at least two stories, possibly more, a state-of-the-art art weather station, and lots of turrets. Also a tower, but not one to lock her in. It would be a place where she could sit and look out over and beyond the town, as far as the horizon, maybe even past it. ~ Jennifer Niven,
683:awake as if for the first time, and you are standing in a part of the town where the air is sweet—your face flushed, your chest thumping, your stomach a planet, your heart a planet, your every organ a separate planet, all of it of a piece though the pieces turn separately, O silent indications of the inevitable, as among the natural restraints of winter and good sense, life blows you apart in her arms ~ Anonymous,
684:The people of the town, though, remained strangers: I could not realize that I must be seeing some of them over and over again, it was as though each passed through only once, as though there were always new strangers coming here. And I felt so much a stranger myself that when, as rarely happened, I crossed the path of someone who knew me, and who spoke to me, I was startled and could hardly answer. ~ Lydia Davis,
685:The streets were covered in a thin layer of slush, and people trained their eyes carefully at their feet. The air was exhilarating. High school girls came bustling along, their rosy red cheeks puffing white breaths you could have written cartoon captions in. I continued my amble, taking in the sights of the town. It had been four and a half years since I was in Sapporo. It seemed like much longer. ~ Haruki Murakami,
686:Petri. My monkey. They boiled him."
Her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears. She'd been quiet in the town car Luke had summoned, but once it had dropped them off a block from his apartment , she couldn't seem to stop talking. Luke's grip tightened on her wrist at the words. "Yes. The dead monkey is gone, and we're very sad. I got it the first ten fucking times you mentioned it." He snapped ~ Leah Clifford,
687:Pile up gold, heap up silver, build covered walks, fill your house with slaves and the town with debtors, unless you lay to rest the passions of the soul, and put a curb on your insatiable desires, and rid yourself of fear and anxiety, you are but pouring out wine for a man in a fever, and giving honey to a man who is bilious, and laying out a sumptuous banquet for people who are suffering from dysentery, ~ Plutarch,
688:all this made of the church for me something entirely different from the rest of the town: an edifice occupying, so to speak, a four-dimensional space—the name of the fourth being Time—extending through the centuries its ancient nave, which, bay after bay, chapel after chapel, seemed to stretch across and conquer not merely a few yards of soil, but each successive epoch from which it emerged triumphant, ~ Marcel Proust,
689:And the Angels…were frozen in hard marble silence and at a distance life awoke, and there was a rattle of lean wheels, a slow clangor of shod hoofs. And he heard the whistle wail along the river. Yet, as he stood for the last time by the Angels, he was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town he has left, yet he does not say “The town is near,” but turns his eyes upon the distant soaring hills... ~ Thomas Wolfe,
690:Consequently, the town remained the same size for over 150 years. Its primary reason for existence was government. What saved it from becoming another grubby little Alabama community was that Maycomb’s proportion of professional people ran high: one went to Maycomb to have his teeth pulled, his wagon fixed, his heart listened to, his money deposited, his mules vetted, his soul saved, his mortgage extended. ~ Harper Lee,
691:Not much that happened on the beach got by Charlie Simmons. He was fourteen and his mother was the nurse who tended Winnie Banks, a lady with ALS who lived on the hill overlooking the beach. Charlie came to work with his mother every day. He hung out around the house, the town, the beach. He was, more than anything, a practiced observer. More observer than participant, something he’d change if possible. It ~ Robyn Carr,
692:Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you-trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and as I may say, the whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. ~ William Shakespeare,
693:Everyone has known that the town is dying, long before we could see it. But only I know the reason why. My mother is coming for her little girl, once again burning the world away until there is only us and the memories of us together, until there is only her memories of how it used to be, how it should have been. And there are no more towns left to hide in, no more versions or dreams of me left to fight. ~ Livia Llewellyn,
694:In Spain
Tagus, farewell! that westward with thy streams
Turns up the grains of gold already tried
With spur and sail, for I go seek the Thames
Gainward the sun that shewth her wealthy pride,
And to the town which Brutus sought by dreams,
Like bended moon doth lend her lusty side.
My king, my country, alone for whome I live,
Of mighty love the wings for this me give.
~ David McKee Wright,
695:No one expects a Broadway musical comedy to be in the vanguard of what is bohemian, raunchy, folkloric, academic or aggressively experimental. That is not its job. Its job is to synthesize musical and social traditions with high-styled vivacity, especially those that dwell on different sides of the tracks in real life. The highbrow meets the lowbrow; sweet meets hot; uptown, downtown, all around the town. ~ Margo Jefferson,
696:The town draws a veil over certain events. This is a small community, where everyone knows that sometimes the contract to forget is as important as any promise to remember. Children can grow up having no knowledge of the indiscretion of their father in his youth, or of the illegitimate sibling who lives fifty miles away and bears another man’s name. History is that which is agreed upon by mutual consent. That ~ M L Stedman,
697:23From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some boys came out of the town and jeered at him. “Get out of here, baldy!” they said. “Get out of here, baldy!” 24He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the boys. 25And he went on to Mount Carmel and from there returned to Samaria. ~ Anonymous,
698:I walked head down, pressing my feet down hard on the pavement to push the city under water.... With the town sinking at the rate of thirty centimeters a century, I explained, or three millimeters a year, or point zero zero zero zero zero zero one millimeter a second, one might reasonably hope, by pressing our feet down hard on the pavement as we walked, to play some part in the drowning of the town. ~ Jean Philippe Toussaint,
699:The iron miners who belonged to the Italian Club in the town of Virginia, Minnesota, took pains to procure more suitable grapes, dispatching a grocer named Cesare Mondavi to the San Joaquin Valley late each summer to acquire their supply. Inspired to get into the grape business himself, Mondavi soon moved his family to California, where his precocious son Robert would make his own name in the winemaking world. ~ Daniel Okrent,
700:A Private
This ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors
Many a frozen night, and merrily
Answered staid drinkers, good bedmen, and all bores:
"At Mrs Greenland's Hawthorn Bush," said he,
"I slept." None knew which bush. Above the town,
Beyond `The Drover', a hundred spot the down
In Wiltshire. And where now at last he sleeps
More sound in France -that, too, he secret keeps.
~ Edward Thomas,
701:The camps also became sites of scientific investigation, as the anthropologist Eugen Fischer, later a leading ‘racial hygienist’ under the Third Reich, descended on the town of Rehoboth to study its mixed-race inhabitants (he called them the ‘Rehoboth bastards’). He and his colleagues obtained skulls for craniometric studies of different races; up to three hundred of them eventually found their way to Germany. ~ Richard J Evans,
702:The residents of the the town are attracted by the words and the pictures on the signs. They know full well the perils posed by overpopulation. Many of them have mastered the use of several types of contraceptives. Now they understand the dangers posed by traffic accidents. They know that even though overpopulation is perilous, the living must do their best to have a good time and avoid being killed in traffic accident. ~ Yu Hua,
703:He began to see that the town life was a book of humanity infinitely more palpitating, varied, and compendious than the gown life. These struggling men and women before him were the reality of Christminster, though they knew little of Christ or Minster. That was one of the humours of things. The floating population of students and teachers, who did know both in a way, were not Christminster in a local sense at all. ~ Thomas Hardy,
704:Among other public buildings in the town of Mudfog, it boasts of one which is common to most towns great or small, to wit, a workhouse, and in this workhouse there was born on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events, the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter. ~ Charles Dickens,
705:From my perch on the couch atop the truck I watched our wheels cross the town line, turn left on Highway 33, pick up some speed and head for the ocean breezes and new freedoms of the Shore. With the warm night whistling by me, I felt wonderfully and perilously adrift, giddy with excitement. This town, my town, would never leave me, and I could never completely leave it, but I would never live in Freehold again. ~ Bruce Springsteen,
706:in for the evening. The town rose into view, the biggest Cora had seen since North Carolina, if not as long established. The long main street, with its two banks and the loud row of taverns, was enough to bring her back to the days of the dormitory. The town gave no indication of quieting for the night, shops open, citizens a-prowl on the wooden sidewalks. Boseman was adamant about not spending the night. If the ~ Colson Whitehead,
707:He was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town he has left, yet does not say ‘The town is near,’ but turns his eyes upon the distant soaring ranges, Thomas Wolfe declares at the end of Look Homeward, Angel, and those words I spoke aloud to the bathroom mirror that summer, and thought of Wolfe in New York, writing between journeys to the West, and of Hemingway traveling from Paris cafés to African veldts. “YOU’RE ~ Ron Rash,
708:should spot us from the air?” said Hugh. “They won’t. We’ll be careful.” “And if they’re waiting for us in the town?” said Horace. “We’ll pretend to be normal. We’ll pass.” “I was never much good at that,” Millard said with a laugh. “You won’t be seen at all, Mill. You’ll be our advance scout, and our secret procurer of necessary items.” “I am quite a talented thief,” he said with a touch of pride. “A veritable master ~ Ransom Riggs,
709:We had the same kind of unemployment here as they had in the worst hit places in the North and you're meant to be on a cushy wicket in the South. If you go up to Newcastle, you can tell that the town's really had money, or Liverpool, you know, the northern towns have got grandeur, whereas Medway, being just a sort of garrison town and dockyard town, you don't have anything like Earl Grey Square or anything like that. ~ Billy Childish,
710:That is one strange woman.” “Oh-ho, she’s peculiar all right. But she’s always thinking about the town. I’d love to get a look at her will. She’s crafty, and I think she must have a ton of money. And no living relatives.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Looking for a wife? Mature woman with big black glasses and mud on her knees?” Dan laughed. “I don’t think I could drink that one pretty, Jack. But gee, thanks for the tip.” “How’s ~ Robyn Carr,
711:Beingi n the town is prosaic, sensuous, alcoholic. And in the dark, the town is yours and you are the town’s and
together you sleep like the dead, like the very stones in your north field. There is no life here but the slow death of days, and so when the evil falls on the town, its coming seems almost preordained, sweet and morphic. It is almost as though the town knows the evil was coming and the shape it would take. ~ Stephen King,
712:By the time a town is 75 or 100 years old, it may be filled with those who have come to idealize their isolation. Often these are people who never left at all, or fled back to the safety of the town after a try at college a few hundred miles from home, or returned after college regarding the values of the broader, more pluralistic world they had encountered as something to protect themselves and their families from... ~ Kathleen Norris,
713:I can't believe I let you talk me into this," muttered Serena, as the number 16 bus rumbled over the bridge connecting the north and south sides of the town.

"I didn't talk you into anything," I reminded her as we reached Jason's neighbourhood and began passing a string of progressively nicer - and larger - houses. "You invited yourself along."

"Okay, then I can't believe you didn't talk me out of this. ~ Kathleen Peacock,
714:If there is a lack of specificity in Grossman's description of the town and the walkers, and if the story perhaps sometimes becomes lost and confusing, then it is because the landscape and its inhabitants are really shadows, creatures of an interior world, whose journey and whose quest are within. Falling Out of Time is short, and clearly a deeply personal book, but its importance and impact ought not to be underestimated. ~ Ian Sansom,
715:Patience
A wind comes from the north
Blowing little flocks of birds
Like spray across the town,
And a train, roaring forth,
Rushes stampeding down
With cries and flying curds
Of steam, out of the darkening north.
Whither I turn and set
Like a needle steadfastly,
Waiting ever to get
The news that she is free;
But ever fixed, as yet,
To the lode of her agony.
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
716:People at Stettin drop things into boats out of overhanging warehouses. At least, our cousins do, but aren't particularly rich. The town isn't interesting, except for a clock that rolls its eyes, and the view of the Oder, which truly is something special. Oh, Mrs. Wilcox, you would love the Oder! The river, or rather rivers—there seem to be dozens of them—are intense blue, and the plain they run through an intensest green. ~ E M Forster,
717:Wild Swans
I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more:
Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
House without air, I leave you and lock your door.
Wild swans, come over the town, come over
The town again, trailing your legs and crying!
~ Edna St. Vincent Millay,
718:Around me the moonlight glittered on the pebbles of the llano, and in the night sky a million stars sparkled. Across the river I could see the twinkling lights of the town. In a week I would be returning to school, and as always I would be running up the goat path and crossing the bridge to go to church. Sometime in the future I would have to build my own dream out of those things that were so much a part of my childhood. ~ Rudolfo Anaya,
719:I've been in towns where there is no library, or where the library for the high school and the library for the town is one room, and it's smaller than my modest living room here. So you don't have many resources in 1950 or even 1970. This is the year, 2013, every town in America is connected to the web. Every town in America is therefore connected to all kinds of resources at the Library of Congress, at 100,000 websites. ~ James W Loewen,
720:Isn't this your life? That ancient kiss
still burning out your eyes? Isn't this defeat
so accurate, the church bell simply seems
a pure announcement: ring and no one comes?
Don't empty houses ring? Are magnesium
and scorn sufficient to support a town,
not just Philipsburg, but towns
of towering blondes, good jazz and booze
the world will never let you have
until the town you came from dies inside? ~ Richard Hugo,
721:Whiskey Wendi," Kerrick said.
"Oh, yes," Loren said. A slow smile spread on his lips. "That was Grzebien? Wow that was... a wild time."
"That was also over a year ago before Estrid and when the Booze Baron ruled the town. Do you really think the people would remember us?" Quain asked.
"Whiskey Wendi," Loren repeated, looking at Quain with a gleam in his eyes.
"Oh, yeah." Quain grinned. "Yeah, they'd remember. ~ Maria V Snyder,
722:The gang that trashed the town was now back in town to trash it even more and you'll never guess.. they decided that the only way to save an economy brought to its knees by their collective actions and the banking system they represent was to, well, no, surely not.. hand trillions of taxpayer-borrowed dollars to the Rothschild-controlled banks and insurance companies like CitiGroup, J. P. Morgan, AIG and a long list of others. ~ David Icke,
723:The Olympic Village wasn’t empty for long. The cottages became military barracks. With the Olympics over and his usefulness for propaganda expended, the village’s designer, Captain Fürstner, learned that he was to be cashiered from the Wehrmacht because he was a Jew. He killed himself. Less than twenty miles away, in the town of Oranienburg, the first prisoners were being hauled into the Sachsenhausen concentration camp. ~ Laura Hillenbrand,
724:Even during the nights, their nights punctuated by unending kisses, they were sometimes irritated by the carillon, which sounded every quarter of an hour from the top of the belfry opposite. A slow, indistinct jingling which seemed to come from far, far away, from the depths of childhood, from the depths of the ages. It was like a dead bouquet falling, an autumn of sound shedding its leaves over the town. ("The Dead Town") ~ Georges Rodenbach,
725:Cato, once it was clear that Caesar was the inevitable victor, killed himself at the town of Utica on the coast of what is now Tunisia in the most gory way imaginable. According to his biographer, writing 150 years later, he stabbed himself with his sword but survived the gash. Despite attempts by friends and family to save him, he pushed away the doctor they had summoned and pulled out his own bowels through the still open wound. ~ Mary Beard,
726:It’s fascinating and quite sad that we live in a time where the media is salivating to take down anyone considered to be “best in class.” Culture seems to lift them onto a pedestal of perfection only to hope they come crashing down. Whether it’s an athlete, a CEO, or a money manager, any false move or seemingly slight crack in the armor is exploited to the fullest. Stone them in the town square of television and the internet. ~ Anthony Robbins,
727:Song From Heine
MY heart, my heart is heavy,
Though merrily blooms the May;
Out on the ancient bastion,
Under the lindens I stay.
There stands by yon gray old tower,
The sentry-house of the town;
A red clad peasant soldier
Goes pacing up and down.
He toys with his shining musket,
That gleams in the sunset red,
Presenting and shouldering arms now,—
I wish he would shoot me dead!
~ Emma Lazarus,
728:But the available light in Twisted River was dim and growing dimmer. The dance-hall door blew (or was slammed) closed, cutting off Teresa Brewer as suddenly as if Six-Pack had taken the singer’s slender throat in her hands. When the dance-hall door blew (or was kicked) open again, Tony Bennett was crooning “Rags to Riches.” Dominic didn’t for a moment doubt that the town’s eternal violence was partly spawned by irredeemable music. ~ John Irving,
729:I'll come back to that later. First, about the mind. You tell me there is no fighting or hatred or desire in the Town. That is a beautiful dream, and I do want your happiness. But the absence of fighting or hatred or desire also means the opposites do not exist either. No joy, no communion, no love. Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope. ~ Haruki Murakami,
730:That devilish Iron Horse, whose ear-rending neigh is heard throughout the town, has muddied the Boiling Spring with his foot, and he it is that has browsed off all the woods on Walden shore, that Trojan horse, with a thousand men in his belly, introduced by mercenary Greeks! Where is the country's champion, the Moore of Moore Hall, to meet him at the Deep Cut and thrust an avenging lance between the ribs of the bloated pest? ~ Henry David Thoreau,
731:What would you have me say, Mr. Stonecrop? That my own boy shouldn’t find shelter for someone in need? That my own boy shouldn’t care for the outcast?” Now he leaned across the desk. “By God, that my own boy shouldn’t stand up—as his father should have stood up—against the money of the town when it set about to destroy a community that never harmed it, merely for the sake of tourists from Boston? Is that what you’d have me say to ~ Gary D Schmidt,
732:13 The foolish woman is noisy; she is simple and open to all forms of evil, she [willfully and recklessly] knows nothing whatever [of eternal value]. 14 For she sits at the door of her house or on a seat in the conspicuous places of the town, 15 Calling to those who pass by, who go uprightly on their way: 16 Whoever is simple (wavering and easily led astray), let him turn in here! And as for him who lacks understanding, she says to him, ~ Anonymous,
733:Can I kiss Hannah good-bye before I go?" Rory asked cheerfully.

Hannah's lips curled, knowing the brothers were needling Daric. As she felt his body tense, she wasn't entirely sure that was a good idea at the moment.

"You will go before you leave your mates widowed and alone. Take care of the clean-up with the humans in the town before you go home," Daric boomed, his command so forceful that Hannah stepped back in alarm. ~ J S Scott,
734:I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep. You may have heard of me. ~ Patrick Rothfuss,
735:She could easily have remarked on the heavy skiing weather, or asked how he could even see the road, or complained about the town not getting its ploughs out-- anything at all to show interest or pretend to show interest, the way people talk to make things a little more pleasant-- but no, not Katri Kling. There she stood squinting through her cigarette smoke, her black hair like a mane shrouding her face as she leaned over the table. ~ Tove Jansson,
736:I don’t remember when I did not know Port William, the town and the neighborhood. My relation to that place, my being in it and my absences from it, is the story of my life. That story has surprised me almost every day—but now, in the year 1986, so near the end, it seems not surprising at all but only a little strange, as if it all has happened to somebody I don’t yet quite know. Certainly, all of it has happened to somebody younger. ~ Wendell Berry,
737:Someone should do something,” Leeli said quietly. “What would they do?” Janner asked. “It seems like the whole world is as awful as it is here.” “Things weren’t this bad in Glipwood,” Tink said. “No, but it didn’t take much to tip the scales,” Janner said. “In just a few days, the town was deserted and the Fangs moved in. Everything in Skree is as bad as it is for these mud farmers. It’s just that here we can see it for what it is. ~ Andrew Peterson,
738:It was unreal, grotesquely unreal, that morning skies which dawned so tenderly blue could be profaned with cannon smoke that hung over the town like low thunder clouds, that warm noontides filled with the piercing sweetness of massed honeysuckle and climbing roses could be so fearful, as shells screamed into the streets, bursting like the crack of doom, throwing iron splinters hundreds of yards, blowing people and animals to bits. ~ Margaret Mitchell,
739:Still writing tales?” he said. I told him yes and he nodded once, returning his attention to the snake. Very few of the boys I grew up with had finished high school, but they accepted that I was a writer. I was merely doing what other men did—following in my father’s footsteps. Sonny was a plumber. The son of a local drunk was the town drunk in two towns. Sons of soldiers joined the army. That I had become a writer was perfectly normal. ~ Chris Offutt,
740:I never want movie theaters go away. It is the greatest time out on the town. You go out, it's a great place to go, great location, great hang, great date, good place to be with friends. But as an actor who works hard at making movies, I am glad that no matter what people can see your movie on. It's hard to keep a theater for long time; there are so many movies, so when you leave a theater, you're just glad there's a life for your movie. ~ Adam Sandler,
741:The survivors of the catastrophe, the same on es who had been living in Macondo before it had been struck by the banana company hurricane, were sitting in the middle of the street enjoying their first sunshine. They still had the green of the algae on their skin and the musty smell of a corner that had been stamped on them by the rain, but in their hearts they seemed happy to have recovered the town in which they had been born. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez,
742:You do know we're officially the talk of the town," I say to Tucker. He might as well have taken a marker to my forehead and written PROPERTY OF TUCKER in big black letters.

His eyebrows lift. "Do you mind?"

I reach for his hand and lace his fingers with mine. "Nope."

I'm with Tucker. In spite of my failed purpose and everything, it looks like I'm actually going to get to keep him. I'm the luckiest girl in the world. ~ Cynthia Hand,
743:It folded back on itself like something that M. C. Escher, had he been given to hard nights on the town, which it is no part of this narrative’s purpose to suggest was the case, though it is sometimes hard, looking at his pictures, particularly the one with all the awkward steps, not to wonder, might have dreamed up after having been on one, for the little chandeliers which should have been hanging inside were on the outside pointing up. ~ Douglas Adams,
744:The road by the river had been one of my favorites. I could walk at the same speed as the river. I could feel it breathing. It was alive. More than anything, it was the river we had thank for creating the town. For grinding down from the hills over how many hundreds of thousands of years, for hauling the dirt, filling the sea, and making the tree grow. The town belonged to the river from the very beginning, and it would always be the way ~ Haruki Murakami,
745:When you come from the city to the town you lie wakeful in the absence of noise at first. You wait for something to break it: the cough of shattering glass, the squeal of tires blistering against the pavement, perhaps a scream. But there is nothing but the unearthly hum of the telephone wires and so you wait and wait and then sleep badly. But when the town gets you, you sleep like the town and the town sleeps deep in its blood, like a bear. ~ Stephen King,
746:It had been a long, brutal, and bloody fight.
Their army had broken and left the two of them alone to defend the town. Julian had expected Kyrian to abandon him as well, but the young fool had just smiled at him, grabbed a sword for each hand, and said, „It's a beautiful day to die. What say we slay as many of these bastards as we can before we pay Charon?”
A complete and utter lunatic, Kyrian had always had more guts than brains. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
747:To anticipate, not the sunrise and the dawn merely, but, if possible, Nature herself! How many mornings, summer and winter, before yet any neighbor was stirring about his business, have I been about mine...So many autumn, ay, and winter days, spent outside the town, trying to hear what was in the wind, to hear and carry it express! I well-nigh sunk all my capital in it, and lost my own breath into the bargain, running in the face of it. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
748:Why, of all places in Johannesburg, the Indian location should be chosen for dumping down all kaffirs of the town, passes my comprehension. Of course, under my suggestion, the Town Council must withdraw the Kaffirs from the Location. About this mixing of the Kaffirs with the Indians I must confess I feel most strongly. I think it is very unfair to the Indian population, and it is an undue tax on even the proverbial patience of my countrymen. ~ Mahatma Gandhi,
749:Chase Henry
In my life I was the town drunkard;
When I died the priest denied me burial
In holy ground.
The which rebounded to my good fortune.
For the Protestants bought this lot,
And buried my body here,
Close to the grave of the banker Nicholas,
And of his wife Priscilla.
Take note, ye prudent and pious souls,
Of the cross-currents in life
Which bring honor to the dead, who lived in shame.
~ Edgar Lee Masters,
750:Late December, in Bridgwater, Somerset, Western Province, a middle-aged man named Thomas Wharnton, going home from work shortly after midnight, was set upon by youths. These knifed him, stripped him, spitted him, basted him, carved him, served him—all openly and without shame in one of the squares of the town. A hungry crowd clamoured for hunks and slices, kept back—that the King's Peace might not be broken—by munching and dripping greyboys. ~ Anthony Burgess,
751:So you’re going to Levan. And I’m coming with you.” Tag stood as if it was already decided.
“Tag . . .”
“Mo.”
“I don’t want you to come.”
“This is the town you terrorized. Right?”
“I didn’t terrorize anyone,” I argued.
“When they talk about painting the town, I don’t think you were quite what they had in mind, Moses.”
I laughed, in spite of myself.
“I have to go with you to make sure they don’t run you out with pitchforks. ~ Amy Harmon,
752:Besides the Hawk's own men, the men of the Wolf and the Dragon kept watch as well. Night and day,hour to hour, never eased for a oment,three warlord husbands kept guard over their beloved wives.Out beyond the harbor, boats patrolled. In the hills beyond Hawkforte, sentries stood their posts. No one entered the town without being indentified. No one came near the stronghold without being approved.
At this rate,they would never catch Wolscroft. ~ Josie Litton,
753:For some, the expansion of prisons is an opportunity to expand political power. Prison inmates are counted among a town’s residents, creating large gains in the official town population. In Susanville, the town population has been nearly doubled by prison residency.81 With this heightened population comes increased resources for roads, schools, and public services, as well as political representation for those living outside the prison. Under ~ Marc Lamont Hill,
754:I was attracted by all the town’s discos and nightspots, where I wanted nothing more than to drink myself senseless and stagger around chasing girls I could fuck, or at least snog. How could I explain that to Hilde? I couldn’t, and I didn’t. Instead I opened a new subdivision in my life. ‘Booze and hopes of fornication’ it was called, and it was right next to ‘insight and sincerity’, separated only by a minor garden-fence-like change of personality. ~ Anonymous,
755:We swung over the hills and over the town and back again, and I saw how a man can be master of a craft, and how a craft can be master of an element. I saw the alchemy of perspective reduce my world, and all my other life, to grains in a cup. I learned to watch, to put my trust in other hands than mine. And I learned to wander. I learned what every dreaming child needs to know -- that no horizon is so far that you cannot get above it or beyond it. ~ Beryl Markham,
756:hint of sunlight to the east. As they drove through the residential neighborhood, Theo stared out of his window, searching for the hardened face of Jack Leeper. But no one was out there. Lights in homes were being turned on. The town was waking up. “It’s almost six,” Mr. Boone announced. “I say we go to Gertrude’s and have her world-famous waffles. Theo?” “I’m in,” Theo replied, though he had no appetite. “Marvelous, honey,” Mrs. Boone said, though ~ John Grisham,
757:I was born into a town and a family and the town ad my family happened to me. I own none of it. It is everyone's. It is shareware. I like it, I like having been a part of it, I would kill or die to protect those who are part of it, but I don not claim exclusivity. Have it Take it from me. Do with is what you will. Make it useful. This is like making electricity from dirt; it is almost too good to be believed, that we can make beauty from this stuff. ~ Dave Eggers,
758:Shortly before ten o'clock the stillness of the air grew quite oppressive, and the silence was so marked that the bleating of a sheep inland or the barking of a dog in the town was distinctly heard, and the band on the pier, with its lively French air, was like a dischord in the great harmony of nature's silence. A little after midnight came a strange sound from over the sea, and high overhead the air began to carry a strange, faint, hollow booming. ~ Bram Stoker,
759:Her childhood had been magical, hours spent in ecstatic loneliness in the apple orchard, dreaming of foreign lands and wild adventures. Everything was new, down to bird song and grass blades. By the time she had reached adulthood, the town around her was like a grandmother who had used up all her stories and now simply rocked on the porch. The same flowers, the same streets, year after year. She longed for someone more exotic. A prince. A pirate. ~ Kathy Hepinstall,
760:Rosemary took another sip of juice. Her head was already feeling better. ‘Does your name mean something in your language?’ ‘It does. I am “A Grove of Trees Where Friends Meet To Watch The Moons Align During A Sunset in Mid” . . . I’d guess you’d say “autumn.” Mind you, that’s just the first bit. It also includes my mother’s name and the town in which I was born, but I think I’ll leave it there, or else you’ll be listening to me translate all night. ~ Becky Chambers,
761:The road was called Agnes weeps, after the town's first schoolteacher, who had burst into tears when she saw how plunging and twisting the road was and realized how remote the town must be. But from the first moment I laid eyes on it, I loved that road. I thought of it as a winding staircase taking me out of the traffic jams, news bulletins, bureaucrats, air-raid sirens and locked doors of city life. Jim said we should rename the road Lilly sings. ~ Jeannette Walls,
762:It was all terribly tasteful and immaculate, and Genar-Hofoen was already starting to look forward to the evening, when he intended to dress in his best clothes and hit the town, which in this case was Night City, located one level almost straight down, where, traditionally, anything on Tier that could breathe a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere and tolerate one standard gravity - and had any sort of taste for diversion and excitement - tended to congregate. ~ Iain M Banks,
763:Her name is Lilliana Atwater. Mid-twenties, dyed red hair, was last seen in a yellow raincoat. Any reports or injuries or anything in your neck of the woods?”
“Nope,” Joy said, “can’t say that it rings a bell. Have you tried Springton?”

Gee, no, I didn’t try the town NEXT to Tarker’s Hollow.

Black, Tasha (2014-12-22). Fate of the Alpha: Episode 1: A Tarker's Hollow Serial (Kindle Locations 1666-1668). 13th Story Press. Kindle Edition. ~ Tasha Black,
764:August was almost over. The first cool touch of autumn moved slowly through the town and there was a softening and the first gradual burning fever of color in every tree, a faint flush and coloring in the hills, and the color of lions in the wheat fields. Now the pattern of days was familiar and repeated like a penman beautifully inscribing again and again, in practice, a series of it’s and w’s and m’s, day after day the line repeated in delicate rills. ~ Ray Bradbury,
765:Sometimes stories get on my nerves--especially the ones where unfair things keep happening to the hero over and over, for no reason at all, and he valiantly overcomes it all.
Life isn't like that.
Not every hero can stay valiant. Sometimes, they can't even stay a hero, so what does that make them? A failure? A pussy? A total failure jerkwad with no hope on the horizon save finding a cemetery and digging rectangles in the ground for the town drunk? ~ Susan Vaught,
766:Wilson argued that “the wealth of America” lay in its small businesses, its towns and villages. “Its vitality does not lie in New York, nor in Chicago,” he asserted; “it will not be sapped by anything that happens in St. Louis. The vitality of America lies in the brains, the energies, the enterprise of the people throughout the land; in the efficiency of their factories and in the richness of the fields that stretch beyond the borders of the town. ~ Doris Kearns Goodwin,
767:If I am to be a thoroughfare, I prefer that it be of the mountain brooks, the Parnassian streams, and not the town sewers. There is inspiration, that gossip which comes to the ear of the attentive mind from the courts of heaven. There is the profane and stale revelation of the barroom and the police court. The same ear is fitted to receive both communications. Only the character of the hearer determines to which it shall be open, and to which closed. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
768:The dreams began with that mysterious fever, which some blamed on the sting of a huge red scorpion that appeared in the house one day and was never seen again, and others on the evil designs of a mad nun who crept into houses at night to poison children and who, years later, was to be garroted reciting the Lord’s Prayer backward with her eyes popping out of their sockets, while a red cloud spread over the town and discharged a storm of dead cockroaches. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zaf n,
769:As we have seen, Villefort belonged to the nobility of the town and M. Morrel to the plebeian part of it: the former was an extreme Royalist, the latter suspected of harbouring Bonapartist sympathies. Villefort looked contemptuously at Morrel and answered coldly: ‘You know, Monsieur, that one can be mild in one’s private life, honest in one’s business dealings and skilled in one’s work, yet at the same time, politically speaking, be guilty of great crimes. ~ Alexandre Dumas,
770:At that moment their conversation was interrupted by a most barbaric sound – a great horn was being blown. A number of men rushed forward and heaved the great town gates shut. Thinking that perhaps some danger threatened the town, Stephen looked round in alarm. “Sir, what is happening?” “Oh, it is these people’s custom to shut the gate every night against the wicked heathen,” said the gentleman, languidly, “by which they mean everyone except themselves. But ~ Susanna Clarke,
771:Suicide" Kissshot said disappointedly .
Her eyes were downcast , facing the town spread out below her .
"A common reason , one accounting for nine-tenths of vampire deaths".
".....".
"Incidentally , the remaining tenth succumb to vampire slayers - any other reason fit within the margins of a rounding error".
"Suicide ? Why ?".
"Do they not speak of dying of boredom ?".
Boredom was a killer .
Guilt could kill you - but boredom was lethal . ~ NisiOisiN,
772:And as we glided across the ice toward Fingerbone, we would become aware of the darkness, too close to us, like a presence in a dream. The comfortable yellow lights of the town were then the only comfort there was in the world, and there were not many of them. If every house in Fingerbone were to fall before our eyes, snuffing every light, the event would touch our senses as softly as a shifting among embers, and then the bitter darkness would step nearer. ~ Marilynne Robinson,
773:Then as we passed down this Passage we were knocked against certain Women of the Town, who gave us Eye-language, since there were many Corners and Closets in Bedlam where they would stop and wait for Custom: indeed it was known as a sure Market for Lechers and Loiterers, for tho' they came in Single they went out by Pairs. This is a Showing-room for Whores, I said.

And what better place for Lust, Sir Chris. replied, than among those whose Wits have fled? ~ Peter Ackroyd,
774:Because when he returns, Richard, he would be the biggest man in town. He wants revenge on his childhood. He wants the respect of the town. Saint Paul tells us that when we were children we spoke as children, we understood and thought as children but when we become men we put away childish things, but I’m not so sure we ever do put them away. I think the childish things linger on, and your brother craves what he wanted as a child, the respect of his home town ~ Bernard Cornwell,
775:Su Shi
Leaving the town in the mountains
after seven years’ exile from his native province
the old poet meets a woman one third his age,
the most beautiful he has ever seen in this place.
“Will you not write a poem about me”, she asks him,
“since you have written so many others?”
He looks at her a long time
then nods his head regretfully.
To write, he thinks to himself, or be haunted:
some questions do not have answers.
~ David Brooks,
776:Then I saw in my Dream, that when they were got out of the Wilderness, they presently saw a Town before them, and the name of that Town is Vanity; and at the Town there is a Fair kept, called Vanity Fair: it is kept all the year long; it beareth the name of Vanity Fair, because the Town where ‘tis kept is lighter than Vanity; and also because all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is Vanity. As is the saying of the wise, All that cometh is Vanity. Section ~ John Bunyan,
777:I urge you to travel. As far and as much as possible.

Work ridiculous shifts to save your money. Go without the latest iPhone. Throw yourself out of your comfort zone. Find out how other people live and realize that the world is a much bigger place than the town you live in.

And when you come home, home may still be the same. And yes, you may go back to the same old job, but something in you will have changed.

And trust me, that changes everything. ~ Anonymous,
778:The woods, the vines, the very stones, were at one with the brightness of the sun and the unblemished sky, and even when the sky grew overcast, the multitude of leaves, as in a sudden change of tone, the earth of the roads, the roofs of the town, seemed as though caught up in the unity of a brand-new world. And all that Jean was feeling seemed without effort to chime with the surrounding oneness, and he was conscious of the perfect joy which is the gift of harmony. ~ Marcel Proust,
779:In cases of invasion or insurrection, if the town-officers neglect to furnish the necessary stores and ammunition for the militia, the township may be condemned to a fine of from $200 to $500. It may readily be imagined that in such a case it might happen that no one cared to prosecute; hence the law adds that all the citizens may indict offences of this kind, and that half of the fine shall belong to the plaintiff. See Act of March 6, 1810, vol. ii. p. 236. ~ Alexis de Tocqueville,
780:Three hundred and thirty-two kids between the age of one month and fourteen years had been confined within the FAYZ.
One hundred and ninety-six eventually emerged.
One hundred and thirty-six lay dead.
Dead and buried in the town plaza.
Dead and floating in the lake or on its shores.
Dead in the desert.
In the fields.
Dead of battles old and recent. Of starvation and accident, suicide and murder.
It was a fatality rate of just over 40 percent. ~ Michael Grant,
781:And below them, Toll-by-Night set about folding itself away, like a stilt-legged monster into a closet. Its inhabitants crept back into the unwanted places, the crannies and cellars and forgotten attics, and locked themselves in.

A bugle blew. A silver jingling swept through the town, sealing away all bad reputations and bitter-tasting names.

Another bugle sounded. And day swept in like a landlord, not knowing that it was only a guest in night's town. ~ Frances Hardinge,
782:The virus transformed the hospital at Maridi into a morgue. As it jumped from bed to bed, killing patients left and right, doctors began to notice signs of mental derangement, psychosis, depersonalization, zombie-like behavior. Some of the dying stripped off their clothes and ran out of the hospital, naked and bleeding, and wandered through the streets of the town, seeking their homes, not seeming to know what had happened or how they had gotten into this condition. ~ Richard Preston,
783:We didn’t go to that village much before the fire, but we were back regularly afterward. The town rioted, and with no Americans available to slake their thirst for reprisal, the mob attacked the only symbol of governmental control available, storming their local Iraqi Police substation, killing everyone with a uniform inside. They hung the bodies in makeshift gibbets from the roof, and formed their own militia to guard the village from the attack they knew was coming. ~ Brian Castner,
784:It was in ’35—we had this campaign to raise a million tax dollars. In the town of Phillips, one evening, during a blizzard, I was met by a crowd of miners. They were given the day off and a stake to attend this meeting. They surrounded me and said this tax would cost six hundred of them their jobs. They were busted farmers and fortunately found a job in these Home Stake mines. I went back home feeling worried. But the tax was passed, and not a single miner lost his job. ~ Studs Terkel,
785:The night in prison was novel and interesting enough.... I found that even here there was a history and a gossip which never circulated beyond the walls of the jail. Probably this is the only house in the town where verses are composed, which are afterward printed in a circular form, but not published. I was shown quite a long list of verses which were composed by some young men who had been detected in an attempt to escape, who avenged themselves by singing them. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
786:As I have read the Gospels over the years, the belief has grown in me that Christ did not come to found an organized religion but came instead to found an unorganized one. He seems to have come to carry religion out of the temples into the fields and sheep pastures, onto the roadsides and the banks of the rivers, into the houses of sinners and publicans, into the town and the wilderness, toward the membership of all that is here. Well, you can read and see what you think. ~ Wendell Berry,
787:Didn’t Catholicism deal with blood and resurrected flesh on a daily basis? Wasn’t it expert in superstition? I somehow doubted that the hospitable plain Protestant chapels that dotted the university could be much help; they didn’t look qualified to wrestle with the undead. I felt sure those big square Puritan churches on the town green would be helpless in the face of a European vampire. A little witch burning was more in their line—something limited to the neighbors. ~ Elizabeth Kostova,
788:I always liked that time of day, when people were shutting up their shops, putting the town to bed for the night, going home to do normal stuff with their normal families. I wonder if they got to enjoy being normal, to know just how terrific it was, or whether it was just invisible to them like air? Sometimes I got so pissed off at how easy the normal people had it that I just wanted to walk down the street shaking them and screaming into their squishy self-satisfied faces. ~ John Barnes,
789:Most writers begin with accounts of their first home, their family, and the town, often from quite a hostile point of view-love/hate, let's say. In a way, this stepping outside, in an attempt to judge enough to create a duplicate of it, makes you an outsider. . . . I think it's healthy for a writer to feel like an outsider. If you feel like an insider you get committed to a partisan view, you begin to defend interests, so you wind up not really empathizing with all mankind. ~ John Updike,
790:The town draws a veil over certain events. This is a small community where everyone knows that sometimes the contract to forget is as important as any promise to remember. Children can grow up having no knowledge of the indiscretion of their father in his youth or the illegitimate sibling who lives fifty miles away and bears another man’s name. History is that which is agreed upon by mutual consent. That’s how life goes on; protected by the silence that anaesthetises shame. ~ M L Stedman,
791:When you're bouncing around from pin to pin, it is probably very difficult to know that outside the game there's a room and outside the room there's a town and outside the town there's a country and outside the country there's a world and outside the world there's a billion trillion stars and that's only the start of it... but it's there, d'you see? Once you know about it, you can stop worrying about the slot at the bottom. And you might bounce around a good deal longer. ~ Terry Pratchett,
792:All I had to do to get home was follow gravity. The school perched on a high, rocky promontory surrounded on three sides by the sea. A single road—the cunningly named “Main Street”—snaked downhill through beautiful downtown Dunnsmouth (a handful of sad stores and a police station), past the town’s only stop sign, and ended at the bay. If I’d turned left at that stop sign I would have eventually made it to the highway and civilization. Don’t think I didn’t fantasize about it. ~ Daryl Gregory,
793:These are the Things that Make a Man

Iron enough to make a nail,
Lime enough to paint a wall,
Water enough to drown a dog,
Sulphur enough to stop the fleas,
Potash enough to wash a shirt,
Gold enough to buy a bean,
Silver enough to coat a pin,
Lead enough to ballast a bird,
Phosphor enough to light the town,
Poison enough to kill a cow,

Strength enough to build a home,
Time enough to hold a child,
Love enough to break a heart. ~ Terry Pratchett,
794:If you walk east at daybreak from the town
To the cliff’s foot, by climbing steadily
You cling at noon whence there is no way down
But to go toppling backward to the sea.
And not for birds nor birds’ eggs, so they say,
But for a flower that in these fissures grows,
Forms have been seen to move throughout the day
Skyward; but what its name is no one knows.
’Tis said you find beside them on the sand
This flower, relinquished by the broken hand. ~ Edna St Vincent Millay,
795:I remember one letter from a girl in a midwestern town who read one of my books and thought she had discovered it- that no one had ever read it or knew about it. Then one day in her local library she found cards for one or two of my other books. They were full of names- the books were borrowed all the time. She resented this a bit and then walked around the town looking in everybody's face and wondering if they were the ones who were reading my books. That is someone I write for. ~ J P Donleavy,
796:There was always a slight upswing in February, the town's coldest month, when out-of-towners liked to hike into the national park to see the famous waterfalls when they rose, like bridal veils, against the mountains. But mostly, from December to April, those who made their living off tourists just suffered through, dreaming of warmer months, of kingfisher-blue skies and leaves so green they looked like they'd just been painted, as if the color would smear if you touched it. ~ Sarah Addison Allen,
797:The young man’s mind was carried away by his growing passion for dreams. One looking at him would not have thought him particularly sharp. With the recollection of little things occupying his mind he closed his eyes and leaned back in the car seat. He stayed that way for a long time and when he aroused himself and again looked out of the car window the town of Winesburg had disappeared and his life there had become but a background on which to paint the dreams of his manhood. ~ Sherwood Anderson,
798:You go to towns in Massachusetts, Greenfield, first settled in 1686. Wouldn’t it be cool if it said, “Greenfield. First settled c. 13,000 B.P. or approximately 13,000 Before the Present. Resettled.” Maybe we could say even, “Resettled by whites,” Or, “Resettled anyway, 1686.” It would have a different impact. And of course it would help explain why the town is called Greenfield, because it was a green field and the fields were left by Native people who had already been farming them. ~ James W Loewen,
799:It was now clear that the little town of Sedan—with a population of less than eighteen thousand people—was one of the Germans’ first targets. How long would it take them to overrun and consume the town? How long would it be until everyone was dead or a prisoner of war? Once the Nazis controlled the bridges across the Meuse River, they could pour their forces into France, annihilate her armies, and march on Paris. How long would it take them to occupy and enslave the entire country? ~ Joel C Rosenberg,
800:Then they were off again, across the unbroken sprawl of Chicagoland, a single city made up of interlocking strip malls, decorated at random intervals by WELCOME TO signs with defiantly rural names—River Forest, Forest Glen, Glenview—and enough dales and groves and elms and oaks to populate Middle Earth. The flatlanders had been especially determined to tag every bump of land with a “Heights” or “Ridge.” Pity the poor hobbit trying to find anything to climb in the town of Mount Prospect. ~ Daryl Gregory,
801:The town had a faint air of benign neglect that only added to its charm: a seaside village with white clapboard buildings, seagulls wheeling overhead, uneven brick sidewalks and local shops. They passed a gas station, several old storefronts with plate-glass windows, a diner, a funeral parlor, a movie theater turned into a bookstore, and an eighteenth-century sea captain’s mansion, complete with widow’s walk. A sign out front identified it as the Exmouth Historical Society and Museum. ~ Douglas Preston,
802:The town was peopled with sleepwalkers, whose trance was broken only on the rare occasions when at night their wounds, to all appearance closed, suddenly reopened. Then, waking with a start, they would run their fingers over the wounds with a sort of absentminded curiosity, twisting their lips, and in a flash their grief blazed up again, and abruptly there rose before them the mournful visage of their love. In the morning they harked back to normal conditions, in other words, the plague. ~ Albert Camus,
803:Misery is a no U-turns, no stopping road. Travel down it pushed by those behind, tripped by those in front. Travel down it at furious speed though the days are mummified in lead. It happens so fast once you get started, there’s no anchor from the real world to slow you down, nothing to hold on to. Misery pulls away the brackets of life leaving you to free fall. Whatever your private hell, you’ll find millions like it in Misery. This is the town where everyone’s nightmares come true. ~ Jeanette Winterson,
804:The town had a faint air of benign neglect that only added to its charm: a seaside village with white clapboard buildings, seagulls wheeling overhead, uneven brick sidewalks and local shops. They passed a gas station, several old storefronts with plate-glass windows, a diner, a funeral parlor, a movie theater turned into a bookstore, and an eighteenth-century sea captain’s mansion, complete with widow��s walk. A sign out front identified it as the Exmouth Historical Society and Museum. ~ Douglas Preston,
805:The typical Savings and Loan president was a leader in a tiny community. He was the sort of fellow who sponsored a float in the town parade; that said it all, didn’t it? He wore polyester suits, made a five-figure income, and worked one-figure hours. He belonged to the Lions or Rotary Club, and also to a less formal group known within the “thrift”* industry as the 3–6–3 Club: he borrowed money at 3 per cent, lent money at 6 per cent, and arrived on the golf course by 3 in the afternoon. * ~ Michael Lewis,
806:We topped the ridge a few moments later, and the town of Senzuru came into view below us. The day was drab, everything in shades of gray. It was my first look at the world outside Yoroido, and I didn't think I'd missed much. I could see the thatched roofs of the town around an inlet, amid dull hills, and beyond them the metal-colored sea, broken with shards of white. Inland, the landscape might have been attractive but for the train tracks running across it like a scar. - Chapter 2, pg 20 ~ Arthur Golden,
807:I leaned agains the warm brick wall and gazed up. It was a bright, cloudless day, the sky a mocking blue. It was the kind of day when children ran up and down the streets and shouted, when couples walked out through the town gates, past the windmills and along the canals, when old women sat in the sun and closed their eyes. My father was probably sitting on the bench in front of the house, his face turned towards the warmth. Tomorrow night might be bitterly cold, but today it was spring. ~ Tracy Chevalier,
808:Life got its tentacles around you, its hooks into your heart, and suddenly you come awake as if for the first time, and you are standing in a part of the town where the air is sweet—your face flushed, your chest thumping, your stomach a planet, your heart a planet, your every organ a separate planet, all of it of a piece though the pieces turn separately, O silent indications of the inevitable, as among the natural restraints of winter and good sense, life blows you apart in her arms. ~ Cristina Henriquez,
809:Like many British towns, Eastleigh has closed its factories and workshops, and instead is directing all its economic energies into the making and drinking of coffee. There were essentially two types of shop in the town: empty shops and coffee shops. Some of the empty shops, according to signs in their windows, were in the process of being converted into coffee shops, and many of the coffee shops, judging by their level of custom, looked as if they weren’t far from becoming empty shops again. ~ Bill Bryson,
810:The lights of the city streaked off below him like the luminous spokes of a warped wheel. An indistinctly outlined, pearly moon seemed to drip down the sky, like a clot of incandescent tapioca thrown up against the night by a cosmic comic. He lit the after-the-dance, while-waiting-for-her-to-come-back cigarette. He felt good, looking down at the town that had nearly had him licked once. "I'm all set now," he thought. "I'm young. I've got love. I've got a clear track. The rest is a cinch. ~ Cornell Woolrich,
811:By the early summer of 1776, the town had grown to twelve thousand residents—half white and free, half neither. Every farthing of Charleston’s affluence derived from slavery, as plain as the blue-stained palms of the indigo pickers sold on the Custom House auction block, or the ships packed with shackled Gambians and Angolans at Fitzsimmons’ Wharf, or the pillory near So Be It Lane for “negroes, mulattoes, and mestizos, who are apt to be riotous and disorderly,” according to a town ordinance. ~ Rick Atkinson,
812:Robert Oppenheimer thus acquired for Los Alamos what Leo Szilard had not been able to organize in Chicago: scientific freedom of speech. The price the new community paid, a social but more profoundly a political price, was a guarded barbed-wire fence around the town and a second guarded barbed-wire fence around the laboratory itself, emphasizing that the scientists and their families were walled off where knowledge of their work was concerned not only from the world but even from each other. ~ Richard Rhodes,
813:That night for the first time in my life I realized that it is the physical presence of people and their spirits that gives a town life. With the absence of so many people, the town became scary., the night darker, and the silence unbearably agitating. Normally, the crickets and the birds sang in the evening before the sun went down. But this time they didn't, and the darkness set in very fast. The mood wasn't in the sky; the air was stiff, as if nature itself was afraid of what was happening. ~ Ishmael Beah,
814:The flower display continued through the town. Window boxes adorned the shop fronts, hanging baskets hung from patent black lampposts, trees grew tall in the main street. Each building was painted a different refreshing color and the main street, the only street, was a rainbow of mint greens, salmon pinks, lilacs, lemons, and blues. The pavements were litter free and gleaming as soon as you averted your gaze above the gray slate roofs you found yourself surrounded by majestic green mountains. ~ Cecelia Ahern,
815:Every man in the town set to work at once to repair the damage and no one had time to think of the meaning of the victory of the bridge, but going about his affairs in that ill-fated town in which the waters had destroyed or at least damaged everything, he knew that there was something in his life that overcame every disaster and that the bridge, because of the strange harmony of its forms and the strong and invisible power of its foundations, would emerge from every test unchanged and imperishable. ~ Ivo Andri,
816:I saw my town as if I had just arrived. It was as if I was waking up. You see houses and buildings every day, and you walk by them on your way to something else, and you hardly see. You hardly notice they're even there, mostly because there's something else going on right in front of your face, But when the town itself becomes the thing that is going on right in front of your face, it all changes, and you're not just looking at a house, but at what's happened in that house before you were born. ~ Gary D Schmidt,
817:Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,
black death’s wing’s overhead.
Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated,
so why does a light shine ahead?

By day, a mysterious wood, near the town,
breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.
By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent,
new constellations are thrown.

And something miraculous will come
close to the darkness and ruin,
something no-one, no-one, has known,
though we’ve longed for it since we were children. ~ Anna Akhmatova,
818:Judge Somers
How does it happen, tell me,
That I who was the most erudite of lawyers,
Who knew Blackstone and Coke
Almost by heart, who made the greatest speech
The court-house ever heard, and wrote
A brief that won the praise of Justice Breese-How does it happen, tell me,
That I lie here unmarked, forgotten,
While Chase Henry, the town drunkard,
Has a marble block, topped by an urn,
Wherein Nature, in a mood ironical,
Has sown a flowering seed?
~ Edgar Lee Masters,
819:We were, as best I could tell by the castoff of emergency lights, on an alluvial fan leading into the hacked-up foothills of a gaunt range that loomed above. “We are just off Nevada state highway 95,” Soliano said, “southwest of the town of Beatty. A passing motorist saw ‘something funny’ and notified the Beatty sheriff, who investigated and notified federal responders. I came out here and determined that we wanted a forensic geology consult. We have you on file. I am told you are worth your fee. ~ Toni Dwiggins,
820:She thanked God for the country, but soon was praying to him for the town. The neighborly offer of the country to console her for the loss of the town she received with alarm, hastening to bethink herself that God cared more for one miserable, selfish, wife-and-donkey-beating costermonger of unsavory Shoreditch, than for all the hills and dales of Cumberland, yea and all the starry things of his heavens. She would care only as God cared, and from all this beauty gather strength to give to sorrow. ~ George MacDonald,
821:The Hohenstaufen army besieged the Bavarian rebels in the town and fortress of Weinsberg; there, says an old tradition, the rival cries “Hi Welf!” and “Hi Weibling!” established the names of the warring groups; and there (says a pretty legend), when the victorious Swabians accepted the surrender of the town on the understanding that the women alone were to be spared, and were to be allowed to depart with whatever they could carry, the sturdy housewives marched forth with their husbands on their backs. ~ Will Durant,
822:Forgetfulness heals everything and song is the most beautiful manner of forgetting, for in song man feels only what he loves.
So, in the kapia, between the skies, the river and the hills, generation after generation learnt not to mourn overmuch what the troubled waters had borne away. They entered there into the unconscious philosophy of the town; that life was an incomprehensible marvel, since it was incessantly wasted and spent, yet none the less it lasted and endured 'like the bridge on the Drina'. ~ Ivo Andri,
823:Then Adam boldly said, ‘Lord, what if I am willing to bestow on that soul some of the years of my life?’ “And God answered Adam, saying, ‘If that is your wish, that I will grant.’ “Adam, we are told, died not at 1,000, but at 930 years. And eons later, there was a child born in the town of Bethlehem. He became a ruler over Israel and a sweet singer of songs. After leading his people and inspiring them, he died. And the Bible concludes: ‘Behold, David the King was buried after having lived for 70 years. ~ Mitch Albom,
824:He had brought back with him to Hoppet Hall many cases of books which the ignorance of Dillsborough had magnified into an enormous library, and was certainly a sedentary, reading man. There was already a report in the town that he was engaged in some stupendous literary work, and the men and women generally looked upon him as a disagreeable marvel of learning. Dillsborough of itself was not bookish, and would have regarded any one known to have written an article in a magazine almost as a phenomenon. ~ Anthony Trollope,
825:How can the mind be so imperfect?" she says with a smile. I look at my hands. Bathed in the moonlight, they seem like statues, proportioned to no purpose. "It may well be imperfect," I say, "but it leaves traces. And we can follow those traces, like footsteps in the snow." "Where do the lead?" "To oneself," I answer. "That's where the mind is. Without the mind, nothing leads anywhere." I look up. The winter moon is brilliant, over the Town, above the Wall. "Not one thing is your fault," I comfort her. ~ Haruki Murakami,
826:We can’t just stand here in the rain with our backs to the town,’ said Baucis. ‘I’ll look if you will.’ ‘I love you Philemon, my husband.’ ‘I love you Baucis, my wife.’ They turned and looked down. They were just in time to see the great flood inundating Eumeneia before Philemon was turned into an oak tree and Baucis into a linden. For hundreds of years the two trees stood side by side, symbols of eternal love and humble kindness, their intertwining branches hung with the tokens left by admiring pilgrims. ~ Stephen Fry,
827:If you were different from anybody in town, you had to get out. That's why everybody was so much alike. The way they talked, what they did, what they liked, what they hated. If somebody got to hate something and he was the right person, everybody had to hate it too, or people began to hate the ones who didn't hate it. They used to tell us in school to think for yourself, but you couldn't do that in the town. You had to think what your father thought all his life, and that was what everybody thought. ~ John Kennedy Toole,
828:Whatever art offered the men and women of previous eras, what it offers our own, it seems to me, is space - a certain breathing room for the spirit. The town I grew up in had many vacant lots; when I go back now, the vacant lots are gone. They were a luxury, just as tigers and rhinoceri, in the crowded world that is making, are luxuries. Museums and bookstores should feel, I think, like vacant lots - places where the demands on us are our own demands, where the spirit can find exercise in unsupervised play. ~ John Updike,
829:Whether [new Protestant church movements] place their emphasis on new worship styles, expressions of the Holy Spirit’s power, evangelism to seekers, or Bible teaching, these so-called new movements still operate out of the fallacious assumption that the church belongs firmly in the town square, that is, at the heart of Western culture. And if they begin with this mistaken belief about their position in Western society, all their church planting, all their reproduction will simply mirror this misapprehension. ~ Alan Hirsch,
830:The Strongman continued his mental review. “And the petty little saints in the town were . . . obscure, don’t you see, far from help, far from the mainstream, alone amid the rolling farmlands . . . unknown. It was a perfect place to begin the process.” His beastly face grew tight and bitter. “Until they started praying. Until they ceased being so comfortable and started weeping before God! Until they began to reclaim the power of the . . .” The Strongman sealed his lips. “The Cross?” the aide volunteered. ~ Frank E Peretti,
831:After Paul Verlaine-I
Tears fall within mine heart,
As rain upon the town:
Whence does this languor start,
Possessing all mine heart?
O sweet fall of the rain
Upon the earth and roofs!
Unto an heart in pain,
O music of the rain!
Tears that have no reason
Fall in my sorry heart:
What! there was no treason?
This grief hath no reason.
Nay! the more desolate,
Because, I know not why,
(Neither for love nor hate)
Mine heart is desolate.
~ Ernest Christopher Dowson,
832:New Year Snow
THE white snow falls on hill and dale,
The snow falls white by square and street,
Falls on the town, a bridal veil,
And on the fields a winding-sheet.
A winding-sheet for last year's flowers,
For last year's love, and last year's tear,
A bridal veil for the New Hours,
For the New Love and the New Year.
Soft snow, spread out his winding-sheet!
Spin fine her veil, O bridal snow!
Cover the print of her dancing feet,
And the place where he lies low.
~ Edith Nesbit,
833:Bells In The Rain
Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain,
Upon the steep cliffs of the town.
Sleep falls; men are at peace again
While the small drops fall softly down.
The bright drops ring like bells of glass
Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown;
Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass
So softly as it falls on stone.
Peace falls unheeded on the dead
Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink;
Upon a live man's bloody head
It falls most tenderly, I think.
~ Elinor Morton Wylie,
834:Presently, struck by a sudden thought, Charles said-- "Captain Wentworth, which way are you going? Only to Gay Street, or farther up the town?" "I hardly know," replied Captain Wentworth, surprised. "Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going near Camden Place? Because, if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take my place, and give Anne your arm to her father's door. She is rather done for this morning, and must not go so far without help, and I ought to be at that fellow's in the Market Place. ~ Jane Austen,
835:Why should this matter? Why not accept the little fake church as a playful, harmless, adorable architectural oddity, as the lovers of kitsch do? Because it's a bad building, cheaply cute, out-of-scale, symbolically false, and stuck in the middle of a parking lot, a little noplace that contributes to the greater noplace. Because if the town had not been degraded by other bad buildings and bad design relationships, there would be no need for its mendacious symbolism, which cheapens the town a little more. ~ James Howard Kunstler,
836:Was that not the way it ought to be? The beauty of Bruges lay in being dead. From the top of the belfry it appeared completely dead to Borluut. He did not want to go back down ever again. His love for the town was greater, was endless. From now on it was a kind of frenzy, his final sensual pleasure. Constantly climbing high above the world, he started to enjoy death. There is danger in rising too high, into the unbreathable air of the summits. Disdain for the world, for life itself brings its own punishment. ~ Georges Rodenbach,
837:Augustus could just make out the snake, coiled in a corner, but decided not to shoot it; on a quiet spring evening in Lonesome Dove, a shot could cause complications. Everybody in town would hear it and conclude either that the Comanches were down from the plains or the Mexicans up from the river. If any of the customers of the Dry Bean, the town’s one saloon, happened to be drunk or unhappy—which was very likely—they would probably run out into the street and shoot a Mexican or two, just to be on the safe side. ~ Larry McMurtry,
838:Often I hear people say they do not have time to read. That's absolute nonsense. In the one year during which I kept that kind of record, I read twenty-five books while waiting for people. In offices, applying for jobs, waiting to see a dentist, waiting in a restaurant for friends, many such places. I read on buses, trains, and plains. If one really wants to learn, one has to decide what is important. Spending an evening on the town? Attending a ball game? Or learning something that can be with you your life long? ~ Louis L Amour,
839:A short time later, when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin, through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling. The fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who slept outdoors. So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez,
840:Back in those days there was still an unbroken stretch of heath that lay on the route of our excursions, all that was left of a heath that once had extended almost up to the town on the one side and almost to the little village on the other. Here the honeybees and white-gray bumblebees hummed over the fragrant blossoms of heather, and the beautiful gold-green beetles ran among the plants; here in the sweet clouds of the erica and the resinous bushes hovered butterflies that could be found nowhere else on this earth. ~ Theodor Storm,
841:A short time later, when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin, through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling. They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who slept outdoors. So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez,
842:A short time later, when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin, through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling. They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who slept outdoors. So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by. ~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez,
843:I’d seen the banner over Main Street announcing the festival, but I hadn’t known what to expect. I had a bit of a clue as Shawn drove past cars and pickups parked two deep on the town’s side streets and in the lots of stores that appeared to be closed for the day. “Where did all these people come from?” I asked. Gigi stood on my lap, her paws on the window, just as fascinated, but less flabbergasted. Shawn slid me a smile as we pulled into a private parking lot right before the barricades across Main Street. ~ Rosemary Clement Moore,
844:The emigrants aboard the Mayflower of the West were typical. On arrival in eastern Ohio, they founded the town of Marietta, and happily imposed taxes on themselves to fund the construction and operation of a school, church, and library. Nine years after their arrival, they founded the first of the Yankee Midwest’s many New England–style colleges. Marietta College was headed by New England–born Calvinist ministers and dedicated to “assiduously inculcating” the “essential doctrines and duties of the Christian religion. ~ Colin Woodard,
845:e never fall twice into the same abyss. But we always fall the same way, in a mixture of ridicule and dread. We so desperately want not to fall that we grapple for a handhold, screaming. With their heels they crush our fingers, with their beaks they smash our teeth and peck out our eyes. The abyss is bordered by tall mansions. And there stands History, a reasonable goddess, a frozen statue in the middle of the town square. Dried bunches of peonies are her annual tribute; her daily gratuity, bread crumbs for the birds. ~ ric Vuillard,
846:Everything
Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,
black death’s wing’s overhead.
Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated,
so why does a light shine ahead?
By day, a mysterious wood, near the town,
breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.
By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent,
new constellations are thrown.
And something miraculous will come
close to the darkness and ruin,
something no-one, no-one, has known,
though we’ve longed for it since we were children.
~ Anna Akhmatova,
847:I've spent my life living in rural America, some of it in blue state Vermont, some of it in red state upstate New York. They're quite alike in many ways. And quite wonderful. It's important that even in an urbanized and suburbanized country, we continue to take rural America seriously. And the thing that makes Vermont in particular so special, and I hope this book captures some of it, is the basic underlying civility of its political life. That's rooted in the town meeting. Each of the towns in Vermont governs itself. ~ Bill McKibben,
848:and soon.” There was a hint of sunlight to the east. As they drove through the residential neighborhood, Theo stared out of his window, searching for the hardened face of Jack Leeper. But no one was out there. Lights in homes were being turned on. The town was waking up. “It’s almost six,” Mr. Boone announced. “I say we go to Gertrude’s and have her world-famous waffles. Theo?” “I’m in,” Theo replied, though he had no appetite. “Marvelous, honey,” Mrs. Boone said, though all three knew she would have nothing but coffee. ~ John Grisham,
849:The huge round lunar clock was a gristmill. Shake down all the grains of Time—the big grains of centuries, and the small grains of years, and the tiny grains of hours and minutes—and the clock pulverized them, slid Time silently out in all directions in a fine pollen, carried by cold winds to blanket the town like dust, everywhere. Spores from that clock lodged in your flesh to wrinkle it, to grow bones to monstrous size, to burst feet from shoes like turnips. Oh, how that great machine…dispensed Time in blowing weathers. ~ Ray Bradbury,
850:The town council met at the school. That meant we knew exactly how to sneak in. There was a window in the guys’ locker room that never closed right. Well, it didn’t after grade eight, when Corey and Brendan broke in to set up a video camera in the girls’ locker room. No videos were ever taken. Daniel had caught them and said if the camera wasn’t gone by Monday morning, he’d give us photos from the last time they went skinny-dipping, when the lake had been really cold and…well, the photos wouldn’t have been flattering. ~ Kelley Armstrong,
851:We walked into the forests which encircled the town. I have never liked them, their dark throat, their sullen height, their slump-shouldered gloom. But Evangeline walked steadily into their maw, and I followed her. She wanted to see the swathes which, years ago, the firebug had burned. The furnaced forest was green again, though here and there stood leafless trunks cindered to the core; on the scruffy dirt lay stiff black limbs tangled in morning-glory. Evangeline touched her palm to the charcoal, murmured, 'Poor things. ~ Sonya Hartnett,
852:You wish to take me on a tour?” Katie didn’t mean to become attached to the place, but finding a few reasons to like the town would be nice. “A small tour,” Tavish said. “And maybe a wee bit of gazing into each other’s eyes and whispering sweet nothings.” She skewered him with a look of scolding rebuke, one he couldn’t possibly mistake for encouragement. “Absolutely not.” He didn’t look the least surprised. Indeed, he looked even more amused than before. “Perhaps we’ll just keep to the tour for now,” he said. “What say you? ~ Sarah M Eden,
853:The French Foreign Office, wishful to allay the anger of the Parisian mob clamouring for war with England, secured this admirable couple and sent them round the town.  You cannot be amused at a thing, and at the same time want to kill it.  The French nation saw the English citizen and citizeness—no caricature, but the living reality—and their indignation exploded in laughter.  The success of the stratagem prompted them later on to offer their services to the German Government, with the beneficial results that we all know. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
854:No road offers more mystery than that first one you mount from the town you were born to, the first time you mount it of your own volition, on a trip funded by your own coffee tin of wrinkled up dollars - bills you've saved and scrounged for, worked the all-night switchboard for, missed the Rolling Stones for, sold fragrant pot with smashed flowers going brown inside twist-tie plastic baggies for. In fact, to disembark from your origins, you've done everything you can think to scrounge money save selling your spanking young pussy. ~ Mary Karr,
855:The Engine Driver
The train goes running along the line,
Jicketty -can, Jicketty -can.
I wish it were mine, I wish it were mine,
Jicketty -can, Jicketty -can.
The engine driver stands in front --He makes it run, he makes it shunt;
Out of the town,
Out of the town,
Over the hill,
Over the down,
Under the bridges,
Across the lea,
Over the bridges,
And down to the sea,
With a Jicketty -can, Jicketty -can,
Jicketty -can, Jicketty -can,
Jicketty -can, Jicketty -can…
~ Clive Sansom,
856:The mind is a current, very deep at the centre and very shallow at the periphery—like the river that has a strong current in the middle and quiet waters at its banks. But the deep current has the volume of memory behind it, and this memory is the continuity that passes the town, that gets sullied, that becomes clear again. The volume of memory gives the strength, the drive, the aggression and the refinement. It is this deep memory that knows itself to be ashes of the past, and it is this memory that has to come to an end. ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti,
857:Before they knew what was happening, the eighty-four-year-old Marshal Philippe Pétain, a puppet of Adolf Hitler, was suddenly the head of a new French government operating not out of Paris but out of the town of Vichy. To make matters worse, they heard reports that Hitler’s forces were heading to northern France, now known as the Occupied Zone, while allowing Pétain to administrate the center and south, ostensibly now known as the Free Zone, though it could hardly be truly free with the jackboot of der Führer on their necks. ~ Joel C Rosenberg,
858:No matter the town, a walk down any residential street was sure to turn up blue-star banners waving alone in living-room windows, requesting silently to passersby to pray for the safe return of the brother, father, or husband that each five-pointed fabric memorial signified. And every Blue Star Mother lived in fear that her star’s color might one day change, might be rendered gold by an unwanted telegram or a knock at the door, that what once hung as a sign of support and concern would be transformed into a symbol of mourning. ~ Denise Kiernan,
859:Ronelle knew Dallas would not stay to eat. She often reminded Ronelle never to eat anything at potluck dinners or bake sales. One person hating the town could wipe out the entire population with poison. Looking around, she saw everyone eating and had a horrible thought. If they all died, that would leave only her mother and her in town. While her mother stopped to talk to Willie Davis, Ronelle slipped a piece of corn bread into her pocket. It would be all in crumbs by the time she got home, but she planned to eat it. Just in case. ~ Jodi Thomas,
860:The only pawn shop in the town of Night Vale is run by the very young Jackie Fierro. It has no name, but if you need it, you will know where it is. This knowledge will come suddenly, often while you are in the shower. You will collapse, surrounded by a bright glowing blackness, and you will find yourself on your hands and knees, the warm water running over you, and you will know where the pawn shop is. You will smell must, and soap, and feel a stab of panic about how alone you are.

It will be like most showers you’ve taken. ~ Joseph Fink,
861:My name is Mila, and this is my journey.
There are so many places where I could begin the story. I could start in the town where I grew up, in Kryvicy, on the banks of the Servac River, in the district of Miadziel. I could begin when I was eight years old, on the day my mother died, or when I was twelve, and my father fell beneath the wheels of the neighbour’s truck. But I think I should begin my story here, in the Mexican desert, so far from my home in Belarus. This is where I lost my innocence. This is where my dreams died. ~ Tess Gerritsen,
862:The town was relatively small. Beyond the sad side was a side maybe five years from going sad. Maybe more. Maybe ten. There was hope. There were some boarded-up enterprises, but not many. Most stores were still doing business, at a leisurely rural pace. Big pick-up trucks rolled through, slowly. There was a billiard hall. Not many street lights. It was getting dark. Something about the architecture made it clear it was dairy country. The shape of the stores looked like old-fashioned milking barns. The same DNA was in there somewhere. ~ Lee Child,
863:Come on, Novo," he said. "I'm taking you out on the town."

"You can't leave," Sophy protested. "Wait, you can't."

Peyton leaned in and looked the female right in the eye. "I can do anything the fuck I want, sweetheart. And what I am not going to do do is play windup toy for you as you ignore the poor SOB you're mating and disrespect your sister. I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I gave up lying a couple of nights ago, so that's a no-go. And I'd wish you a happy life, but that is not what you're heading for. ~ J R Ward,
864:Je N'Ai Pas Oublié, Voisine De La Ville (I'Ve Not
Forgotten, Near The Town)
I've not forgotten, near to the town,
our white house, small but alone:
its Pomona of plaster, its Venus of old
hiding nude limbs in the meagre grove,
and the sun, superb, at evening, streaming,
behind the glass, where its sheaves were bursting,
a huge eye in a curious heaven, present
to gaze at our meal, lengthy and silent,
spreading its beautiful candle glimmer
on the frugal cloth and the rough curtain.
~ Charles Baudelaire,
865:The Red Dress
I always saw, I always said
If I were grown and free,
I'd have a gown of reddest red
As fine as you could see,
To wear out walking, sleek and slow,
Upon a Summer day,
And there'd be one to see me so
And flip the world away.
And he would be a gallant one,
With stars behind his eyes,
And hair like metal in the sun,
And lips too warm for lies.
I always saw us, gay and good,
High honored in the town.
Now I am grown to womanhood....
I have the silly gown.
~ Dorothy Parker,
866:experiencing dramatic and sudden change. We entered the town square where one hundred thousand Polish workers had gathered. They were waving American flags and shouting, “Bush, Bush, Bush… Freedom, Freedom, Freedom.” I turned to my colleague Robert Blackwill of the National Security Council staff and said, “This is not exactly what Karl Marx meant when he said, ‘Workers of the world unite.’” But, indeed, they had “nothing to lose but their chains.” Two months later, the Polish Communist Party gave way to a Solidarity-led government. ~ Condoleezza Rice,
867:Together the two walked under the trees through the streets of the town and talked of what they would do with their lives. Alice was then a very pretty girl and Ned Currie took her into his arms and kissed her. He became excited and said things he did not intend to say and Alice, betrayed by her desire to have something beautiful come into her rather narrow life, also grew excited. She also talked. The outer crust of her life, all of her natural diffidence and reserve, was torn away and she gave herself over to the emotions of love. ~ Sherwood Anderson,
868:When you bypass the sign post which tells you to reduce your speed and drive with care because you are approaching a town, you know you are almost near a town; the more you approach the town, all the more the sign post gets out of sight; in the same way, when the rainbow which is a sign of God’s promise to mankind to never destroy the earth with water again begins to be out of sight, remember, mankind is almost at the end of ages for the judgment of fire; a day of eternal redemption or eternal condemnation! A day of no excuses! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
869:The Fingers Of The Light
1000
The Fingers of the Light
Tapped soft upon the Town
With "I am great and cannot wait
So therefore let me in."
"You're soon," the Town replied,
"My Faces are asleep—
But swear, and I will let you by,
You will not wake them up."
The easy Guest complied
But once within the Town
The transport of His Countenance
Awakened Maid and Man
The Neighbor in the Pool
Upon His Hip elate
Made loud obeisance and the Gnat
Held up His Cup for Light.
~ Emily Dickinson,
870:The window opened in the same direction as the king's, and there, summer-bright and framed by the darkness of the stairwell, was the same view. Costis passed it, and then went back up the stairs to look again. There were only the roofs of the lower part of the palace and the town and the city walls. Beyond those were the hills on the far side of the Tustis Valley and the faded blue sky above them. It wasn't what the king saw that was important, it was what he couldn't see when he sat at the window with his face turned toward Eddis. ~ Megan Whalen Turner,
871:By destroying the peasant economy and driving the peasant from the country to the town, the famine creates a proletariat... Furthermore the famine can and should be a progressive factor not only economically. It will force the peasant to reflect on the bases of the capitalist system, demolish faith in the tsar and tsarism, and consequently in due course make the victory of the revolution easier... Psychologically all this talk about feeding the starving and so on essentially reflects the usual sugary sentimentality of our intelligentsia. ~ Vladimir Lenin,
872:Y Talbot in Tregaron, Wales On the town square in Tregaron, a convenient base for exploring the Cambrian Mountains or the western coast, the 17th-century Y Talbot inn, above, offers board and bed in a stone-constructed pub with nine rooms. The rooms were recently updated with bright décor, and while each is distinct in layout, several offer walkout access to or balcony views over a rear garden. The pub champions local and sustainable ingredients, and the bar features Welsh cask ales brewed nearby. Doubles from 110 pounds, or about $159 at $1.44 ~ Anonymous,
873:Few things are more dangerous to an egalitarian ideal than the concept of a chosen people, and the divide drawn by the early iteration of God's Church helped to exacerbate the many ideological faults that already underlay the landscape. When they chips were down, Tear's people were ready to turn on each other, and the fall of the Town was very quick, so quick that this historian wonders whether all such communities are not destined to fail. Our species is capable of altruism, certainly, but it is not a game we play willingly, let alone well ~ Erika Johansen,
874:Americans don't like to waste time on stupid things, for example, on the torturous process of coming up with names for their towns. And really, why strain yourself when so many wonderful names already exist in the world?The entrance to the town of Moscow is shown in the photograph. That's right, an absolutely authentic Moscow, just in the state of Ohio, not in the USSR in Moscow province.There's another Moscow in some other state, and yet another Moscow in a third state. On the whole, every state has the absolute right to have its very own Moscow. ~ Ilya Ilf,
875:It was hard to get lost in Missoula even if you wanted to. Wherever you were, all you had to do to get your bearings was look around and find the big letter M, embossed in white halfway up the steep shoulder of grass that reared on the south bank of the Clark Fork River. Though only a hill, it was called Mount Sentinel and if you had the legs and lungs and inclination to hike the trail that zigzagged up it, you could stand by the M and gaze out across the town at a travel-brochure shot of forest and mountain dusted from early fall with snow. ~ Nicholas Evans,
876:On a visit to a mosque that had been formerly been an Armenian church in the town of Antep (now Gaziantep), the current custodian, the imam, happened to be inside. The imam suggested to the bishop that this holy space belonged to both of them and they prayed together. If politicians in Ankara warned that the ordinary population of Eastern Anatolia was still hostile toward Armenians, this was not the impression our group received. On the contrary, many people not only remembered Armenians but seemed to think that their return was a good omen. ~ Thomas de Waal,
877:Swansea is a town where art is alive. If it became a cultural centre or a resort where art was fashionable and where it was always being discussed but never being created, it would be a town where art was dead... There is no room in Swansea to be pompous without becoming ludicrous, and all the pompous aspects of Swansea are ludicrous; but the town itself, the town of windows between hills and the sea, is unforgettable. What should Swansea become? It should, I think, generate its own species and become what it is now, a town where art is alive. ~ Dylan Thomas,
878:The iPhone 2 led to the 3, but I didn’t get the 4 or 5 because I’m holding out for the 7, which, I’ve heard on good authority, can also be used as a Taser. This will mean I’ll have just one less thing to carry around. And isn’t that technology’s job? To lighten our burden? To broaden our horizons? To make it possible to talk to your attorney and listen to a Styx album and check the obituaries in the town where your parents continue to live and videotape a race riot and send a text message and stun someone into submission all at the same time? ~ David Sedaris,
879:How can the mind be so imperfect?" she says with a smile.

I look at my hands. Bathed in the moonlight, they seem like statues, proportioned to no purpose.

"It may well be imperfect," I say, "but it leaves traces. And we can follow those traces, like footsteps in the snow."

"Where do the lead?"

"To oneself," I answer. "That's where the mind is. Without the mind, nothing leads anywhere."

I look up. The winter moon is brilliant, over the Town, above the Wall.

"Not one thing is your fault," I comfort her. ~ Haruki Murakami,
880:potatoes, melons, and fruit trees in the long backyards behind their houses. He gave out seeds and bulbs. The town came to life. The Rosetans began raising pigs in their backyards and growing grapes for homemade wine. Schools, a park, a convent, and a cemetery were built. Small shops and bakeries and restaurants and bars opened along Garibaldi Avenue. More than a dozen factories sprang up making blouses for the garment trade. Neighboring Bangor was largely Welsh and English, and the next town over was overwhelmingly German, which meant—given ~ Malcolm Gladwell,
881:There was a story Chuck’s father used to tell about the boy who spread a rumor against a good doctor in the town where he lived. When the boy went to make amends, the doctor asked him to cut open a feather pillow and let the wind take the feathers away, then to come back the next day. When the boy returned, the doctor asked him to collect all the feathers and put them back in the pillowcase. Of course, it could never be done. Those feathers had been carried far, alighted in places where they couldn’t be seen or found but stayed there just the same. ~ Lisa Unger,
882:The room’s phone rang a few minutes later to tell us that a Town Car was waiting for us downstairs. We went down in the elevator together, and I went out front first to look around, which was standard bodyguard protocol. I left Jackie in the lobby with a doorman who was all too eager to watch her for as long as possible. I walked out and across the cobblestoned driveway, and looked into the Town Car; it was the same driver we’d had the night before, and he nodded at me. I nodded back and turned to look at the rest of the area around the entrance. ~ Jeff Lindsay,
883:The sixth of January, 1482, is not, however, a day of which history has preserved the memory. There was nothing notable in the event which thus set the bells and the bourgeois of Paris in a ferment from early morning. It was neither an assault by the Picards nor the Burgundians, nor a hunt led along in procession, nor a revolt of scholars in the town of Laas, nor an entry of “our much dread lord, monsieur the king,” nor even a pretty hanging of male and female thieves by the courts of Paris. Neither was it the arrival, so frequent in the fifteenth ~ Victor Hugo,
884:All along — not only since she left, but for a decade before — I had been imagining her without listening, without knowing that she made as a poor a window as I did. And so I could not imagine her as a person who could feel fear, who could feel isolated in a roomful of people, who could be shy about her record collection because it was too personal to share. Someone who might have read travel books to escape having to live in the town that so many people escape to. Someone who — because no one thought she was a person — had no one to really talk to. ~ John Green,
885:He sometimes wondered what it might be like to take to his bed until it was over, and remembered a fellow priest who, when he felt the horrors approaching, would hole up in the grimmest boarding house in the most depressing town he could find, in order to plumb the slough of despond. The idea was, that after hitting rock bottom, he would emerge into a world in which anything would seem better than his most recent experience. The town his friend had chosen to confront every demon known to man, Sidney remembered, was Ipswich. It seemed an odd choice. ~ James Runcie,
886:If a man takes a wife and, after lying with her, dislikes her and slanders her and gives her a bad name, saying, ‘I married this woman, but when I approached her, I did not find proof of her virginity,’ then the girl’s father and mother . . . shall display the cloth [that the couple slept on] before the elders of the town . . . If, however, the charge is true and no proof of the girl’s virginity can be found, she shall be brought to the door of her father’s house and there the men of her town shall stone her to death. – DEUTERONOMY 22:13 – 21 ~ Nicholas D Kristof,
887:I was too tired to think. I merely felt the town as a unique unreality. What was it? I knew -- the moon's picture of a town. These streets with their houses did not exist, they were but a ludicrous projection of the moon's sumptuous personality. This was a city of Pretend, created by the hypnotism of moonnight. -- Yet when I examined the moon she too seemed but a painting of a moon and the sky in which she lived a fragile echo of color. If I blew hard the whole shy mechanism would collapse gently with a neat soundless crash. I must not, or lose all. ~ E E Cummings,
888:I was too tired to think. I merely felt the town as a unique unreality. What was it? I knew -- the moon's picture of a town. These streets with their houses did not exist, they were but a ludicrous projection of the moon's sumptuous personality. This was a city of Pretend, created by the hypnotism of moonnight. -- Yet when I examined the moon she too seemed but a painting of a moon and the sky in which she lived a fragile echo of color. If I blew hard the whole shy mechanism would collapse gently with a neat soundless crash. I must not, or lose all. ~ e e cummings,
889:Afternoon
When I am old, and comforted,
And done with this desire,
With Memory to share my bed
And Peace to share my fire,
I'll comb my hair in scalloped bands
Beneath my laundered cap,
And watch my cool and fragile hands
Lie light upon my lap.
And I will have a sprigged gown
With lace to kiss my throat;
I'll draw my curtain to the town,
And hum a purring note.
And I'll forget the way of tears,
And rock, and stir my tea.
But oh, I wish those blessed years
Were further than they be!
~ Dorothy Parker,
890:Revival time was a time of war: war on sin, Coca-Cola, picture shows, hunting on Sunday; war on the increasing tendency of young women to paint themselves and smoke in public; war on drinking whiskey—in this connection at least fifty children per summer went to the altar and swore they would not drink, smoke, or curse until they were twenty-one; war on something so nebulous Jean Louise never could figure out what it was, except there was nothing to swear concerning it; and war among the town’s ladies over who could set the best table for the evangelist. ~ Harper Lee,
891:I am, maybe, the ultimate Protestant, the man at the end of the Protestant road, for as I have read the Gospels over the years, the belief has grown in me that Christ did not come to found an organized religion but came instead to found an unorganized one. He seems to have come to carry religion out of the temples into the fields and sheep pastures, onto the roadsides and the banks of rivers, into the houses of sinners and publicans, into the town and the wilderness, toward the membership of all that is here. Well, you can read and see what you think. ~ Wendell Berry,
892:In 1920, a resident of Navarre, Ohio, reported that the town’s mayor had shot and killed his dachshund “for being German.” The dogs were “completely driven off the streets” in Cincinnati. Londoners feared walking their dachshunds in public, lest the animals be stoned to death. Reports of children beating, kicking, and “siccing” other dogs on dachshunds throughout England and the United States were common, and AKC registrations of dachshunds dropped to the low double digits, even as breeders scrambled to rename them “liberty hounds” and “liberty pups. ~ Bronwen Dickey,
893:Cole Younger led eight men into Russellville, Kentucky, on May 20, 1868, and rode out with exactly $9,035.92. As the gang made its escape, shooting into the air to discourage gawkers, one member shot at the metal fish weather vane atop the courthouse, sending it spinning. Almost a century later, that historic weather vane, with a bullet hole through it, could still be seen on the roof of the new courthouse, where it had been placed to honor the town’s history. One man was eventually convicted for that robbery, for which he served three years in prison. ~ Bill O Reilly,
894:I'd seen it happen, how hard it was to get out. Every year, one or two kids would visit from college for a long October weekend and simply never leave. They came home, cocooned themselves in the familiar radius of the town limits, and never broke free again. Years later, you'd see them working in the kitchen at the pizza place, or sitting at the bar in the East Bank Tavern. Shoulders hunched, jaw set, skin slack. And in the waning light of their eyes, the barest sensation that once upon a time, they been somewhere else... or maybe it was only a dream. ~ Kat Rosenfield,
895:My father's life was changed right before my eyes [when he trusted Christ]. It was like someone reached down and switched on a light inside him. He touched alcohol only once after that. He got the drink only as far as his lips and that was it-after forty years of drinking! He didn't need it any more. Fourteen months later, he died form complications of his alcoholism. But in that fourteen-month period over a hundred people in the area around my tiny hometown committed their lives to Jesus Christ because of the change they saw in the town drunk, my dad. ~ Josh McDowell,
896:I never knew a building could hold so much inside.
. . . I saw my town as if I had just arrived. It was as if I was waking up. You see houses and buildings every day, and you walk by them on your way to something else, and you hardly see. You hardly notice they're even there, mostly because there's something else going on right in front of your face. But when the town itself becomes the thing that is going on right in front of your face, it all changes, and you're not just looking at a house but at what's happened in that house before you were born. ~ Gary D Schmidt,
897:The heat is searing and superb. The paddocks surrounding the town are bleached blond. The distant ring-barked gums, mile after mile, wriggle in the heat-waves, and seem to melt like the bristles of a melting hairbrush. The hills turn powder-blue and gauzy. Mirages resembling pools of mica and shallows of crystal water appear at the far ends of streets and roads. Punctually at eleven every burning morning, the cicadas begin to drill the air, to drill themselves also, ceaselessly and relentlessly, to death in one short day after seven long years underground. ~ Hal Porter,
898:First, there’s “San Francisquito Canyon Road,” which weaves down through the mountains for about 20 miles and puts you right at the edge of Valencia. Then there’s “Spunky Canyon Road,” which most of the other streets in the town branch off of as it connects up the neighborhoods. Commuters traveling between the Antelope Valley and the Santa Clarita Valley drive up and down San Francisquito Canyon every day which also provides a quick way for families and teenagers to get to Magic Mountain from Palmdale or Lancaster, if they don’t feel like taking the freeway. ~ Anonymous,
899:When he moved to another end of our town, our friendship diminished, and I made other friends. I moved to the States, and he stayed home. During the Serbo-Croatian war, he became a Serbian soldier, and I heard reports that he participated in the bombing of our hometown. That friendship seems to be ruined; it is hard to forgive something like that—anyhow, it will take a couple of decades perhaps. On the other hand, maybe the rumor is not true. And maybe I made his childhood bitter, who knows; maybe it was partly because of me that he resented the town. ~ Josip Novakovich,
900:There Is A Tavern In The Town
There is a tavern in the town, in the town,
And there my true love sits him down, sits him down,
And drinks his wine 'mid laughter free,
And never, never thinks of me.
Fare thee well, for I must leave thee,
Do not let this parting grieve thee,
And remember that the best of friends must part, must part.
Adieu, adieu, kind friends, adieu, adieu, adieu!
I can no longer stay with you, stay with you,
I'll hang my harp on a weeping willow tree,
And may the world go well with thee.
~ Anonymous Americas,
901:In 1916, when Johnny Heartfield and I invented photomontage in my studio at the south end of the town at five o'clock one May morning, we had no idea of the immense possibilities, or of the thorny but successful career, that awaited the new invention. On a piece of cardboard we pasted a mishmash of advertisements for hernia belts, student song books and dog food, labels from schnaps and wine bottles, and photographs from picture papers, cut up at will in such a way as to say, in pictures, what would have been banned by the censors if we had said it in words. ~ George Grosz,
902:Most men think in a straight line,’ he said, barely audible over the town’s noise and the wind. ‘They see only their own actions, like a single thread in the Norns’ loom, knotted only when they thrust their life on others. They see through one set of eyes, hear through one set of ears, all their life.’ He stared at me. ‘To look at things through someone else’s eyes is a rare thing, which cannot be learned. To those with the gift, it is not hard, nor complicated. But, to survive and be more than any others, it is essential. You have that gift, I am thinking.’ I ~ Robert Low,
903:In the fifteen years since it was abandoned, no new road maps had any of the town printed within a ten mile radius. GPS wouldn’t register the place, and the two bridges that lead into the town had been demolished and marked up with roadblocks just in case someone ended up going in the wrong direction. Plus, the county sheriff patrol was under the orders to arrest anyone trespassing within the city limits. Scott knew how to get around these barriers, having lived in the town until the age of ten, committing large portions of the geography to his long term memory. ~ Anonymous,
904:My parents objected strenuously, but I finally talked them into letting me join up as a Red Cross ambulance driver. I had to lie about my age, of course, but even my grandmother could accept that. In my company, which assembled in Connecticut for training, was another fellow who had lied about his age to get in. He was regarded as a strange duck, because whenever we had time off and went out on the town to chase girls, he stayed in camp drawing pictures. His name was Walt Disney. The armistice was signed just before I was to get on the boat to ship out to France. ~ Ray Kroc,
905:The main point arises from the fact that I've always acted alone. Americans like that immensely.

Americans like the cowboy who leads the wagon train by riding ahead alone on his horse, the cowboy who rides all alone into the town, the village, with his horse and nothing else. Maybe even without a pistol, since he doesn't shoot. He acts, that's all, by being in the right place at the right time. In short, a Western.… This amazing, romantic character suits me precisely because to be alone has always been part of my style or, if you like, my technique. ~ Henry Kissinger,
906:Then there were long, lazy summer afternoons when there was nothing to do but read. And dream. And watch the town go by to supper. I think that is why our great men and women so often have sprung from small towns, or villages. They have had time to dream in their adolescence. No cars to catch, no matinees, no city streets, none of the teeming, empty, energy-consuming occupations of the city child. Little that is competitive, much that is unconsciously absorbed at the most impressionable period, long evenings for reading, long afternoons in the fields or woods. ~ Edna Ferber,
907:And everyone loved sunsets. The light lost its sanity as it fell over the hills and into the Pacific--it went red and deeper red, orange, and even green. The skies seemed to melt, like lava eating black rock into great bite marks of burning. Sometimes all the town stopped and stared west. Shopkeepers came from their rooms to stand in the street. Families brought out their invalids on pallets and in wheelbarrows to wave their bent wrists at the madness consuming their sky. Swirls of gulls and pelicans like God's own confetti snowed across those sky riots. ~ Luis Alberto Urrea,
908:First grade teacher Emily Towson always does the right thing. But in her dreams, she does bad, bad things with the town’s baddest boy: Tanner O’Connor. But when he sells her grandmother a Harley, fantasy is about to meet a dose of reality. Tanner spent two hard years in prison, with only the thought of this “good girl”to keep him sane. Before either one thinks though, they’re naked and making memories on his tool bench. Now Tanner’s managed to knock- up the town’s “good girl”and she’s going to lose her job over some stupid “morality clause”if he doesn’t step up. ~ Avery Flynn,
909:In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married couple come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his hip, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a railroad. In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. ~ Elizabeth Gaskell,
910:The vulnerability in her eyes warned him he’d better be very, very careful. One wrong move and she’d jump in that little BMW and shake the dust of Virgin River off the soles of her shoes, the town’s medical needs notwithstanding. He reminded himself constantly that this was one reason he hadn’t sprung the cabin on her yet. Walking away from her last week after Joy’s party had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He had wanted nothing so much as to crush her to him and say, It’s going to be all right—I can make it all right, all good. Give me a chance. Doc ~ Robyn Carr,
911:[I]t seemed to me now that a Catholic church was the right companion for all these horrors. Didn't Catholicism deal with blood and resurrected flesh on a daily basis? Wasn't it expert in superstition? I somehow doubted that the hospitable plain Protestant chapels that dotted the university could be much help; they didn't look qualified to wrestle with the undead. I felt sure those big square Puritan churches on the town green would be helpless in the face of a European vampire. A little witch burning was more in their line--something limited to the neighbors. ~ Elizabeth Kostova,
912:So, Hailey give you those?” Finn asked, lifting his chin and looking at her legs. He squirted some paint from a tube onto his palette and pressed his brush into it, mixing it around.
“How did you know?” Megan asked.
“I know Hailey,” Finn replied, blowing away a blond curl that fell in front of his eye. “At the Fourth of July party at the town pool in second grade, she stole my Popsicle and shoved me into the deep end. I’ve been afraid if her ever since.”
“Seriously?” Megan said with a smirk.
“I never joke about Popsicles,” Finn replied with a half smile. ~ Kate Brian,
913:Well, it's like this. Deep in your consciousness there's this core that is imperceptible to yourself. In my case, the core is a town. A town with a river flowing through it and a high brick wall surrounding it. None of the people in the town can leave. Only unicorns can go in and out. The unicorns absorb the egos of the town people like blotter paper and carry them outside the wall. So the people in the town have no ego, no self. I live in the town-or so the story goes. I don't know any more than that, since I haven't actually seen any of this with my own eyes. ~ Haruki Murakami,
914:policemen and five civilians on Monday. The officer says the explosion also wounded 22 people. The town of Suwayrah is located about 40 kilometers (25 miles) south of Baghdad. A medical official confirmed the causality figures. Both officials spoke on condition of anonymity as they were not authorized to release information. Iraq is undergoing a surge in attacks since last year, with violence reaching levels unseen since 2008. It has become the Shiite-led government's most serious challenge as the nation prepares to hold parliamentary elections. Posted: Apr 21 6:31 am ~ Anonymous,
915:Between now and when we graduate next year there are at least ten weeks' holiday and five random public holidays. There's email and if you manage to get down to the town, there's text messaging and mobile phone calls. If not, the five minutes you get to speak to me on your communal phone is better than nothing. There are the chess nerds who want to invite you to our school for the chess comp next March and there's this town in the middle, planned by Walter Burley Griffin, where we can meet up and protest against our government's refusal to sign the Kyoto treaty. ~ Melina Marchetta,
916:I had been walking through the town trying to find a particular address, and being thoroughly lost I stopped to ask for directions from a man in the street. I knew this mightn’t be easy because I don’t speak German, but I was still surprised to discover just how much difficulty I was having communicating with this particular man. Gradually the truth dawned on me as we struggled in vain to understand each other that of all the people in Innsbruck I could have stopped to ask, the one I had picked did not speak English, did not speak French and was also deaf and dumb. ~ Douglas Adams,
917:Martyrs of a sort they were, these children, along with the town drunk, in his basketball sneakers and buttonless overcoat, draining blackberry brandy from a paper bag as he sat on his bench in Kazmierczak Square, risking nightly death by exposure; martyrs too of a sort were the men and women hastening to adulterous trysts, risking disgrace and divorce for their fix of motel love—all sacrificing the outer world to the inner, proclaiming with this priority that everything solid-seeming and substantial is in fact a dream, of less account than a merciful rush of feeling. ~ John Updike,
918:Maybe tell me about those letters. Confession is good for the soul."
I expected her to tear into me yet again, but instead she stayed silent for several seconds, running her fingers over the trim of her blanket. "I do belive my soul is past the point of helping."
"That's not true. It's never too late."
She looked at the town as we walked by, her eyes heavy with fatigue. And an ache so deep, it didn't have a name. I'd seen that look in my own mirror.
"I gave up that right many years ago," she said. "My fate is like those envelopes-sealed and tossed aside. ~ Jenny B Jones,
919:A London Plane-Tree
Green is the plane-tree in the square,
The other trees are brown;
They droop and pine for country air;
The plane-tree loves the town.
Here from my garret-pane, I mark
The plane-tree bud and blow,
Shed her recuperative bark,
And spread her shade below.
Among her branches, in and out,
The city breezes play;
The dun fog wraps her round about;
Above, the smoke curls grey.
Others the country take for choice,
And hold the town in scorn;
But she has listened to the voice
On city breezes borne.
~ Amy Levy,
920:Her eyes popped open in time to see flames shoot up behind the first-floor windows of Angie's Books. Angie! Where was Angie? Where were her children? The bookstore owner lived in the apartment above her shop with sixteen-year-old Beth and twelve-year-old Bradley.
The Moosetookalook Fire Department was located right next door, housed in part of the town's redbrick municipal building. The overhead door had already been raised. As Liss watched, unable to move, unable to look away, the truck pulled out, maneuvering so that it could get closer to the burning building. ~ Kaitlyn Dunnett,
921:Hazel was bigger than life;she always had been. Always trying to protect people--protect the town, protect their parents from having to confront that they'd let a lot of stuff slide, protect him from having to face his own cowardice after he'd quit hunting. While something was attacking the schools and everyone else was panicking, she'd been inside, helping Molly. He remembered how she'd come through those doors with that familiar swagger, the one that said she didn't need magic, didn't need any faerie blessing. Ben told stories. Hazel became those stories. She was brave. ~ Holly Black,
922:Max had often heard Laundromats were a good place to meet women. He wasn’t sure why, since he wasn’t one to speak to strangers while folding his underwear, so he didn’t imagine women would be any more comfortable doing so. But he’d tried it anyway, using a comforter that didn’t fit in his washing machine as an excuse to spend time in the town’s only Laundromat.
After spending ninety minutes listening to the life story of a man who was newly divorced, Max had decided the rumor of Laundromats being a good place to meet women was probably started by a Laundromat owner. ~ Shannon Stacey,
923:We could see that our mothers blackmailed us with self-sacrifice, even if we did not know whether or not they might have been great opera stars or toasts of the town if they had not borne us. In our intractable moments we pointed out that we had not asked to be born, or even to go to an expensive school. We knew that they must have had motives of their own for what they did with us and to us. The notion of our parents' self-sacrifice filled us not with gratitude but with confusion and guilt. We wanted them to be happy yet they were sad and deprived and it was our fault. ~ Germaine Greer,
924:A comic book is the opposite of a cartoon. In a cartoon, you want to simplify the idea, so when they look at it at a glance, they get it. Boom. Simple. Direct to the point. But when you're drawing Groo, now it's a narrative, a story. You want the viewer to get involved in the story. You want him to feel like he's in the town to follow your main character. So I love to add lots and lots of things in it. Things that people will enjoy going back to and say, "Oh yeah, that's how a market must have looked in this fantasy world, with people selling meat here and dishes here." ~ Sergio Aragones,
925:I wouldn’t know what to do with daughters,' he says. 'Exchange them for sons?'

'But then I could wind up with something like you.'

'I’m not so bad,' he says. 'I’m smart.'

'You’re about a hundred miles away from the town of Smart, my friend.'

'You’re mistaken, counselor,' he says. 'I’m smart, I can take care of myself. I’m an awesome tennis player, a keen observer of life around me. I’m a good cook. I always have weed.'

'I’m sure your parents are proud.'

'It’s possible.' He looks at his knees and I wonder if I’ve offended him. ~ Kaui Hart Hemmings,
926:Even without the incessant outbreak of war, there was an undercurrent of terrorism and sadistic punishment in such a regime, similar to that which has been resurrected in the totalitarian states of our own day, which bear so many resemblances to these archaic absolutisms. Under such conditions, the necessary co-operations of urban living require the constant application of the police power, and the city becomes a kind of prison whose inhabitants are under constant surveillance: a state not merely symbolized but effectively perpetuated by the town wall and its barred gates. ~ Lewis Mumford,
927:There is something about talking in the night, with the shreds of sleep around your ears, with the silences between one remark and another, the town dark and dreaming beyond your own walls. It draws the truth out of you, straight from its little dark pool down there, where usually you guard it so careful, and wave your hands over it and hum and haw to protect people's feelings, to protect your own . . . You can bring out the jaggedest feelings - if you are my wife and know how to state them calm - into the night quiet. They will float there for consideration, harming no one. ~ Margo Lanagan,
928:she approached the town of Pampa. This part of the Panhandle was so flat that it was paradoxically vertiginous, a two-dimensional planetary surface off which, having no trace of topography to hold on to, you felt you could fall or be swept. No relief in any sense of the word. The land so commercially and agriculturally marginal that Pampans thought nothing of wasting it by the half acre, so that each low and ugly building sat by itself. Dusty dead or dying halfheartedly planted trees floated by in Leila’s headlights. To her they were Texan and therefore lovely in their way. ~ Jonathan Franzen,
929:There wasn’t any proof,” he says, his voice rising defensively. “That’s what everyone said. They said that girl was lying.” “That girl has a name.” Grace tries to kill him with her eyes. When nothing happens, she turns around and storms away. “Wait, Grace,” he says. She stops walking but keeps her back to him. “You don’t understand. You weren’t here. Everything was crazy after Lucy said all that stuff. Everyone at school, the whole town was, like, falling apart.” “Yeah?” she says. “The town was falling apart?” She turns her head and looks him in the eyes. “How do you think she felt? ~ Amy Reed,
930:The smash was their walk, their déjeuner, their omelette, the Chablis, the place, the view, their present talk and his present pleasure in it—to say nothing, wonder of wonders, of her own. To this tune and nothing less, accordingly, was his surrender made good. It sufficiently lighted up at least the folly of holding off. Ancient proverbs sounded, for his memory, in the tone of their words and the clink of their glasses, in the hum of the town and the plash of the river. It was clearly better to suffer as a sheep than as a lamb. One might as well perish by the sword as by famine. ~ Henry James,
931:They carry one brand of most everything, not twenty, making it simple to choose. Nothing is complicated or fancy here, just practical and friendly. This is a place to linger, a microcosm of a small town; in fact, the general store is the town, that and several churches on nearby corners. I’m thinking, as I sit here and drink in the scene, how little it takes to get by, how simple life really can be, how pleasant to think only of necessities, eliminating the luxuries. Just now I recognize that this is everything I want—this is home. The Cape is where I belong, where I must stay. ~ Joan Anderson,
932:Right. But do you think I could face my children otherwise? You know what's going to happen as well as I do, Jack, and I hope and pray I can get Jem and Scout through it without bitterness, and most of all, without catching Maycomb's usual disease. Why reasonable people go stark raving mad when anything involving a Negro comes up, is something I don't pretend to understand... I just hope that Jem and Scout come to me for their answers instead of listening to the town. I hope they trust me enough... Jean Louise?" My scalp jumped. I stuck my head around the corner. "Sir?" "Go to bed. ~ Harper Lee,
933:The Particular End is to carry Christ into the homes and streets of the slums, among the sick, dying, the beggars and the little street children. The sick will be nursed as far as possible in their poor homes. The little children will have a school in the slums. The beggars will be sought and visited in their holes outside the town or on the streets. She would later elaborate and broaden the text to read, “Our particular mission is to labour at the salvation and sanctification of the poorest of the poor, not only in the slums, but also all over the world wherever they may be.”10 ~ Mother Teresa,
934:What’s up, Sam?”
“I saw you guys talking to a woman in the parking lot. Nicole said she’s a reporter, asking questions about us. How we all got here, if any of us weren’t born here. Nic says she’s really interested in the ones that weren’t. You, me, Rafe…”
“Probably hoping we’ll be less attached to the town and more likely to spill secrets. Why? Do you have outstanding assault warrants somewhere?”
“Ha-ha.”
Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Sam had a juvie record. She was even quicker with her fists than Daniel and, unlike him, she didn’t try to hold back. ~ Kelley Armstrong,
935:But if I find this Marquis don’t know the difference between master and tyrant, not one penny will I settle on Emma, and we’ll see what he and Sukey have to say to that!’
‘I’m afraid, ma’am, that Emily’s fortune is a matter of indifference to him.’
‘Oh, it is, is it? Well, if Emily’s been pushed into this against her will, I’ll go up to London, and tell his lordship who I am, and what I mean to do, which is to hire a house in the best part of the town, and set up as his grandma! And we’ll see if that’s a matter of indifference to him!’ declared the old lady triumphantly. ~ Georgette Heyer,
936:Logan's donating a sculpture to the town. He didn't want to make a big deal about it--wanted it on the down low, so they're doing a small unveiling."

"Down low, Gwen?"

"I know, aren't I cool?"

We all turn back to the scene across the street. I ask, "What do you think it is?"

"I hope it's a self-portrait, a nude one." Josh sighs.

Gwen and I eye him, but he has the faraway dreamy look about him. Clearly he's envisioning Logan naked. I lean over and whisper, "Whatever you're thinking, it's better."

His eyes narrow at me. "You are a hateful woman. ~ L A Fiore,
937:For nonwhites, racial microaggressions find a way into every part of every day. Microaggressions are constant reminders that you don’t belong, that you are less than, that you are not worthy of the same respect that white people are afforded. They keep you off balance, keep you distracted, and keep you defensive. They keep you from enjoying an outing on the town or a day at the office. Microaggressions are a serious problem beyond the emotional and physical effects they have on the person they are perpetrated against. They have much broader social implications. They normalize racism. ~ Ijeoma Oluo,
938:He'd kept his figure despite being past his first youth. Pretty good for nearly forty.

Who was she fooling? She knew quite well that he was thirty-five and a half, exactly five years older than she. Their birthdays were two days apart. It was absurd the way trivial facts lingered in the memory, facts as unimportant as what she had for dinner on Tuesday. Except that she couldn't remember last week's menu and she was annoyingly aware of Max Quinton's preference for lamb over beef, for apple tart over syllabub. He preferred Shakespeare to the modern poets, the country to the town. ~ Miranda Neville,
939:Well, I started out down a dirty road Started out all alone And the sun went down as I crossed the hill And the town lit up, the world got still I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings Coming down is the hardest thing Well, the good ol' days may not return And the rocks might melt and the sea may burn I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings Coming down is the hardest thing Well, some say life will beat you down Break your heart, steal your crown So I've started out for God knows where I guess I'll know when I get there I'm learning to fly around the clouds But what goes up must come down ~ Tom Petty,
940:Most locals knew who Della Lee was. She waitressed at a greasy spoon called Eat and Run, which was tucked far enough outside the town limits that the ski-crowd tourists didn’t see it. She haunted bars at night. She was probably in her late thirties, maybe ten years older than Josey, and she was rough and flashy and did whatever she wanted—no reasonable explanation required. “Della Lee Baker, what are you doing in my closet?” “You shouldn’t leave your window unlocked. Who knows who could get in?” Della Lee said, single-handedly debunking the long-held belief that if you dotted your... ~ Sarah Addison Allen,
941:To me, and I passed this on to my students, the restored devices demonstrated not only how quickly anything on Earth runs down without steady infusions of energy. They reminded us, too, of the craftsmanship no longer practiced in the town below. Nobody down there in our time could make things that cunning and beautiful.

Yes, and we took the 10 machines we agreed were the most beguiling, and we put them on permanent exhibit in the foyer of this library underneath a sign whose words can surely be applied to this whole ruined planet nowadays.

THE COMPLICATED FUTILITY OF IGNORANCE ~ Kurt Vonnegut,
942: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,
943:With all the planning she’d done, she must have known she was leaving, and even she couldn’t have been totally immune to the feeling. She’d had good days here. And on the last day, the bad days become so difficult to recall, because one way or another, she made a life here, just as I had. The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things I’d done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me. These whitewashed cinder-block walls. My white walls. Margo’s white walls. We’d been captive in them for so long, stuck in their belly like Jonah. ~ John Green,
944:As for reading, I doubt whether she did much better by the sea-side than she had done in the town. Men and women say that they will read, and think so—those, I mean, who have acquired no habit of reading—believing the work to be, of all works, the easiest. It may be work, they think, but of all works it must be the easiest of achievement. Given the absolute faculty of reading, the task of going through the pages of a book must be, of all tasks, the most certainly within the grasp of the man or woman who attempts it. Alas! no; if the habit be not there, of all tasks it is the most difficult. ~ Anthony Trollope,
945:Ashurnatsirpal Iii
Three walls around the town of Tela when I came.
They expected everything of those walls;
Nobody in the town came out to kiss my feet.
I knocked the walls down, killed three thousand soldiers,
Took away cattle and sheep, took all the loot in sight,
And burned special captives.
Some of the soldiers—I cut off hands and feet.
Others—I cut off ears and fingers.
Some—I put out the eyes.
I made a pyramid of heads.
I strung heads on trees circling the town.
When I got through with it
There wasn’t much left of the town of Tela.
~ Carl Sandburg,
946:colonial office under England. When the Declaration of Independence was read, with all its flaming radical language, from the town hall balcony in Boston, it was read by Thomas Crafts, a member of the Loyal Nine group, conservatives who had opposed militant action against the British. Four days after the reading, the Boston Committee of Correspondence ordered the townsmen to show up on the Common for a military draft. The rich, it turned out, could avoid the draft by paying for substitutes; the poor had to serve. This led to rioting, and shouting: “Tyranny is Tyranny let it come from whom it may. ~ Howard Zinn,
947:I had no thought, that night—none, I am quite sure—of what was soon to happen to me. But I have always remembered since, that when we had stopped at the garden gate to look up at the sky, and when we went upon our way, I had for a moment an undefinable impression of myself as being something different from what I then was. I know it was then, and there, that I had it. I have ever since connected the feeling with that spot and time, and with everything associated with that spot and time, to the distant voices in the town, the barking of a dog, and the sound of wheels coming down the miry hill. ~ Charles Dickens,
948:she approached the town of Pampa. This part of the Panhandle was so flat that it was paradoxically vertiginous, a two-dimensional planetary surface off which, having no trace of topography to hold on to, you felt you could fall or be swept. No relief in any sense of the word. The land so commercially and agriculturally marginal that Pampans thought nothing of wasting it by the half acre, so that each low and ugly building sat by itself. Dusty dead or dying halfheartedly planted trees floated by in Leila’s headlights. To her they were Texan and therefore lovely in their way. The Sonic parking ~ Jonathan Franzen,
949:Whereas during those months of separation time had never gone quickly enough for their liking and they were wanting to speed its flight, now that they were in sight of the town they would have liked to slow it down and hold each moment in suspense, once the breaks went on and the train was entering the station. For the sensation, confused perhaps, but none the less poingant for that, of all those days and weeks and months of life lost to their love made them vaguely feel they were entitled to some compensation; this present hour of joy should run at half the speed of those long hours of waiting. ~ Albert Camus,
950:The name itself is trouble. “Slough” means, literally, muddy field. A snake sloughs, or sheds, its dead skin. John Bunyan wrote of the “slough of despond” in Pilgrim’s Progress. In the 1930s, John Betjeman wrote this poem about Slough: Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough! It isn’t fit for humans now, There isn’t grass to graze a cow, Swarm over, Death! Then he got nasty. To this day, the residents of Slough rankle when anyone mentions the poem. The town’s reputation as a showpiece of quiet desperation was cemented when the producers of the TV series The Office decided to set the show in Slough. ~ Eric Weiner,
951:With all the planning she’d done, she must have known she was leaving, and even she couldn’t have been totally immune to the feeling. She’d had good days here. And on the last day, the bad days become so difficult to recall, because one way or another, she had made a life here, just as I had. The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things I’d done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me. These whitewashed cinder-block walls. My white walls. Margo’s white walls. We’d been captive in them for so long, stuck in their belly like Jonah. ~ John Green,
952:Crossing Pont Neuf didn’t turn out to be the problem. The problem was the other side. As he came around a bend, Luc found the road clogged with vehicles of every type. Now a new fear gripped him. No traffic jam had prevented their crossing the Meuse River. But one still might prevent them from successfully fleeing the German forces, which were at that very moment overrunning the town. Seeing so many red taillights ahead, Luc slammed on the brakes. They came to a full stop. They were just idling there while the Nazi forces pressed their attack, closing in on the bridge with every passing moment. ~ Joel C Rosenberg,
953:I am tired of this city. I am tired of its pagan pretensions and false histories. Hyperion is a poet’s world devoid of poetry. Keats itself is a mixture of tawdry, false classicism and mindless, boomtown energy. There are three Zen Gnostic assemblies and four High Muslim mosques in the town, but the real houses of worship are the countless saloons and brothels, the huge marketplaces handling the fiberplastic shipments from the south, and the Shrike Cult temples where lost souls hide their suicidal hopelessness behind a shield of shallow mysticism. The whole planet reeks of mysticism without revelation. ~ Dan Simmons,
954:she saw all those who were in the pickup truck with her husband. Their clothes were torn. Their hands and faces were covered in blood and dust. They looked as shell-shocked as they felt. What’s more, they were hungry and thirsty and exhausted and grieving their families and friends and the town they had left behind. “I heard, on the wireless,” Claire said without missing a beat. “It’s all anyone is talking about. Thank God you’re okay. Come in. All of you, please come in. We will get you something to eat and give you a place to sleep and a hot bath. Come in; don’t be shy. You’re with friends here. ~ Joel C Rosenberg,
955:"THOUGH logic-choppers rule the town,
And every man and maid and boy
Has marked a distant object down,
An aimless joy is a pure joy,'
Or so did Tom O'Roughley say
That saw the surges running by.
"And wisdom is a butterfly
And not a gloomy bird of prey.
"If little planned is little sinned
But little need the grave distress.
What's dying but a second wind?
How but in zig-zag wantonness
Could trumpeter Michael be so brave?'
Or something of that sort he said,
"And if my dearest friend were dead
I'd dance a measure on his grave.'

~ William Butler Yeats, Tom ORoughley
,
956:Firelight And Nightfall
The darkness steals the forms of all the queens,
But oh, the palms of his two black hands are red,
Inflamed with binding up the sheaves of dead
Hours that were once all glory and all queens.
And I remember all the sunny hours
Of queens in hyacinth and skies of gold,
And morning singing where the woods are scrolled
And diapered above the chaunting flowers.
Here lamps are white like snowdrops in the grass;
The town is like a churchyard, all so still
And grey now night is here; nor will
Another torn red sunset come to pass.
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
957:I got up to get us a drink of water and as I stood in the kitchen in the early morning light, running the water out of the tap, I looked out at the hills at the back of the town, at the trees on the hills, at the bushes in the garden, at the birds, at the brand new leaves on a branch, at a cat on a fence, at the bits of wood that made the fence, and I wondered if everything I saw, if maybe every landscape we casually glanced at, was the outcome of an ecstasy we didn't even know was happening, a love-act moving at a speed slow and steady enough for us to be deceived into thinking it was just everyday reality. ~ Ali Smith,
958:Every man suddenly became related to Kino's pearl, and Kino's pearl went into the dreams, the speculations, the schemes, the plans, the futures, the wishes, the needs, the lusts, the hungers, of everyone, and only one person stood in the way and that was Kino, so that he became curiously every man's enemy. The news stirred up something infinitely black and evil in the town; the black distillate was like the scorpion, or like hunger in the smell of food, or like loneliness when love is withheld. The poison sacs of the town began to manufacture venom, and the town swelled and puffed with the pressure of it. ~ John Steinbeck,
959:If it were today, I would have her heart cut out, true. But then I would have her head and arms and legs cut off. I would have them disembowel her. And then I would watch, in the town square, as the hangman heated the fire to white-heat with bellows, watch unblinking as he consigned each part of her to the fire. I would have archers around the square, who would shoot any bird or animal who came close to the flames, any raven or dog or hawk or rat. And I would not close my eyes until the princess was ash, and a gentle wind could scatter her like snow.

I did not do this thing, and we pay for our mistakes. ~ Neil Gaiman,
960:I may have smiled to myself as I watched the familiar pattern of the town pass, the bus cruising through shade to sunshine. I'd grown up in this place, had the knowledge of it so deep in me that I didn't even know most street names, navigating instead by landmarks, visual or memorial. The corner where my mother had twisted her ankle in a mauve pantsuit. The copse of trees that always looked vaguely attended by evil. The drugstore with its torn awning. Through the window of that unfamiliar bus, the burr of old carpet under my legs, my hometown seemed scrubbed clean of my presence. It was easy to leave it behind. ~ Emma Cline,
961:The feathers, from the heap, fly in clouds and fix themselves onto the turkey. The spray forms on the water, a figure rises feet-first from the water and ascends at great speed; the water collects and descends to cover the spot. Fragments of the burst balloon collect into the balloon again. The ground stirs and beneath it things move about. Through a crack, things are seen to be moving far below. And then the old withered senile things get up out of the ground; they sit up. They stand, they step out, they begin to wave their arms and talk. And gradually they return to the town and take up where they left off. ~ Philip K Dick,
962:ladies and gentlewomen only who were in the town with the duke might go out without violation of their honour, on foot, and with so much only as they could carry about them. Whereupon they, out of magnanimity of heart, presently contrived to carry out, upon their shoulders, their husbands and children, and the duke himself; a sight at which the emperor was so pleased, that, ravished with the generosity of the action, he wept for joy, and immediately extinguishing in his heart the mortal and capital hatred he had conceived against this duke, he from that time forward treated him and his with all humanity. ~ Michel de Montaigne,
963:Night In The City
The sluggish clouds hang low upon the town,
And from yon lamp in chilled and sodden rays
The feeble light gropes through the heavy mist
And dies, extinguished in the stagnant maze.
From moisty eaves the drops fall slowly down
To strike with leaden sound the walk below,
And in dark, murky pools upon the street
The water stands, as lacking life to flow.
With hopeless brain, oppressed and sad at heart,
Toil's careworn slave turns out his flickering light
And treads in dreams his dulling round again,
Where weary day succeeds to dismal night.
~ Ellis Parker Butler,
964:An old Gordita reflex, dating back to shortly after the Second World War, when a black family had actually tried to move into town and the citizens, with helpful advice from the Ku Klux Klan, had burned the place to the ground and then, as if some ancient curse had come into effect, refused to allow another house ever to be built on the site. The lot stood empty until the town finally confiscated it and turned it into a park, where the youth of Gordita Beach, by the laws of karmic adjustment, were soon gathering at night to drink, dope, and fuck, depressing their parents, though not property values particularly. ~ Thomas Pynchon,
965:The clock! That twelve-figured moon skull, that white spider belly! How serenely the hands move with their filigree pointers, and how steadily! Twelve hours, and twelve hours, and begin again! Eat, speak, sleep, cross a street, wash a dish! The clock is still ticking. All its vistas are just so broad—are regular. (Notice that word.) Every day, twelve little bins in which to order disorderly life, and even more disorderly thought. The town’s clock cries out, and the face on every wrist hums or shines; the world keeps pace with itself. Another day is passing, a regular and ordinary day. (Notice that word also.)     ~ Mary Oliver,
966:Aleks opened his mouth to reassure his friend when he heard something that chilled him to the bone.

“Aleksander Aaron Arkadion! What in the hell is wrong with you! Why are you dragging that mangled corpse through town? You traumatized an entire first-grade class on a field trip to the town center,” Ma said, striding up to them pointing down to the body that Aleks still had a hold of.

He looked down at the ankle he was holding.

“Fuck my life.” Aleks looked behind his ma at the trail of blood heading back to the ice cream parlor.

Liam laughed, his arms wrapped around his waist holding his sides. ~ Alanea Alder,
967:So he was always in the town at one place or another, drinking, knocking about with the men he knew. It really wearied him. He talked to barmaids, to almost any woman, but there was that dark, strained look in his eyes, as if he were hunting something.

Everything seemed so different, so unreal. There seemed no reason why people should go along the street, and houses pile up in the daylight. There seemed no reason why these things should occupy the space, instead of leaving it empty. His friends talked to him: he heard the sounds, and he answered. But why there should be the noise of speech he could not understand. ~ D H Lawrence,
968:Tarek Mohamed Bouazizi, who burned himself to death in front of the governor’s offices in the town of Sidi Bouzid in December 2010.12 Bouazizi killed himself precisely one hour after a policewoman, backed by two municipal officers, had seized from him two crates of pears, a crate of bananas, three crates of apples and a second-hand electronic weight scale worth $179. Those scales were his only capital. He did not have legal title to his family’s home, which might otherwise have served as collateral for his business. His economic existence depended on the ‘fees’ he paid to officials to allow him to operate his fruit-stand on ~ Niall Ferguson,
969:Not far away lay the big cannons that had held Ulysses Grant at bay for fifty siege days while the citizens of the town ate rat flesh and clung to their long-cherished beliefs. How many had died in that lost cause? Dr. Tarver wondered. Fifty thousand casualties at Gettysburg alone, and for what? To free the slaves who built this house? To preserve the Union? Had Stonewall Jackson died to create a nation of couch potatoes ignorant of their own history and incapable of simple mathematics? If those brave soldiers in blue and gray had seen what lay in the future, they would have laid down their muskets and walked home to their farms. ~ Greg Iles,
970:chair, expecting to hear Bridget McCloud’s voice rise in greeting. She leaned against the wall between the kitchen and dining room and tried to catch her breath.  Why was she so surprised? Two and a half weeks in Pilgrim Cove couldn’t erase a lifetime of love and memories. The heavy silence, however, reinforced her new reality. She was alone. A feeling which seemed much stronger here than at Sea View House. And not because of the kitten.  Laura walked slowly to her bedroom and automatically began to undress. During her time in Pilgrim Cove, she’d gotten involved with people. Funny, how she seemed so connected to the town after ~ Linda Barrett,
971:And then she walked into the room. Like calling this place a “house” was inadequate, saying she “walked” also seemed far too tame. Accurate, yes. I mean, she didn’t do anything extraordinary. Not really. She didn’t glide into the drawing room or ride in on a white horse or anything like that. But she might as well have. She made an entrance and she made it just by entering. I didn’t say “wow” out loud, but I almost did. We both quickly stood, not because we were being gentlemen, but because something about her entrance demanded it. There, in the flesh, was the talk of the town, the movie poster come to life, Angelica Wyatt. “You ~ Harlan Coben,
972:Into its pinched streets, the fish-sellers told me, cars from Kolkata arrive daily, sent by government officials or corporate executives just to buy the best of the day's catch. The daily market is the town's centerpiece. For streets together, cereal-sellers sit surrounded by sacks of six or eight types of cereals; fisherwomen with toes reddened by fish blood squat behind cutters, little steel tubs of still-swimming catfish, and turmeric-smeared cuts of fish; on blue tarpaulins, vegetable-sellers arrange potatoes, gourds, red onions, beans both broad and French, big and little aubergines, pumpkins and huge heads of cabbage. ~ Samanth Subramanian,
973:Faith Is Sometimes Spelled R-I-S-K Then the word of the LORD came to him: “Go at once to Zarephath of Sidon and stay there. I have commanded a widow in that place to supply you with food.”      So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”      “As surely as the LORD your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take ~ R T Kendall,
974:Odd, yes, here in the capital of eternal youth, endless summer and all, that fear should be running the town again as in days of old, like the Hollywood blacklist you don't remember and the Watts rioting you do - it spreads, like blood in a swimming pool, till it occupies all the volume of the day. And then maybe some playful soul shows up with a bucketful of piranhas, dumps them in the pool, and right away they can taste the blood. They swim around looking for what's bleeding, but they don't find anything, all of them getting more and more crazy, till the craziness reaches a point. Which is when they begin to feed on each other. ~ Thomas Pynchon,
975:Delaney’s themselves had an underground bunker built in the 1960’s for a nuclear attack, which was currently filled with weapons of all sorts, including military grade machine guns. All that was needed was a tank, a small aircraft equipped with guns, and some howitzers to protect the town. Then they would have no problem defending the town or farm from the regular, every day Americans in the big cities should they feel the need to attack the town for the food. Brian considered something like that happening to be unlikely, since they were too far away from the major cities for anyone to make it that far on foot if cars weren’t running. ~ Cliff Ball,
976:Augustus said. “You can’t have this leg, and if you’re thinking of overpowering me you have to calculate on losing about half the town. I can shoot straight when I’m drunk, too.” “I only want to save your life,” Dr. Mobley said, taking a drink from the first bottle before pouring Augustus a glassful. “It’s my worry, mainly,” Augustus said. “You stated your case, but the jury went against you. Jury of one. Did you pay the whore?” “I did,” Dr. Mobley said. “Since you refuse company, you’ll have to drink alone. I have to go deliver a child into this unhappy world.” “It’s a fine world, though rich in hardships at times,” Augustus said. ~ Larry McMurtry,
977:When it was just he, Ildiko and Anhuset, his cousin rounded on him.  “Are you trying to worry me into an early death?” she snapped.

“Stop henpecking me,” he snapped back.  “I have a wife for that, and even she doesn’t do it.”

Muffled laughter sounded next to him.  Ildiko stared at them both with watery eyes and a hand clapped over her mouth.  She lowered her hand and compressed her lips in an obvious effort to contain her mirth.  “Sorry,” she managed to gasp out between giggles.

Anhuset didn’t share in her amusement.  Her expression darkened before she bowed a second time.  “I will see you both in the town square. ~ Grace Draven,
978:The retaliation came in all varieties. One variety came largely from the Soviet soldiers. When they entered East Prussia in January, their propaganda officers hung up huge banners: ‘Soldier, you are now entering the lair of the fascist beast!’ The village of Nemmersdorf (now Mayakovskoya) was taken by the 2nd Red Army Guard, a few days later German troops launched a counteroffensive and entered the town again. They found bodies everywhere: refugees crushed under tanks, children shot in their gardens, raped women nailed to barn doors. The cameras rolled, the images were shown all over Germany: this is what happens when the Russians come in. ~ Geert Mak,
979:Victoria spent most of the morning in the town house's private garden. It was a cool, humid day, the sky liberally laced with clouds, the air stirring with mild breezes. She sat at the stone table and read for a while, then wandered along graveled paths bordered with boxes of lilac, jessamine, and Russian honeysuckle. The carefully tended garden was bordered by poplar hedges and ivy-covered walls. Well-stocked beds of flowering and fruit-bearing paths and filled the air with perfume.
In this small, secluded world, it seemed as if the city were a hundred miles away. It was difficult not to be contented in such beautiful surroundings. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
980:Jesus was not a godlike man, nor a manlike God. He was God-man. Midwifed by a carpenter. Bathed by a peasant girl. The maker of the world with a bellybutton. The author of the Torah being taught the Torah. Heaven’s human. And because he was, we are left with scratch-your-head, double-blink, what’s-wrong-with-this-picture? moments like these: A cripple sponsoring the town dance. A sack lunch satisfying five thousand tummies. What do we do with such moments? What do we do with such a person? We applaud men for doing good things. We enshrine God for doing great things. But when a man does God things? One thing is certain, we can’t ignore him. ~ Max Lucado,
981:One night the three of us were out on the town. Bill was driving us to an Italian restaurant. I had been on my new job just a few weeks. I was in the backseat and Bill was watching me in the rearview mirror. Bill said to me, “We heard from Jimmy that you paint houses.” I didn’t say anything. I just nodded my head “yes.” Okay, here it is, I thought. So much for getting away from the downtown culture and getting into a new line of work. “We got something in Chicago that needs to be straightened out. We got a friend there named Joey Glimco. He runs the cab local there, 777. He’s got the trucks on the waterfront, too. Ever heard of him?” I ~ Charles Brandt,
982:Monkshood was a good hour’s walk from the town proper. The very narrow lanes meant that occasionally you had to throw yourself in the ditch to avoid a car, and once they had to throw themselves in the ditch to avoid a farmer coming by in a blue cart.

“The Americans have these inventions called sidewalks,” Jared noted.

“We call them pavements,” Kami said. “And we see them as luxuries that you just can’t have with every road.”

“You know what goes faster than us? Or even pretty, pretty ponies?” Jared asked.

“Your head, spinning through the air when detached from your shoulders after a grisly motorcycle crash ~ Sarah Rees Brennan,
983:The Sunlit House
White, through the gate it gleamed and slept
In shattered sunshine. The parched garden flowers
Their scarlet petals from the beds unswept
Like children unloved and ill-kept
Dreamed through the hours Two blue hydrangeas by the blistered door burned
brown
Watched there, and no one in the town
Cared to go past it night or day
Though why this was they wouldn't say
But I, the stranger, knew that I must stay.
Pace up the weed-grown paths and down Till one afternoon - there is just a doubt Bit I fancy I heard a tiny shout From an upper window a bird flew out And I went my way.
~ Charlotte Mary Mew,
984:Preppy had been responsible for all the dicks that had been spray painted on stop signs and light poles throughout the town. “I use special paint, too. Shit’s never gonna come off. When I’m long gone my beautiful big black cocks will still be everywhere in this shit town.” “Oh you like big black cocks?” I asked, nudging him in his bony ribs with my elbow. “Only my own,” Preppy said, grabbing his dick through his khakis. King rolled his eyes. “You’re not fucking black, asshole.” “I am from the waist down, motherfucker, have you seen the size of my fucking cock?” Preppy reached for his belt. “Preppy, if you pull your fucking cock out again I’m ~ T M Frazier,
985:Aleks opened his mouth to reassure his friend when he

heard something that chilled him to the bone.

“Aleksander Aaron Arkadion! What in the hell is wrong with you! Why are you dragging that mangled

corpse through town? You traumatized an entire first-grade class on a field trip to the town center,” Ma said,

striding up to them pointing down to the body that Aleks still had a hold of.

He looked down at the ankle he was holding.

“Fuck my life.” Aleks looked behind his ma at the trail of blood heading back to the ice cream parlor.

Liam laughed, his arms wrapped around his waist holding his sides. ~ Alanea Alder,
986:Are they not fresh and beautiful?" [Watson] cried...
Holmes shook his head gravely.
"... You look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed bu their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed here... They always filled me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson... that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beauty of the countryside... But the reason is obvious. The pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
987:German resistance continued to present a hodgepodge of fanaticism amid disorder. A British patrol entering a deserted village east of Valenciennes in the northern sector came across a wounded German lieutenant propped up against the wall of a house. He told them, in flawless English, that his men had abandoned the town two hours before and he hoped a British field surgeon might treat him. Given this information, the leader of the patrol began marching some two hundred men into the village square. As they arrived, machine guns appeared to sprout from every window and a church tower. More than a hundred dead Tommies piled up in the square. ~ Joseph E Persico,
988:The community of Partageuse had drifted together like so much dust in a breeze, settling in this spot where two oceans met, because there was fresh water and a natural harbor and good soil. Its port was no rival to Albany, but convenient for locals shipping timber or sandalwood or beef. Little businesses had sprung up and clung on like lichen on a rock face, and the town had accumulated a school, a variety of churches with different hymns and architectures, a good few brick and stone houses and a lot more built of weatherboard and tin. It gradually produced various shops, a town hall, even a Dalgety's stock and station agency. And pubs. Many pubs. ~ M L Stedman,
989:Graceful. Lean. Coordinated as she whirls, though how she knows what dancing is, [her grandfather] could never guess.

The song plays on. He lets it go too long. The antenna is still up, probably dimly visible against the sky, the whole attic might as well shine like a beacon. But in the candlelight, in the sweet rush of a concerto, Marie-Laure bites her lower lip, and her face gives off a secondary glow, reminding him of the marshes beyond the town walls, in those winter dusks when the sun has set but isn't fully swallowed, and big patches of red pools of light burn - places he used to go with his brother, in what seems like lifetimes ago. ~ Anthony Doerr,
990:Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks glasses! of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster— tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? ~ Herman Melville,
991:Then, in January 1961, a religious riot broke out in the central Indian city of Jabalpur. A Hindu girl had committed suicide; it was alleged that she took her life because she had been assaulted by two Muslim men. The claim was given lurid publicity by a local Jana Sangh newspaper, whereupon Hindu students went on a rampage through the town, attacking Muslim homes and burning shops. In retaliation a Muslim group torched a Hindu neighbourhood. The rioting continued for days, spreading also to the countryside. It was the most serious such incident since Partition, its main sufferers being poor Muslims, mostly weavers and bidi (cigarette) workers.52 ~ Ramachandra Guha,
992:In Pawtucket, Rhode Island, in 1824, came the first known strike of women factory workers; 202 women joined men in protesting a wage cut and longer hours, but they met separately. Four years later, women in Dover, New Hampshire, struck alone. And in Lowell, Massachusetts, in 1834, when a young woman was fired from her job, other girls left their looms, one of them then climbing the town pump and making, according to a newspaper report, “a flaming Mary Wollstonecraft speech on the rights of women and the iniquities of the ‘moneyed aristocracy’ which produced a powerful effect on her auditors and they determined to have their own way, if they died for it. ~ Howard Zinn,
993:When Hans started to interview the people in town in the 1980s, no one seemed to remember anything. Everyone was 'working in the fields,' 'out of town,' or otherwise busy when someone switched off the town's main fuse one night and the Jews' windows were smashed with stones under cover of darkness; when the Jews were forced to submerge in the water; when the short circuit ripped through the synagogue; and when 'the people were loaded onto a lorry and brought to an unknown place.' Over time, fragmentary stories, photographs, and documents rose back to the surface like bloated corpses. Memories turned into legends, and sometimes, legends turned into memories. ~ Nora Krug,
994:In general, I weathered even the worst sermons pretty well. They had the great virtue of causing my mind to wander. Some of the best things I have ever thought of I have thought of during bad sermons. Or I would look out the windows. In winter, when the windows were closed, the church seemed to admit the light strictly on its own terms, as if uneasy about the frank sunshine of this benighted world. In summer, when the sashes were raised, I watched with a great, eager pleasure the town and the fields beyond, the clouds, the trees, the movements of the air—but then the sermons would seem more improbable. I have always loved a window, especially an open one. ~ Wendell Berry,
995:Sonnet Iv
Up at his attic sill the South wind came
And days of sun and storm but never peace.
Along the town's tumultuous arteries
He heard the heart-throbs of a sentient frame:
Each night the whistles in the bay, the same
Whirl of incessant wheels and clanging cars:
For smoke that half obscured, the circling stars
Burnt like his youth with but a sickly flame.
Up to his attic came the city cries -The throes with which her iron sinews heave -And yet forever behind prison doors
Welled in his heart and trembled in his eyes
The light that hangs on desert hills at eve
And tints the sea on solitary shores. . . .
~ Alan Seeger,
996:You should probably go now, before you dig your hole any deeper.” And with a voice as smooth as silk, a half smile on his lips, he faced Brie down and said, “And just who do you think you are, ordering me out?” Jack’s hand came down on the bar hard, clamping over Arnold’s wrist, and he glared into the man’s eyes. Jack’s eyes glittered. Jack hated this kind of cheap, sissy maneuver—trashing the girl to the town behind her back. He might not know exactly what was going on, but he knew this guy was wrong and Ellie was an okay kid. All he was lacking were the facts. “That’s my little sister, asshole. And your fifteen minutes of fame are up. You’re leaving.” Arnold ~ Robyn Carr,
997:First Snow
Outside the snowstorm spins, and hides
The world beneath a pall.
Snowed under are the paper-girl,
The papers and the stall.
Quite often our experience
Has led us to believe
That snow falls out of reticence,
In order to deceive.
Concealing unrepentantly
And trimming you in white,
How often he has brought you home
Into the town at night!
While snowflakes blind and blanket out
The distance more and more,
A tipsy shadow gropes his way
And staggers to the door.
And then he enters hastily…
Again, for all I know,
Someone has something sinful to
Conceal in all this snow!
~ Boris Pasternak,
998:Jeb regarded me with n o expression. "Do you believe in God, Allison?"

"No," I said immediately. "Is this the part where you tell me I'm going to hell?"

"This is hell," Jebbadiah said, gesturing to the town around us. "This is our punishment, our Tribulation. God has abandoned this world. The faithful have already gone on to their reward, and he has left the rest of us here, at the mercy of the demons and the devils. The sins of our fathers have passed to their children, and their children's children, and it will continue to be so until this world is completely destroyed. So it doesn't matter if you believe in God or not, because He is not here. ~ Julie Kagawa,
999:He heard sirens in the distance. Then more gunfire, four rounds, then five, very faint but louder because of the open window, and then more sirens, two different tones, probably ambulances and cop cars, and then a furious volley of gunfire, impossibly fast, like a continuous explosion, like a hundred machine guns firing all at once, like the best firework show the town park ever had, and then there was the muted concussive thump of a fuel explosion, and two more handgun rounds, and then nothing but sirens, the scream of cop cars, the yelp of ambulances, the deafening bass bark of fire trucks, all blending in a howl that sounded more like sorrow than help. Reacher ~ Lee Child,
1000:The pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
1001:More than four years had passed since Jacob last stepped into a government school. His formal education had come to an abrupt end when der Führer had risen to power as Reich Chancellor in 1933. It was then that Jacob’s father, the renowned Dr. Reuben Weisz, had been “relieved” of his duties at the university. Soon the family had lost their house, their savings, and most of the people they once thought were their friends. That’s when Avi had stepped in to help. He’d offered his elder brother the opportunity to manage the metalworking shop he owned in Siegen. And he had invited his brother’s family to live in the town house on Rubensstrasse at a reduced rent. ~ Joel C Rosenberg,
1002:For a few moments he indulged his old joy in range and mountain, stretching, rising on his right, away into the purple distance. Something had heightened its beauty. How softly gray the rolling range land—how black the timbered slopes! The town before him sat like a hideous blotch on a fair landscape. It forced his gaze over and beyond toward the west, where the late afternoon sun had begun to mellow and redden, edging the clouds with exquisite light. To the southward lay Arizona, land of painted mesas and storied canyon walls, of thundering streams and wild pine forests, of purple-saged valleys and grassy parks, set like mosaics between the stark desert mountains. ~ Zane Grey,
1003:He'd never seen it in person before (the main quarry); it was larger than he'd expected. When he'd first taken an interest, some decades before, following hints of something ancient and significant buried there, he could still make out remnants of the hill that had loaned the town it's name. Now that was gone - not just erased but inverted, to become a great pit. He found tho notable for the demonstration of force it represented. Civilizations rose and fell; what caused them to be remembered was not their contribution to knowledge or culture, not even the size of their empires, but rather how much force they extorted upon the landscape. This was what survived them. ~ Max Barry,
1004:Why must you have this map?" she asks. "Even with a map, you will never leave this Town."
She brushes away the bread crumbs that have fallen on her lap and looks toward the Pool.
"Do you want to leave here?" she asks again.
I shake my head. Do I mean this as a "no", or is it only that I do not know?
"I just want to find out about the Town," I say. "The lay of the land, the history, the people, ... I want to know who made the rules, what has sway over us. I want even to know what lies beyond."
She slowly rolls her head, then fixes upon my eyes. "There is no beyond," she says. "Did you not know? We are at the End of the World. We are here forever. ~ Haruki Murakami,
1005:However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poorhouse. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the almshouse as brightly as from the rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace. The town’s poor seem to me often to live the most independent lives of any. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
1006:[Thoreau's] famous night in jail took place about halfway through his stay in the cabin on Emerson's woodlot at Walden Pond. His two-year stint in the small cabin he built himself is often portrayed as a monastic retreat from the world of human affairs into the world of nautre, though he went back to town to eat with and talk to friends and family and to pick up money doing odd jobs that didn't fit into Walden's narrative. He went to jail both because the town jailer ran into him while he was getting his shoe mended and because he felt passionately enough about national affairs to refuse to pay his tax. To be in the woods was not to be out of society or politics. ~ Rebecca Solnit,
1007:To Archimedes once a scholar came,
"Teach me," he said, "the art that won thy fame;
The godlike art which gives such boons to toil,
And showers such fruit upon thy native soil;
The godlike art that girt the town when all
Rome's vengeance burst in thunder on the wall!"
"Thou call'st art godlikeit is so, in truth,
And was," replied the master to the youth,
"Ere yet its secrets were applied to use
Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse:
Ask'st thou from art, but what the art is worth?
The fruit?for fruit go cultivate the earth.
He who the goddess would aspire unto,
Must not the goddess as the woman woo!"
~ Friedrich Schiller, Archimedes
,
1008:...for if our life is vagabond our memory is sedentary and though we ourselves rush ceaselessly forward our recollections, indissolubly bound to the sites which we have left behind use, continue to lead a placid and sequestered existence among them, like those friends whom a traveller makes for a brief while in some town where he is staying and whom, leaving the town, he is obliged to leave behind him, because it is there that they, who stand on the steps of their house to bid him good-bye, will end their day and their life, regardless of whether he is still with them or not, there beside the church, looking out over the harbour, beneath the trees of the promenade. ~ Marcel Proust,
1009:All of the village was of a piece, a time, and a style; it was as though the people needed the ugliness of the village, and fed on it. The houses and the stores seemed to have been set up in contemptuous haste to provide shelter for the drab and the unpleasant, and the Rochester house and the Blackwood house and even the town hall had been brought here perhaps accidentally from some far lovely country where people lived with grace. Perhaps the fine houses had been captured—perhaps as punishment for the Rochesters and the Blackwoods and their secret bad hearts?—and were held prisoner in the village; perhaps their slow rot was a sign of the ugliness of the villagers. ~ Shirley Jackson,
1010:This was before the Sorias had left Mexico, before the Revolution, back when they’d been called Los Santos de Abejones. When they’d been Los Santos de Abejones, hundreds of pilgrims had come to them for blessings and healings, camping outside tiny Abejones for miles, right up into the mountains. Merchants had sold prayer cards and charms on the road to those who waited. Legends had crept out of the town, carried on horseback and tucked in people’s satchels and written into ballads played in bars late at night. Amazing transformations and terrifying deeds—it did not seem to matter if the stories were good or bad. As long as they were interesting, they drew a crowd. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,
1011:Aaron Stark
Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark, -Cursed and unkempt, shrewd, shrivelled, and morose.
A miser was he, with a miser's nose,
And eyes like little dollars in the dark.
His thin, pinched mouth was nothing but a mark;
And when he spoke there came like sullen blows
Through scattered fangs a few snarled words and close,
As if a cur were chary of its bark.
Glad for the murmur of his hard renown,
Year after year he shambled through the town, -A loveless exile moving with a staff;
And oftentimes there crept into his ears
A sound of alien pity, touched with tears, -And then (and only then) did Aaron laugh.
~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,
1012:Wang Lung sat smoking, thinking of the silver as it had lain upon the table. It had come out of the earth, this silver, out of his earth that he ploughed and turned and spent himself upon. He took his life from this earth; drop by drop by his sweat he wrung food from it and from the food, silver. Each time before this that he had taken the silver out to give to anyone, it had been like taking a piece of his life and giving it to someone carelessly. But now for the first time such giving was not pain. He saw, not the silver in the alien hand of a merchant in the town; he saw the silver transmuted into something worth even more than itself—clothes upon the body of his son. ~ Pearl S Buck,
1013:Ballade Of Queen Anne
The modish Airs,
The Tansey Brew,
The SWAINS and FAIRS
In curtained Pew;
Nymphs KNELLER drew,
Books BENTLEY read, Who knows them, who?
QUEEN ANNE is dead!
We buy her Chairs,
Her China blue,
Her red-brick Squares
We build anew;
But ah! we rue,
When all is said,
The tale o'er-true,
QUEEN ANNE is dead!
Now BULLS and BEARS,
A ruffling Crew,
With Stocks and Shares,
With Turk and Jew,
Go bubbling through
The Town ill-bred:
The World's askew,
QUEEN ANNE is dead!
ENVOY.
Friend, praise the new;
The old is fled:
Vivat FROU-FROU!
QUEEN ANNE is dead!
~ Andrew Lang,
1014:She went to the window. A fine sheen of sugary frost covered everything in sight, and white smoke rose from chimneys in the valley below the resort town. The window opened to a rush of sharp early November air that would have the town in a flurry of activity, anticipating the tourists the colder weather always brought to the high mountains of North Carolina.

She stuck her head out and took a deep breath. If she could eat the cold air, she would. She thought cold snaps were like cookies, like gingersnaps. In her mind they were made with white chocolate chunks and had a cool, brittle vanilla frosting. They melted like snow in her mouth, turning creamy and warm. ~ Sarah Addison Allen,
1015:Fields and more fields on either side of the road.From where they are it looks as if the whole world were green.But from higher up,from a hill-if there were a hill in this flat country-or from a pyramid(one of the many that two thousand years ago lined this route from Thebes to Memphis,from the Delta to the Cataract)or from an aeroplane today,you would be able to see how narrow the strip green was,how closely it clung to the winding river.The river like a lifeline thrown across the desert, the villages and the town hanging on to it, clustering together, glancing over their shoulders at the desert always behind them.Appeasing it,finally,by making it the dwelling of their head. ~ Ahdaf Soueif,
1016:Lilacs on a bush are better than orchids. And dandelions and devil grass are better! Why? Because they bend you over and turn you away from all the people and the town for a little while and sweat you and get you down where you remember you got a nose again. And when you're all to yourself that way, you're really yourself for a little while; you get to thinking things through, alone. Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are, Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is kin to Atlas letting the world spin easy on his shoulder. ~ Ray Bradbury,
1017:When it rains, the moisture in the humid air blankets our town with the smell of damp coffee grounds wafting in from the Nescafé factory at the town’s eastern edge. I don’t like coffee but I like that smell. It’s comforting; it unites the town in a common sensory experience; it’s good industry, like the roaring rug mill that fills our ears, brings work and signals our town’s vitality. There is a place here—you can hear it, smell it—where people make lives, suffer pain, enjoy small pleasures, play baseball, die, make love, have kids, drink themselves drunk on spring nights and do their best to hold off the demons that seek to destroy us, our homes, our families, our town. ~ Bruce Springsteen,
1018:From One Who Stays
How empty seems the town now you are gone!
A wilderness of sad streets, where gaunt walls
Hide nothing to desire; sunshine falls
Eery, distorted, as it long had shone
On white, dead faces tombed in halls of stone.
The whir of motors, stricken through with calls
Of playing boys, floats up at intervals;
But all these noises blur to one long moan.
What quest is worth pursuing? And how strange
That other men still go accustomed ways!
I hate their interest in the things they do.
A spectre-horde repeating without change
An old routine. Alone I know the days
Are still-born, and the world stopped, lacking you.
~ Amy Lowell,
1019:Wang Lung sat smoking, thinking of the silver as it had lain upon the table. It had come out of the earth, this silver, out of the earth that he ploughed and turned and spent himself upon. He took his life from the earth; drop by drop by his sweat he wrung food from it and from the food, silver. Each time before this that he had taken the silver out to give to anyone, it had been like taking a piece of his life and giving it to someone carelessly. But not for the first time, such giving was not pain. He saw, not the silver in the alien hand of a merchant in the town; he saw the silver transmuted into something worth even more than life itself - clothes upon the body of his son. ~ Pearl S Buck,
1020:The Cranes Of Ibicus
Here was a man who watched the river flow
Past the huge town, one gray November day.
Round him in narrow high-piled streets at play
The boys made merry as they saw him go,
Murmuring half-loud, with eyes upon the stream,
The immortal screed he held within his hand.
For he was walking in an April land
With Faust and Helen. Shadowy as a dream
Was the prose-world, the river and the town.
Wild joy possessed him; through enchanted skies
He saw the cranes of Ibycus swoop down.
He closed the page, he lifted up his eyes,
Lo--a black line of birds in wavering thread
Bore him the greetings of the deathless dead!
~ Emma Lazarus,
1021:Their religion is of the strictest sort, Stephen. Almost everything is forbidden to them except carpets.” Stephen watched them as they went mournfully about the market, these men whose mouths were perpetually closed lest they spoke some forbidden word, whose eyes were perpetually averted from forbidden sights, whose hands refrained at every moment from some forbidden act. It seemed to him that they did little more than half-exist. They might as well have been dreams or ghosts. In the silent town and the silent countryside only the hot wind seemed to have any real substance. Stephen felt he would not be surprized if one day the wind blew the town and its inhabitants entirely away. ~ Susanna Clarke,
1022:WHAT WAS TOLD, THAT

What was said to the rose that made it open was said to me here in my chest.

What was told the cypress that made it strong and straight, what was

whispered the jasmine so it is what it is, whatever made sugarcane sweet, whatever

was said to the inhabitants of the town of Chigil in Turkestan that makes them

so handsome, whatever lets the pomegranate flower blush like a human face, that is

being said to me now. I blush. Whatever put eloquence in language, that's happening here.

The great warehouse doors open; I fill with gratitude, chewing a piece of sugarcane,

in love with the one to whom every that belongs! ~ Coleman Barks,
1023:Lilacs on a bush are better than orchids. And dandelions and devil grass are better! Why? Because they bend you over and turn you away from all the people in the town for a little while and sweat you and get you down where you remember you got a nose again. And when you’re all to yourself that way, you’re really proud of yourself for a little while; you get to thinking things through, alone. Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are, Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is kin to Atlas letting the world spin easy on his shoulder. ~ Ray Bradbury,
1024:Away, with a shriek, and a roar, and a rattle, from the town, burrowing among the dwellings of men and making the streets hum, flashing out into the meadows for a moment, mining in through the damp earth, booming on in darkness and heavy air, bursting out again into the sunny day so bright and wide; away, with a shriek, and a roar, and a rattle, through the fields, through the woods, through the corn, through the hay, through the chalk, through the mould, through the clay, through the rock, among objects close at hand and almost in the grasp, ever flying from the traveller, and a deceitful distance ever moving slowly with him: like as in the track of the remorseless monster, Death! ~ Charles Dickens,
1025:The dead bring us to life, vivify us, give us scale. We are the unjoined part of them and at their graves we stand at our own.

In Ruby Park Cemetery, in the once-famous silver lands of Colorado, the graves are unmarked. There is a single column of marble above a miner's daughter who died at the age of seventeen. The town of Irwin drew thousands of people in the 1870s, some from as far away as England and Scotland. The cemetery is abandoned. The mines have vanished. All but the silent warning,

'My good people as you pass by,
As you are now so once was I
As I am now you soon must be
Prepare yourselves to follow me.'

The dust of the pathway whitens our shoes. ~ James Salter,
1026:Like me. Margo Roth Spiegelman was a person, too. And I had never quite thought of her that way, not really; it was a failure of all my previous imaginings. All along—not only since she left, but for a decade before—I had been imagining her without listening, without knowing that she made as poor a window as I did. And so I could not imagine her as a person who could feel fear, who could feel isolated in a roomful of people, who could be shy about her record collection because it was too personal to share. Someone who might read travel books to escape having to live in the town that so many people escape to. Someone who—because no one thought she was a person—had no one to really talk to. ~ John Green,
1027:Then they went into José Arcadio Buendía's room, shook him as hard as they could, shouted in his ear, put a mirror in front of his nostrils, but they could not awaken him. A short time later, when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin, through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling. They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who slept outdoors. So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez,
1028:Lord, he thought, I can hardly wait. He laughed out loud. When was the last time you said that? When you were a kid, could hardly wait, had a list of hard-to-wait-for things. Christmas, my God, was always a billion miles off. Easter? Half a million. Halloween? Dear sweet Halloween, pumpkins, running, yelling, rapping windows, ringing doorbells, and the mask, cardboard smelling hot with breath over your face. All Hallows! The best. But a lifetime away. And July Fourth with great expectations, trying to be first out of bed, first half-dressed, first jumping out on the lawn, first to light six-inchers, first to blow up the town! Hey, listen! First! July Fourth. Can hardly wait. Hardly wait! ~ Ray Bradbury,
1029:The Thirteenth Woman In a town of twelve women there was a thirteenth. No one admitted she lived there, no mail came for her, no one spoke of her, no one asked after her, no one sold bread to her, no one bought anything from her, no one returned her glance, no one knocked on her door; the rain did not fall on her, the sun never shone on her, the day never dawned on her, the night never fell for her; for her the weeks did not pass, the years did not roll by; her house was unnumbered, her garden untended, her path not trod upon, her bed not slept in, her food not eaten, her clothes not worn; and yet in spite of all this she continued to live in the town without resenting what it did to her. ~ Lydia Davis,
1030:The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
1031:Twas the night before Valentine’s Day,
and all through the town,
children were busy,
not making a sound.

They gathered their scissors,
their glitter and glue,
pink and red paper,
and paintbrushes, too.

They made cards that read,
“Will you be mine?”

and others that said,
“My true valentine.”

They trimmed giant hearts
with stickers and lace,

and added an arrow
in just the right place.

Then marking the envelopes
with each friend’s name,
they hoped that their friends
were doing the same.

And when they were done,
they slept snug in their beds

while visions of candy hearts
danced in their heads. ~ Natasha Wing,
1032:The Howeitat spread out along the cliffs to return the peasants' fire. This manner of going displeased Auda, the old lion, who raged that a mercenary village folk should dare to resist their secular masters, the Abu Tayi. So he jerked his halter, cantered his mare down the path, and rode out plain to view beneath the easternmost houses of the village. There he reined in, and shook a hand at them, booming in his wonderful voice: 'Dogs, do you not know Auda?' When they realized it was that implacable son of war their hearts failed them, and an hour later Sherif Nasir in the town-house was sipping tea with his guest the Turkish Governor, trying to console him for the sudden change of fortune. ~ T E Lawrence,
1033:In different degrees, in every part of the town, men and women had been yearning for a reunion, not of the same kind for all, but for all alike ruled out. Most of them had longed intensely for an absent one, for the warmth of a body, for love, or merely a life that habit had endeared. Some, often without knowing it, suffered from being deprived of the company of friends and from their inability to get in touch with them through the usual channels of friendship—letters, trains, and boats. Others, fewer these... had desired a reunion with something they couldn’t have defined, but which seemed to them the only desirable thing on earth. For want of a better name, they sometimes called it peace. ~ Albert Camus,
1034:In The Garden I: The Garden
PAST the town's clamour is a garden full
Of loneness and old greenery; at noon
When birds are hush'd, save one dim cushat's croon,
A ripen'd silence hangs beneath the cool
Great branches; basking roses dream and drop
A petal, and dream still; and summer's boon
Of mellow grasses, to be levell'd soon
By a dew-drenched scythe, will hardly stop
At the uprunning mounds of chestnut trees.
Still let me muse in this rich haunt by day,
And know all night in dusky placidness
It lies beneath the summer, while great ease
Broods in the leaves, and every light wind's stress
Lifts a faint odour down the verdurous way.
~ Edward Dowden,
1035:Los Angeles is a town where status is all and status is only given to success. Dukes and millionaires and playboys by the dozen may arrive and be glad-handed for a time, but they are unwise if they choose to live there because the town is, perhaps even creditably, committed to recognising only professional success, and nothing else, to be of lasting value. The burdensome obligation imposed on all its inhabitants is therefore to present themselves as successes, because otherwise they forfeit their right to respect in that environment ... There is no place in that town for the "interesting failure" or for anyone who is not determined on a life that will be shaped in a upward-heading curve. ~ Julian Fellowes,
1036:What can it profit a man to gain the whole world and to come to his property with a gastric ulcer, a blown prostate and bifocals?Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped,, poisoned, and trussed-up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come to bad ends, blot-on-the town-thieves, rascals, bums. Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the town and bums,, and Mack and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature. ~ John Steinbeck,
1037:As it is there isn't a single thing isn't an opportunity for some 'alert' person, including practically everybody by the 'greed', that, they are 'alive', therefore. Etc. That, in fact, there are 'conditions'. Gravelly Hill or any sort of situation for improvement, when the Earth was properly regarded as a 'garden tenement messuage orchard and if this is nostalgia let you take a breath of April showers let's us reason how is the dampness in your nasal passage -- but I have had lunch in this 'pasture' (B. Ellery to George Girdler Smith 'gentleman' 1799, for £ 150)
overlooking 'the town'
sitting there like the Memphite lord of
all Creation
...
It is not bad
to be pissed off ~ Charles Olson,
1038:Bushland
Not sweeter to the storm-tossed mariner
Is glimpse of home, where wife and children wait
To welcome him with kisses at the gate,
Than to the town-worn man the breezy stir
Of mountain winds on rugged pathless heights:
His long-pent soul drinks in the deep delights
That Nature hath in store. The sun-kissed bay
Gleams thro' the grand old gnarled gum-tree boughs
Like burnished brass; the strong-winged bird of prey
Sweeps by, upon his lonely vengeful way -While over all, like breath of holy vows,
The sweet airs blow, and the high-vaulted sky
Looks down in pity this fair Summer day
On all poor earth-born creatures doomed to die.
~ Arthur Patchett Martin,
1039:Every once in a while, Nagasawa would suggest that we go out on one of our excursions, but I always found something I had to do instead. I just didn’t want to bother. Not that I didn’t like the idea of sleeping with girls: it was just that, when I thought about the whole process I had to go through—drinking on the town, looking for the right kind of girls, talking to them, going to a hotel—it was too much trouble. I had to admire Nagasawa all the more for the way he could continue the ritual without growing sick and tired of it. Maybe what Hatsumi had said to me had had some effect: I could make myself feel far happier just thinking about Naoko than sleeping with some stupid, nameless girl. The ~ Haruki Murakami,
1040:Malthus's school was in the centre of the town of Adrianople, and was not one of those monkish schools where education is miserably limited to the bread and water of the Holy Scriptures. Bread is good and water is good, but the bodily malnutrition that may be observed in prisoners or poor peasants who are reduced to this diet has its counterpart in the spiritual malnutrition of certain clerics. These can recite the genealogy of King David of the Jews as far back as Deucalion's Flood, and behind the Flood to Adam, without a mistake, or can repeat whole chapters of the Epistles of Saint Paul as fluently as if they were poems written in metre; but in all other respects are as ignorant as fish or birds. ~ Robert Graves,
1041:Lunch had been at a McDonald’s in Santa Barbara. It had been so clean. It had smelled like food. It had sounded happy and alive. In the bathroom, the toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink.
He had passed a trash can on the way back to his table and stopped just to look at it. It was full of food. Leftover burgers, the last few fries, smears of ketchup on cardboard. He’d had to hold back tears when he saw it.
“Candy bar?” Vicky asked, and held a Snickers out to him.
At that moment they slowed to turn off the highway and head cautiously, carefully, through recently bulldozed streets, toward the town plaza. That’s where the McDonald’s was. His McDonald’s.
A candy bar. People had killed for less. ~ Michael Grant,
1042:1162
'Twas The Old—road—through Pain
344
'Twas the old—road—through pain—
That unfrequented—one—
With many a turn—and thorn—
That stops—at Heaven—
This—was the Town—she passed—
There—where she—rested—last—
Then—stepped more fast—
The little tracks—close prest—
Then—not so swift—
Slow—slow—as feet did weary—grow—
Then—stopped—no other track!
Wait! Look! Her little Book—
The leaf—at love—turned back—
Her very Hat—
And this worn shoe just fits the track—
Herself—though—fled!
Another bed—a short one—
Women make—tonight—
In Chambers bright—
Too out of sight—though—
For our hoarse Good Night—
To touch her Head!
~ Emily Dickinson,
1043:There was a time when a new deputy tried to teach Mr. Fruit about the difference between a red and a green light, but Mr. Fruit had resisted all efforts to reorder what he had been doing perfectly well for many years. He had not only monitored the comings and goings of the town, his presence softened the ingrained evil that flourished along the invisible margins of the town’s consciousness. Any community can be judged in its humanity or corruption by how it manages to accommodate the Mr. Fruits of the world. Colleton simply adjusted itself to Mr. Fruit’s harmonies and ordinations. He did whatever he felt was needed and he did it with style. “That’s the Southern way” my grandmother said. “That’s the nice way. ~ Pat Conroy,
1044:Cradle My Heart

Last night, I was lying on the rooftop, thinking of you. I saw a special Star, and summoned her to take you a message. I prostrated myself to the Star and asked her to take my prostration to that Sun of Tabriz so that with his light, he can turn my dark stones into gold. I opened my chest and showed her my scars, I told her to bring me news of my bloodthirsty Lover. As I waited, I paced back and forth, until the child of my heart became quiet. The child slept, as if I were rocking his cradle. Oh Beloved, give milk to the infant of the heart, and don't hold us from our turning. You have cared for hundreds, don't let it stop with me now. At the end, the town of unity is the place for the heart. ~ Rumi,
1045:I hate it here.” The words were out, bitter and angry, before Miranda could stop them. Embarrassed, she turned her attention to the floor. Great. Now I’ll probably be quoted on the six o’clock news…
Repair Guy, however, didn’t seem at all offended. “You’ll change your mind.”
“What do you mean, I’ll change my mind?” Another flash of anger went through her. “You don’t even know me.”
“The town, it has a way of pulling you in.” He squatted back on his heels. He wiped his face across one sleeve of his T-shirt, leaving a smear of dirt on his forehead and down his left cheek. “And maybe I know you a whole lot better than you think.”
Flustered, Miranda groped uselessly for a comeback. ~ Richie Tankersley Cusick,
1046:Just say after Wednesday we never see each-"
"Don't" he says, angry.
"Jonah, you live six hundred kilometres away from me," I argue.
"Between now and when we graduate next year there are at least ten weeks' holiday and five random public holidays. There's email and if you manage to get down to the town, there's text messaging and mobile phone calls. If not, the five minutes you get to speak to me on your communal phone is better than nothing. There are the chess nerds who want to invite you to our school for the chess comp next March and there's this town in the middle, planned by Walter Burley Griffin, where we can meet up and protest against our government's refusal to sign the Kyoto treaty. ~ Melina Marchetta,
1047:The Better Part
THERE'S a grey old church on a wind-swept hill
Where three bent yew trees cower,
The gipsy roses grow there still,
And the thyme and Saint John's gold flower,
The pale blue violets that love the chalk
Cling light round the lichened stone,
And starlings chatter and grey owls talk
In the belfry o' nights alone.
It's a thousand leagues and a thousand years
From the brick-built, gas-lit town
To the little church where the wild thyme hears
The bees and the breeze of the down.
The town is crowded and hard and rough;
Let those fight in its press who will-But the little churchyard is quiet enough,
And there's room in the churchyard still.
~ Edith Nesbit,
1048:Child, [death] is with us always,” said Cadfael, patient beside him. “Last summer ninety-five men died here in the town, none of whom had done murder. For choosing the wrong side, they died. It falls upon blameless women in war, even in peace at the hands of evil men. It falls upon children who never did harm to any, upon old men, who in their lives have done good to many, and yet are brutally and senselessly slain. Never let it shake your faith that there is a balance hereafter. What you see is only a broken piece from a perfect whole.”

“Such justice as we see is also but a broken shred. But it is our duty to preserve what we may, and fit together such fragments as we find, and take the rest on trust. ~ Ellis Peters,
1049:During the night two delegates of the railwaymen were arrested. The strikers immediately demanded their release, and as this was not conceded, they decided not to allow trains leave the town. At the station all the strikers with their wives and families sat down on the railway track-a sea of human beings. They were threatened with rifles salvoes. The workers bared their breast and cried, "Shoot!" A salvo was fired into the defenceless seated crowd, and 30 to 40 corpses, among them women and children, remained on the ground. On this becoming known the whole town of Kiev went to strike on the same day. The corpses of the murdered workers were raised on high by the crowd and carried round in mass demonstration. ~ Rosa Luxemburg,
1050:The park sustained them, the green harbor they preserved as the town extended itself outward, block by block and house by house. Cora thought of her garden back on Randall, the plot she cherished. Now she saw it for the joke it was - a tiny square of dirt that had convinced her she owned something. It was hers like the cotton she seeded, weeded, and picked was hers. Her plot was a shadow of something that lived elsewhere, out of sight. The way poor Michael reciting the Declaration of Independence was an echo of something that existed elsewhere. Now that she had run away and seen a bit of the country, Cora wasn't sure the document described anything real at all. America was a ghost in the darkness, like her. ~ Colson Whitehead,
1051:Massachusetts?” Lizzy yawned. Mrs. McKinliy glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. “No. We’re in Maine. It shouldn’t be too long now.” Sarah, Mariana, and Lizzy rubbed the sleep from their eyes and looked out the side window. They passed by fields, farms, woodland, and scattered farm houses. Then they reached the outskirts of a small town. The town was nothing like Melville, Massachusetts. A roadside sign indicated that the town had a population of just 458 people. There were less than a dozen businesses in the “downtown” area. There was a grocery store, laundromat, hardware store, diner, gas station, restaurant, book store, dime store, secondhand shop, and a real estate office. That was it. They passed ~ Roderick J Robison,
1052:It was a small town by a small river and a small lake in a small northern part of a Midwest state. There wasn't so much wilderness around you couldn't see the town. But on the other hand there wasn't so much town you couldn't see and feel and touch and smell the wilderness. The town was full of trees. And dry grass and dead flowers now that autumn was here. And full of fences to walk on and sidewalks to skate on and a large ravine to tumble in and yell across. And the town was full of...

Boys.
And it was the afternoon of Halloween.
And all the houses shut against a cool wind.
And the town was full of cold sunlight.
But suddenly, the day was gone.
Night came out from under each tree and spread. ~ Ray Bradbury,
1053:If you don't mind my saying so, I think, as a family, you're inclined to give up. Give you a blow, you don't rally. You shrink and nurse your pride.... I admire you all, you've got things our family hasn't and never will have, but by George, I don't think you go the right way about living.... I think it's resentment," said Oliver, puzzling them out. "But you'd better remember that, if you fall out of life, you fall out. No one bothers. Those nearest to you fall out with you, perhaps, but your neighbours don't care, the town doesn't care, the world doesn't care.

"I think you've got to get rid of all idea that you've had a bad deal," he said.... "Ten to one, you've not had half such a bad deal as the next man. ~ Dorothy Whipple,
1054:With each deep inhalation, he was aware of a sweet, pure fragrance that entered his nostrils and spread through his brain like a drug.
"What is that smell?" he muttered.
Vivian answered in a hushed voice. "Mrs. Buttons distilled some vanilla water for me. Do you like it?"
"We brought your perfume from the town house. Why didn't you use that?"
Her gaze flickered to his mouth and back to his eyes. "It didn't suit me," she whispered. "Too heady."
Grant drew in another lungful of delicate vanilla-scented air. "You smell like a sugar biscuit," he answered gruffly. One he badly wanted to bite into. Her scent was innocent and homey and appetizing, making his blood surge and his muscles harden in acute yearning. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
1055:if she has been called a woman of the town, a tart, a bawd, a wanton, a bawdy-basket, a bird-of-the-game, a bit of stuff, a buttered bun, a cockatrice, a cock-chafer, a cow, a crack, a cunt, a daughter of Eve, a gay-girl, a gobble-prick, a high-flyer, a high-roller, a hussy, a hurry-whore, a jill, a jude, a judy, a jug, laced mutton, lift-skirts, light o’ love, merry legs, minx, moll, moonlighter, morsel, mutton-broker, mount, nestcock, night-bird, night-piece, night-walker, nymph of darkness, nymph of the pavement, petticoat, pick-up, piece, pillow-mate, pinch-prick, pole-climber, prancer, quail, quiet mouse, or even Queen—it is not surprising. A woman of lively parts is as likely to be slandered as she is to be praised. ~ Erica Jong,
1056:Below them the town was laid out in harsh angular patterns. The houses in the outskirts were all exactly alike, small square boxes painted gray. Each had a small, rectangular plot of lawn in front, with a straight line of dull-looking flowers edging the path to the door. Meg had a feeling that if she could count the flowers there would be exactly the same number for each house. In front of all the houses children were playing. Some were skipping rope, some were bouncing balls. Meg felt vaguely that something was wrong with their play. It seemed exactly like children playing around any housing development at home, and yet there was something different about it. She looked at Calvin, and saw that he, too, was puzzled. ~ Madeleine L Engle,
1057:did you think i was a city
big enough for a weekend getaway
i am the town surrounding it
the one you've never heard of
but always pass through
there are no neon lights here
no skyscapers or statues
but there is thunder
for i make bridges tremble
i am not street meat i am homemade jam
thick enough to cut the sweetest
thing you lips will touch
i am not police sirens
i am the crackle of a fireplace
i'd burn you and you still
couldn't take your eyes off of me
cause i'd look so beautiful doing it
you'd blush
i am not a hotel room i am home
i am not the whiskey you want
i am the water you need
don't come here with expectations
and try to make a vacation out of me ~ Rupi Kaur,
1058:Shaking his head as he laid the invitation down on his desk, he leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and released a bit of a sigh. The sigh was no reflection of his happiness for the bride-to-be. It was more along the lines of an acknowledgement that even though Miss Griswold had given him exclusive notice about an event that was certain to be the talk of the town, he would never, no matter that the times were indeed changing, write what his readers would love to read - the story of a wallflower who'd defied all the odds by working behind the scenes she'd so carefully been banished from, breaking free of the chains society had tried to bind her with, and in so doing, found her very own happily-ever-after. ~ Jen Turano,
1059:People are little truth-seeking missiles, but not many of us were encouraged to challenge our convictions and identities, except by writers and certain teachers, so we extracted meaning by selecting certain variables that agreed with our parents’ worldview. Yet the more variables we decide to include, the greater breadth of writing, the bigger bandwidth of truth, the more our understanding aligns with what truly is; paradoxically, the more expansively we can see, the more simple truth seems. Imagine the Google eye pulling back from the chaos and clutter of your garage, the jumble of the town where you live, and revealing patterns in the woods, the countryside, the canals and foothills, the crowds gathered to protest or sing. ~ Anne Lamott,
1060:It seemed to him he had waited an age for some stir of the great grim hush; the life of the town was itself under a spell--so unnaturally, up and down the whole prospect of known and rather ugly objects, the blankness and the silence lasted. Had they ever, he asked himself, the hard-faced houses, which had begun to look livid in the dim dawn, had they ever spoken so little to any need of his spirit? Great builded voids, great crowded stillnesses put on, often, in the heart of cities, for the small hours, a sort of sinister mask, and it was of this large collective negation that Brydon presently became conscious--all the more that the break of day was, almost incredibly, now at hand, proving to him what night he had made of it. ~ Henry James,
1061:The Beggar and the Monk - Paulo Coelho
A monk was meditating in the desert when a beggar came up to him and said:
“I need to eat”.
The monk – who was almost reaching the point of perfect harmony with the spiritual world – did not answer.
“I need to eat”, insisted the beggar.
“Go to the town and ask someone else. Can’t you see that you are bothering me? I am trying to communicate with the angels”.
“God placed himself lower than men, washed their feet, gave His life, and no-one recognized Him”, the beggar replied. “He who says he loves God – who does not see – and forgets his brother – who does – is lying”.
And the beggar turned into an angel.
“What a pity, you almost made it”, he remarked before leaving. ~ Paulo Coelho,
1062:That's my town,' Joaquin said. 'What a fine town, but how the buena gente, the good people of that town, have suffered in this war.' Then, his face grave, 'There they shot my father. My mother. My brother-in-law and now my sister.' 'What barbarians,' Robert Jordan said. How many times had he heard this? How many times had he watched people say it with difficulty? How many times had he seen their eyes fill and their throats harden with the difficulty of saying my father, or my brother, or my mother, or my sister? He could not remember how many times he heard them mention their dead in this way. Nearly always they spoke as this boy did now; suddenly and apropos of the mention of the town and always you said, 'What barbarians. ~ Ernest Hemingway,
1063:It was as Frank said: the Sparrow Sisters Nursery had quite a reputation. Sally told Henry about the Nursery that was now a landmark in the town. The plants that grew in tidy rows, the orchids that swayed delicately in the beautiful glass greenhouses, and the herbs and vegetables sown in knot gardens around the land were much in demand. Sorrel had planted a dense little Shakespeare garden as a tribute to her reading habits. The lavender, rosemary, roses and honeysuckle, clematis and pansies, creeping thyme and sage were not for sale in that garden, but Sorrel would re-create versions of it for clients whose big houses on the water needed the stamp of culture, even if their owners had little idea what their lovely gardens meant. ~ Ellen Herrick,
1064:Sometimes, when I'm having a sort-through or a clear-out, I find photos of my youth, and it's a shock to see everything on black and white. I think my granddaughter believes we were actually grey-skinned, with dull hair, always posing in a shadowed landscape. But I remember the town as being almost too bright to look at when I was a girl. I remember the deep blue of the sky and the dark green of the pines cutting through it, the bright red of the local brick houses and the orange carpet of pine needles under our feet. Nowadays - though I'm not sure the sky is still occasionally blue and most of the houses are still there, and the trees still drop their needles - nowadays, the colours seem faded, as if I live in an old photograph. ~ Emma Healey,
1065:I imagined, the Main Street of small-town America. I instead found ghost towns. My footsteps echoed down small-town Main Streets. On one, a pharmacist left a note in the window of her store. She had enjoyed serving the town, she wrote, but couldn’t hang on anymore and she hoped they’d understand why she was leaving like all the rest. She left no forwarding address. Walmart was often the only place to buy most of life’s essentials in these heartland towns. Strolling their Walmarts, I imagined its aisles haunted by the ghosts of store owners who once sustained small-town America. On one aisle was the departed local grocer, down another the former hardware store owner, next to that, the woman’s clothier or that long-gone pharmacist. ~ Sam Quinones,
1066:The Town Marshal
The Prohibitionists made me Town Marshal
When the saloons were voted out,
Because when I was a drinking man,
Before I joined the church, I killed a Swede
At the saw-mill near Maple Grove.
And they wanted a terrible man,
Grim, righteous, strong, courageous,
And a hater of saloons and drinkers,
To keep law and order in the village.
And they presented me with a loaded cane
With which I struck Jack McGuire
Before he drew the gun with which he killed me.
The Prohibitionists spent their money in vain
To hang him, for in a dream
I appeared to one of the twelve jurymen
And told him the whole secret story.
Fourteen years were enough for killing me.
~ Edgar Lee Masters,
1067:I watched them tearing a building down,
A gang of men in a busy town.
With a ho-heave-ho and a lusty yell,
They swung a beam, and the side wall fell.
I asked the foreman: "Are these skilled--
And the men you'd hire if you had to build?"
He gave me a laugh and said: "No, indeed!
Just common labor is all I need.
I can wreck in a day or two
What builders have taken a year to do."
And I thought to myself as I went my way,
Which of these roles have I tried to play?
Am I a builder who works with care
Measuring life by a rule and square?
Am I shaping my deeds to a well made Plan,
Patiently doing the best I can?
Or am I a wrecker, who walks the town
Content with the labor of tearing down? ~ Edgar A Guest,
1068:A concrete embodiment of the jubilee commandment was evidenced in a rural church in Iowa during the "farm crisis." The banker in the town held mortgages on many farms. The banker and the farmers belonged to the same church. The banker could have foreclosed. He did not because, he said, "These are my neighbors and I want to live here a long time." He extended the loans and did not collect the interest that was rightly his. The pastor concluded, "He was practicing the law of the Jubilee year, and he did not even know it." The pastor might also have noted that the reason the banker could take such action is that his bank was a rare exception. It was locally and independently owned, not controlled by a larger Chicago banking system. ~ Walter Brueggemann,
1069:The despot is not a man. It is the Plan. The correct, realistic, exact plan, the one that will provide your solution once the problem has been posited clearly, in its entirety, in its indispensable harmony. This plan has been drawn up well away from the frenzy in the mayor’s office or the town hall, from the cries of the electorate or the laments of society’s victims. It has been drawn up by serene and lucid minds. It has taken account of nothing but human truths. It has ignored all current regulations, all existing usages, and channels. It has not considered whether or not it could be carried out with the constitution now in force. It is a biological creation destined for human beings and capable of realization by modern techniques. ~ James C Scott,
1070:As animals have no idea of the holy or the devil, they have no idea of the beautiful. The opinion held by some scientists that apes could paint, based on the 'paintings' apes had done, proved to be quite wrong. It has been confirmed that apes only imitate man. So- called 'ape art' surely does not exist. On the contrary, the cave men from Cromagnon onward knew how to paint and care. Their drawings have been found in caves of the Sahara, in Spain at Altamira, in Franc at Lascaux, and recently in Poland at Mashicka. Many of these pictures are thought to be more than 30,000 years old. Some time ago, a group of Soviet archeologists discovered a set of musical instruments, made 20,000 years ago, near the town of Chernigov in the Ukraine. ~ Alija Izetbegovi,
1071:In the detective story, as in its mirror image, the Quest for the Grail, maps (the ritual of space) and timetables (the ritual of time) are desirable. Nature should reflect its human inhabitants, i.e., it should be the Great Good Place; for the more Eden-like it is, the greater the contradiction of murder. The country is preferable to the town, a well-to-do neighborhood (but not too well-to-do-or there will be a suspicion of ill-gotten gains) better than a slum. The corpse must shock not only because it is a corpse but also because, even for a corpse, it is shockingly out of place, as when a dog makes a mess on a drawing room carpet."

(The guilty vicarage: Notes on the detective story, by an addict, Harper's Magazine, May 1948) ~ W H Auden,
1072:Climbing
High up in the apple tree climbing I go,
With the sky above me, the earth below.
Each branch is the step of a wonderful stair
Which leads to the town I see shining up there.
Climbing, climbing, higher and higher,
The branches blow and I see a spire,
The gleam of a turret, the glint of a dome,
All sparkling and bright, like white sea foam.
On and on, from bough to bough,
The leaves are thick, but I push my way through;
Before, I have always had to stop,
But to-day I am sure I shall reach the top.
Today to the end of the marvelous stair,
Where those glittering pinacles flash in the air!
Climbing, climbing, higher I go,
With the sky close above me, the earth far below.
~ Amy Lowell,
1073:After he and this girl split up in Paris, Roger was on the town; really on the town. He joked about it and made fun of himself; but he was very angry inside for having made such a profound fool of himself and he took his talent for being faithful to people, which was the best one he had, next to the ones for painting and writing and his various good human and animal traits, and beat and belaboured that talent miserably. He was no good to anyone when he was on the town, especially to himself, and he knew it and hated it and he took pleasure in pulling down the pillars of the temple. It was a very good and strongly built temple and when it is constructed inside yourself it is not so easy to pull down. But he did as good a job as he could. ~ Ernest Hemingway,
1074:/Farsi & Turkish This place is a dream only a sleeper considers it real then death comes like dawn and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief A man goes to sleep in the town where he has always lived and he dreams he's living in another town in the dream he doesn't remember the town he's sleeping in his bed in he believes the reality of the dream town the world is that kind of sleep Humankind is being led along an evolving course, through this migration of intelligences and though we seem to be sleeping there is an inner wakefulness, that directs the dream and that will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are [2090.jpg] -- from The Essential Rumi, Translated by Coleman Barks

~ Jalaluddin Rumi, Inner Wakefulness
,
1075:In a certain sense it might well be said that his was an exemplary life. He was one of those rare people, rare in our town as elsewhere, who have the courage of their good feelings. What little he told of his personal life vouched for acts of kindness and a capacity for affection that no one in our times dares own to. Without a blush he confessed to dearly loving his nephews and sister, his only surviving near relation, whom he went to France to visit every other year. He admitted that the thought of his parents, whom he lost when he was very young, often gave him a pang. He did not conceal the fact that he had a special affection for a church bell in his part of the town which started pealing very melodiously at about five every afternoon. ~ Albert Camus,
1076:The Night Of Election
'O venerable patriot, I pray
Stand not here coatless; at the break of day
We'll know the grand result-and even now
The eastern sky is faintly touched with gray.
'It ill befits thine age's hoary crown
This rude environment of rogue and clown,
Who, as the lying bulletins appear,
With drunken cries incarnadine the town.
'But if with noble zeal you stay to note
The outcome of your patriotic vote
For Blaine, or Cleveland, and your native land,
Take-and God bless you!-take my overcoat.'
'Done, pard-and mighty white of you. And now
guess the country'll keep the trail somehow.
I aint allowed to vote, the Warden said,
But whacked my coat up on old Stanislow.'
~ Ambrose Bierce,
1077:Town And Country
THE Sun tells to Trafalgar Square
His old and radiant story,
And touches in the young spring air
The pepper-pots to glory.
Spring's robe down Piccadilly floats,
The parks glow with her treasure,
And button-holes of morning coats
Rhyme with her royal pleasure.
Now persons beautifully dressed
In Bond-street shop and saunter,
And town--by Spring's soft breath caressed-Would as its mistress vaunt her.
But far away from square and street,
Where willows shine and shiver,
The splendour of her silver feet
Is on the wood and river.
She laughs among the tree-roots brown,
Among the dewy clover,
For Spring coquets but with the town;
The country is her lover.
~ Edith Nesbit,
1078:by pushing it or allowing it to roll into the water: the town's lifeboat was launched to rescue the fishermen. - set (a newly built ship or boat) afloat for the first time, typically as part of an official ceremony: King Gustav II Adolph of Sweden launched a huge new warship. - send (a missile, satellite, or spacecraft) on its course or into orbit: they launched two Scud missiles. - [trans.] hurl (something) forcefully: she launched a tortoiseshell comb. - [with adverbial of direction] (launch oneself) (of a person) make a sudden energetic movement: I launched myself out of bed. - utter (criticism or a threat) vehemently: scores of customers launched a volley of complaints. 2 start or set in motion (an activity or enterprise): she was launching ~ Erin McKean,
1079:He looked at his monitor. A hundred and seventy-five. A hundred and seventy-two. A welcome little gust of wind carried the sound of distant cheering up from the town. It must have been from Ullevål Stadium—there was an important international match this evening. Slovakia or Slovenia. Erlend Vennesla imagined for a few seconds that they had been applauding for him. It was a while since anyone had done that. The last time would have been the farewell ceremony at Kripos up at Bryn. Layer cake, speech by the boss, Mikael Bellman, who since then had continued his steady rise to take the top police job. And Erlend had received the applause, met their eyes, thanked them and even felt his throat constrict as he was about to deliver his simple, brief speech. ~ Jo Nesb,
1080:Then, already, it had brought to his mind the silence brooding over beds in which he had let men die. There as here it was the same solemn pause, the lull that follows battle; it was the silence of defeat. But the silence now enveloping his dead friend, so dense, so much akin to the nocturnal silence of the streets and of the town set free at last, made Rieux cruelly aware that this defeat was final, the last disastrous battle that ends a war and makes peace itself an ill beyond all remedy. The doctor could not tell if Tarrou had found peace, now that all was over, but for himself he had a feeling that no peace was possible to him henceforth, any more than there can an armistice for a mother bereaved of a son or for a man who buries his friend. ~ Albert Camus,
1081:Gipsy Love
The gipsy tents are on the down,
The gipsy girls are here;
And it's O to be off and away from the town
With a gipsy for my dear!
We'd make our bed in the bracken
With the lark for a chambermaid;
The lark would sing us awake in the morning,
Singing above our head.
We'd drink the sunlight all day long
With never a house to bind us;
And we'd only flout in a merry song
The world we left behind us.
We would be free as birds are free
The livelong day, the livelong day;
And we would lie in the sunny bracken
With none to say us nay.
The gipsy tents are on the down,
The gipsy girls are here;
And it's O to be off and away from the town
With a gipsy for my dear!
~ Arthur Symons,
1082:Robin: When you do marry, who will you marry?
Maria: I have not quite decided yet, but I think I shall marry a boy I knew in London.
Robin(yells): What? Marry some mincing nincompoop of a Londoner with silk stockings and a pomade in his hair and face like a Cheshire cheese? You dare do such a thing! You - Maria - if you marry a London man I'll wring his neck! (...) I'll not only wring his neck, I'll wring everybody's necks, and I'll go right away out of the valley, over the hills to the town where my father came from, and I won't ever come back here again. So there!
(...)
Maria: Why don't you want me to marry that London boy?
Robin(shouting): Because you are going to marry me. Do you hear, Maria? You are going to marry me. ~ Elizabeth Goudge,
1083:A boy and a girl were insanely in love with each other,” my mother’s voice was saying. “They decided to become engaged. And that’s when presents are always exchanged.

The boy was poor–his only worthwhile possession was a watch he’d inherited from his grandfather. Thinking about his sweetheart’s lovely hair, he decided to sell the watch in order to buy her a silver barrette.

The girl had no money herself to buy him a present. She went to the shop of the most successful merchant in the town and sold him her hair. With the money, she bought a gold watchband for her lover.

When they met on the day of the engagement party, she gave him the wristband for a watch he had sold, and he gave her the barrette for the hair she no longer had ~ Paulo Coelho,
1084:A 1670 revision of the criminal code found yet another use for salt in France. To enforce the law against suicide, it was ordered that the bodies of people who took their own lives be salted, brought before a judge, and sentenced to public display. Nor could the accused escape their day in court by dying in the often miserable conditions of the prisons. They too would be salted and put on trial. Breton historians have discovered that in 1784 in the town of Cornouaille, Maurice LeCorre had died in prison and was ordered salted for trial. But due to some bureaucratic error, the corpse did not get a trial date and was found by a prison guard more than seven years later, not only salted but fermented in beer, at which point it was buried without trial. ~ Mark Kurlansky,
1085:Accepting Uncle Tom’s Cabin as revelation second only to the Bible, the Yankee women all wanted to know about the bloodhounds which every Southerner kept to track down runaway slaves. And they never believed her when she told them she had only seen one bloodhound in all her life and it was a small mild dog and not a huge ferocious mastiff. They wanted to know about the dreadful branding irons which planters used to mark the faces of their slaves and the cat-o’-nine-tails with which they beat them to death, and they evidenced what Scarlett felt was a very nasty and ill-bred interest in slave concubinage.
Especially did she resent this in view of the enormous increase in mulatto babies in Atlanta since the Yankee soldiers had settled in the town. ~ Margaret Mitchell,
1086:Nandprayag is a place that ought to be famous for its beauty and order. For a mile or two before reaching it we had noticed the superior character of the agriculture and even some careful gardening of fruits and vegetables. The peasantry also, suddenly grew handsome, not unlike the Kashmiris. The town itself is new, rebuilt since the Gohna flood, and its temple stands far out across the fields on the shore of the Prayag. But in this short time a wonderful energy has been at work on architectural carvings, and the little place is full of gemlike beauties. Its temple is dedicated to Naga Takshaka. As the road crosses the river, I noticed two or three old Pathan tombs, the only traces of Mohammedanism that we had seen north of Srinagar in Garhwal.   Little ~ Ruskin Bond,
1087:There is a bus station in Henry, but it isn't on Main Street. It's one block north - the town fathers hadn't wanted all the additional traffic. The station lost one-third of its roof to a tornado fifteen years ago. In the same summer, a bottle rocket brought the gift of fire to its restrooms. The damage has never been repaired, but the town council makes sure that the building is painted fresh every other year, and always the color of a swimming pool. There is never graffiti. Vandals would have to drive more than twenty miles to buy the spray paint.

Every once in a long while, a bus creeps into town and eases to a stop beside the mostly roofed, bright aqua station with the charred bathrooms. Henry is always glad to see a bus. Such treats are rare. ~ N D Wilson,
1088:Dabbling in the sandbox gives Rabbit a small headache. Over at the pavilion the rubber thump of Roofball and the click of checkers call to his memory, and the forgotten smell of that narrow plastic ribbon you braid bracelets and whistlechains out of and of glue and of the sweat on the handles on athletic equipment is blown down by a breeze laced with children's murmuring. He feels the truth: the thing that has left his life has left irrevocably; no search would recover it. No flight would reach it. It was here, beneath the town, in these smells and these voices, forever behind him. The fullness ends when we give Nature her ransom, when we make children for her. Then she is through with us, and we become, first inside, and then outside, junk. Flower stalks. ~ John Updike,
1089:I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them.
But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant "to know."
I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
You may have heard of me. ~ Patrick Rothfuss,
1090:Nowhere was this theme more trenchantly presented than in the last major film production of the Third Reich, Kolberg. This was an epic period drama set in the eponymous fortress, where Gneisenau and Schill collaborated with the civil authorities in the town to hold the numerically superior French at bay. Against all odds – and contrary to the historical record – the French are forced to fall back and the town is unexpectedly saved by a peace treaty. Here was the image of Prussia as a kingdom of the pure will, holding out by courage and fortitude alone. The film’s purpose was obvious enough; it was a call to mobilize every last resource against the enemies who were closing in around Germany. It was, as the director Veit Harlan put it, a ‘symbol of the present ~ Anonymous,
1091:The City And The Sea
To none the city bends a servile knee;
Purse-proud and scornful, on her heights she stands,
And at her feet the great white moaning sea
Shoulders incessantly the grey-gold sands,-One the Almighty's child since time began,
And one the might of Mammon, born of clods;
For all the city is the work of man,
But all the sea is God's.
II
And she--between the ocean and the town-Lies cursed of one and by the other blest:
Her staring eyes, her long drenched hair, her gown,
Sea-laved and soiled and dank above her breast.
She, image of her God since life began,
She, but the child of Mammon, born of clods,
Her broken body spoiled and spurned of man,
But her sweet soul is God's.
~ Emily Pauline Johnson,
1092:You have warned me so many Times, of the Dangers of the World, for such as Us, should We but stray one Step beyond the Bounds of our Safety, that You will not be surprised to discover (after so long a Silence) that my present Accommodation is a Gaol. Not, however, one of the common Bridewells of London, where You may expect Me to have tumbled, after the Misadventures You predicted, when I quit the Patronage of Lord ——, and declined to submit Myself tamely to the Connection He had devis’d for Me at Oxford, in the perpetual Role of Hanger-On to his Son. Instead an Ocean lies between: my Confinement is American. I find Myself lodged in the Debtors’ Prison of the City of New-York. Which is, to particularise less grandly, an Attic of the Town-Hall here. The ~ Francis Spufford,
1093:After Collecting The Autumn Taxes
From my high castle I look at the town below
Where the natives of Pa cluster like a swarm of flies.
How can I govern these people and lead them aright?
I cannot even understand what they say.
But at least I am glad, now that the taxes are in,
To learn that in my province there is no discontent.
I fear its prosperity is not due to me
And was only caused by the year's abundant crops,
The papers that lie on my desk are simple and few;
My house by the moat is leisurely and still.
In the autumn rain the berries fall from the eaves;
At the evening bell the birds return to the wood.
A broken sunlight quavers over the southern porch
Where I lie on my couch abandoned of idleness.
~ Bai Juyi,
1094:So it’s my fault? I made you your bloody dinner. You didn’t show up. Just couldn’t pass up a chance to humiliate me, could you?”
Curran bit the air as if he had fangs. “I was challenged by two bears. They broke two of my ribs and dislocated my hip. When Doolittle finally finished setting my bones, I was four hours late. I asked if you called and they said no.”
He’d sunk enough gravity into that “no” to bring down a building.
“If you were late, I would’ve turned the town inside out looking for you. I called you. You didn’t answer. I was so sure something happened to you I dropped everything and dragged myself to your house. I came to check on you with broken bones and you weren’t there.”
“You’re lying.”
Curran snarled. “I left a note on your door. ~ Ilona Andrews,
1095:People are going to see you talking to nobody and think you're weird." This amused him.

It neither amused nor worried Blue. She'd gone through eighteen years as the town psychic's daughter, and now, in her senior year, she had already held every single possible conversation about that fact. She had been shunned and embraced and bullied and cajoled. She was going to hell, she had the straight line to spiritual nirvana. Her mother was a hack, her mother was a witch. Blue dressed like a hobo, Blue dressed like a fashion mogul. She was untouchably hilarious, she was a friendless bitch. It had faded into monotonous background noise. The disheartening and lonesome upshot was that Blue Sargent was the strangest thing in the halls of Mountain View High School. ~ Maggie Stiefvater,
1096:Libraries are a force for good. They wear capes. They fight evil. They don’t get upset when you don’t send them a card on their birthdays. (Though they will charge you if you’re late returning a book.) They serve communities. The town without a library is a town without a soul. The library card is a passport to wonders and miracles, glimpses into other lives, religions, experiences, the hopes and dreams and strivings of ALL human beings, and it is this passport that opens our eyes and hearts to the world beyond our front doors, that is one of our best hopes against tyranny, xenophobia, hopelessness, despair, anarchy, and ignorance. Libraries are the torch of the world, illuminating the path when it feels too dark to see. We mustn’t allow that torch to be extinguished. ~ Libba Bray,
1097:In Bruges he had carried out a work which was anonymous and brought no glory, but was seen as admirable once it had been understood. He was the embalmer of the town. Being dead, it would have decomposed, disintegrated. He had mummified it in the bandages of its inert waters, its regular columns of smoke, with the gilding and polychrome decoration on the facades like gold and unguents on nails and teeth; and the lily of Memling across the corpse, like the ancient lotus on the virgins of Egypt. It was thanks to him that the town stood triumphant and beautiful in the adornment of death. In that garb it would be eternal, no less than the mummies themselves, eternally in funeral finery, which has nothing sad about it, since it has transformed death into a work of art. ~ Georges Rodenbach,
1098:It was in the summer that one really lived. Then all the little overcrowded houses were opened wide, and the wind blew through them with sweet, earthy smells of garden-planting. The town looked as if it had just been washed. People were out painting their fences. The cottonwood trees were a-flicker with sticky, yellow little leaves, and the feathery tamarisks were in pink bud. With the warm weather came freedom for everybody. People were dug up, as it were. The very old people, whom one had not seen all winter, came out and sunned themselves in the yard. The double windows were taken off the houses, the tormenting flannels in which children had been encased all winter were put away in boxes, and the youngsters felt a pleasure in the cool cotton things next their skin. ~ Willa Cather,
1099:Robin: When you do marry, who will you marry?
Maria: I have not quite decided yet, but I think I shall marry a boy I knew in London.
Robin(yells): What? Marry some mincing nincompoop of a Londoner with silk stockings and a pomade in his hair and face like a Cheshire cheese? You dare do such a thing! You - Maria - if you marry a London man I'll wring his neck! (...) I'll not only wring his neck, I'll wring everybody's necks, and I'll go right away out of the valley, over the hills to the town where my father came from, and I won't ever come back here again. So there!
(...)
Maria: Why don't you want me to marry that London boy?
Robin(shouting): Because you are going to marry me. Do you hear, Maria? You are going to marry me. ~ Elizabeth Goudge,
1100:There was between 1821 and 1913 a prolonged and atrocious holocaust which we have chosen to forget, and from which we have learned absolutely nothing. In 1821, between 26 March and Easter Sunday, in the name of liberty, the southern Greek Christians tortured and
massacred 15,000 Greek Muslim civilians, looted their possessions, and burned their dwellings. The Greek hero Kolokotronis boasted without qualm that so many were the corpses that his horse’s hooves never had to touch the
ground between the town gates of Athens and the citadel. In the Peloponnese, many thousands of Muslims, mainly women and children, were rounded up and butchered. Thousands of shrines and mosques were destroyed, so that even now there are only one or two left in the whole of Greece. ~ Louis de Berni res,
1101:(Page 118) I explored alleys and hidden roads I never knew existed. I discovered neighborhoods entirely new to me. And finally... I discovered I was sick of this town and everything in it.
-I think this quote is interesting because hannah always speaks about how unhappy she was, how she disiked some people, etc. but it took her journeys through neighborhoods, walks through alleys and hidden routes in order for her to truly see that she hated this town. I wonder why it took her that long. I know a big factor that contributed and essentially led her to her suicide was because of the people at her school.. However, I thought she'd find comfort in the town itself because she grew up there and spoke fondly of it.. It's surprising to find out she was actually sick of the town. ~ Jay Asher,
1102:The Bonny Earl Of Murray
YE Highlands and ye Lawlands,
O where hae ye been?
They hae slain the Earl of Murray,
And hae laid him on the green.
Now wae be to thee, Huntley!
And whairfore did ye sae!
I bade you bring him wi' you,
But forbade you him to slay.
He was a braw gallant,
And he rid at the ring;
Ana the bonny Earl of Murray,
O he might hae been a king!
He was a braw gallant,
And he play'd at the ba';
And the bonny Earl of Murray
Was the flower amang them a'!
He was a braw gallant,
And he play'd at the gluve;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
O he was the Queen's luve!
O lang will his Lady
Look owre the Castle Downe,
Ere she see the Earl of Murray
Come sounding through the town!
~ Anonymous,
1103:7.3-magnitude earthquake hits near Papua New Guinea A powerful earthquake struck off the South Pacific nation of Papua New Guinea on Friday, but there were no immediate reports of damage or injuries. The U.S. Geological Survey said the magnitude-7.3 earthquake was located 61 kilometres (38 miles) southwest of the town of Panguna on Bougainville Island. It struck at a depth of 50 kilometres (31 miles). The Pacific Tsunami Warning Center said there was no threat of a destructive widespread tsunami. But the agency said quakes of this size can sometimes generate waves that can be destructive to coasts within a few hundred kilometres (miles) of the epicenter. A staffer at the Geophysical Observatory in the capital, Port Moresby, said no reports of damage or unusual wave activity along ~ Anonymous,
1104:Early One Morning
Early one morning in May I set out,
And nobody I knew was about.
I'm bound away for ever,
Away somewhere, away for ever.
There was no wind to trouble the weathercocks.
I had burnt my letters and darned my socks.
No one knew I was going away,
I thought myself I should come back some day.
I heard the brook through the town gardens run.
O sweet was the mud turned to dust by the sun.
A gate banged in a fence and banged in my head.
'A fine morning, sir', a shepherd said.
I could not return from my liberty,
To my youth and my love and my misery.
The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet,
The only sweet thing that is not also fleet.
I'm bound away for ever,
Away somehwere, away for ever.
~ Edward Thomas,
1105:I really believe that at the start of the journey the condemned man, sitting in the tumbril, must feel that an infinite life still stretches ahead of him. However, the houses roll by one by one, the tumbril rumbles on—oh, that's nothing, it's still a long way to the turning into the next street, and he continues to look keenly to the left and the right at the thousands of indifferently curious people with their eyes riveted upon him, and he continues vaguely to imagine that, like all of them, he is still a human being. But here's the turning into the next street! Never mind though, never mind, still a whole street to go. And no matter how many houses he passes, he still thinks: "There are still a lot of houses." And so to the very end, right up until they reach the town square. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
1106:Voronezh
For Osip Mandelstam
And the town is frozen solid in a vice,
Trees, walls, snow, beneath a glass.
Over crystal, on slippery tracks of ice,
the painted sleighs and I, together, pass.
And over St Peter’s there are poplars, crows
there’s a pale green dome there that glows,
dim in the sun-shrouded dust.
The field of heroes lingers in my thought,
Kulikovo’s barbarian battleground.
The frozen poplars, like glasses for a toast,
clash now, more noisily, overhead.
As though it was our wedding, and the crowd
were drinking to our health and happiness.
But Fear and the Muse take turns to guard
the room where the exiled poet is banished,
and the night, marching at full pace,
of the coming dawn, has no knowledge.
~ Anna Akhmatova,
1107:Composure
(The speaker addresses himself)
Lighten up, you bitch, stop being so bitter.
You lobbied for night. It falls. Right here.
The air, a haziness, wimples the town.
Peace for some, for the others the jitters.
With cranked-up hope, the plodding herd, most of us,
sapped silly by desire, that ruthlessness,
we bend in the traces and ask mortgage on remorse.
Dear, dear, glum thing, let's hold hands. Come 'ere.
Let's get away. Look up. There the gone years slouch
in second-hand robes on the balcony of the sky—
over the abyss Regret breaks water, smirking.
The dead sun's gonna pass out under the bridge.
And like a mummy's long bandage, off to the west,
listen, sweets, listen, the double-soft dark is coming on.
~ Charles Baudelaire,
1108:The other part of me wanted to get out and stay out, but this was the part I never listened to. Because if I ever had I would have stayed in the town where I was born and worked in the hardware store and married the boss's daughter and had five kids and read them the funny paper on Sunday morning and smacked their heads when they got out of line and squabbled with the wife about how much spending money they were to get and what programs they could have on the radio or TV set. I might even get rich - small-town rich, an eight-room house, two cars in the garage, chicken every Sunday and the Reader's Digest on the living room table, the wife with a cast-iron permanent and me with a brain like a sack of Portland cement. You take it, friend. I'll take the big sordid dirty crooked city. ~ Raymond Chandler,
1109:Stanford commencement address; Andy Behrendt, “Apple Computer Mogul’s Roots Tied to Green Bay,” (Green Bay) Press Gazette, Dec. 4, 2005; Georgina Dickinson, “Dad Waits for Jobs to iPhone,” New York Post and The Sun (London), Aug. 27, 2011; Mohannad Al-Haj Ali, “Steve Jobs Has Roots in Syria,” Al Hayat, Jan. 16, 2011; Ulf Froitzheim, “Porträt Steve Jobs,” Unternehmen, Nov. 26, 2007. Silicon Valley: Interviews with Steve Jobs, Laurene Powell. Jobs, Smithsonian oral history; Moritz, 46; Berlin, 155–177; Malone, 21–22. School: Interview with Steve Jobs. Jobs, Smithsonian oral history; Sculley, 166; Malone, 11, 28, 72; Young, 25, 34–35; Young and Simon, 18; Moritz, 48, 73–74. Jobs’s address was originally 11161 Crist Drive, before the subdivision was incorporated into the town from the county. ~ Walter Isaacson,
1110:You might think he could have made up his mind earlier, and been man enough to inform his surroundings of his decision. But Allan Karlsson had never been given to pondering things too long. So the idea had barely taken hold in the old man’s head before he opened the window of his room on the ground floor of the Old Folks’ Home in the town of Malmköping, and stepped out—into the flower bed. This maneuver required a bit of effort, since Allan was 100 years old, on this very day in fact. There was less than an hour to go before his birthday party would begin in the lounge of the Old Folks’ Home. The mayor would be there. And the local paper. And all the other old people. And the entire staff, led by bad-tempered Director Alice. It was only the Birthday Boy himself who didn’t intend to turn up. ~ Jonas Jonasson,
1111:As it is there isn't a single thing isn't an opportunity for some 'alert' person, including practically everybody by the 'greed', that, they are 'alive', therefore. Etc. That, in fact, there are 'conditions'. Gravelly Hill or any sort of situation for improvement, when the Earth was properly regarded as a 'garden tenement messuage orchard and if this is nostalgia let you take a breath of April showers let's us reason how is the dampness in your nasal passage -- but I have had lunch in this 'pasture' (B. Ellery to
George Girdler Smith
'gentleman'
1799, for
£150)

overlooking
'the town'
sitting there like
the Memphite lord of
all Creation

with my back -- with Dogtown
over the Crown of
gravelly
hill

It is not bad
to be pissed off ~ Charles Olson,
1112:The Man Who's Down
IT is well enough to cheer for the brother who is up,
It is fine to praise the brother who has captured victory's cup;
But don't keep your kind words always for the man who's won renown,
For the boy who really needs them is the fellow who is down.
Give a cheer when men deserve it, shout your praise for them to hear,
Don't reserve your admiration till a man is on his bier,
But remember as you wander every day about the town
That a kind word will work wonders for the brother who is down.
For the man on top is happy, and he has a thousand friends,
He can always get a kind word, no matter where he wends,
But the brother who is striving to attain a laurel crown
Often needs a friend to help him. Don't neglect the brother down.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1113:American Sketches
CROSSING KANSAS BY TRAIN
The telephone poles
Have been holding their
Arms out
A long time now
To birds
That will not
Settle there
But pass with
Strange cawings
Westward to
Where dark trees
Gather about a
Water hole this
Is Kansas the
Mountains start here
Just behind
The closed eyes
Of a farmer’s
Sons asleep
In their work clothes
POEM TO BE READ AT 3 A.M.
Excepting the diner
On the outskirts
The town of Ladora
At 3 A.M.
Was dark but
For my headlights
And up in
One second-story room
A single light
Where someone
Was sick or
Perhaps reading
As I drove past
At seventy
Not thinking
This poem
Is for whoever
Had the light on
~ Donald Justice,
1114:The managers and superintendents and clerks of Packingtown were all recruited from another class, and never from the workers; they scorned the workers, the very meanest of them. A poor devil of a bookkeeper who had been working in Durham's for twenty years at a salary of six dollars a week, and might work there for twenty more and do no better, would yet consider himself a gentleman, as far removed as the poles from the most skilled worker on the killing beds; he would dress differently, and live in another part of the town, and come to work at a different hour of the day, and in every way make sure that he never rubbed elbows with a laboring man. Perhaps this was due to the repulsiveness of the work; at any rate, the people who worked with their hands were a class apart, and were made to feel it. ~ Upton Sinclair,
1115:Mary Vial Holyoke was the daughter of a Boston merchant and the wife of a Salem gentleman, Edward Augustus Holyoke, a casual versifier and serious physician who was a member of the town’s economic and intellectual elite.3 The Holyokes enjoyed the barbecues, dances, teas, and “turtles” of the Essex County gentry, yet each of the four major housekeeping roles is clearly apparent in Mary’s diary, as this selection of entries from the 1760s shows: Service and maintenance: “Washed.” “Ironed.” “Scoured pewter.” “Scowered rooms.” “Scoured furniture Brasses & put up the Chintz bed & hung pictures.” “Burnt 5 Chimnies.” “Opened cask of Biscuit.” “Began a Barrel of flour.” “Began upon 22 lb. of chocolate.” “Dressed a Calves Head turtle fashion.” Agriculture: “Sowd sweet marjoram.” “Sowed pease. ~ Laurel Thatcher Ulrich,
1116:The Old Yaller Slicker
The old yaller slicker's the cowpuncher's friendHis saddle is never without itIt's rolled in a bundle and tied at each end,
But it's ready for service, don't doubt it.
When the sun bathes the hills in a dazzling flow
Across which the cloud shadows flicker,
Then the night-herd's asleep, where the round-up tents show,
With his head on his old yaller slicker.
But in days when the rain drives aslant o'er the range,
And the far hills the storm king is hiding,
Then the old yaller slicker gleams ghostlike and strange
Where the tireless cowboy is riding.
Oh, it's wrinkled and torn, and it never looks newIn the town it would stir up a snickerBut the style can go hang-it's a friend tied and true,
is the cowpuncher's old yaller slicker.
~ Arthur Chapman,
1117:The Starry Night
That does not keep me from having a terrible need of - shall I say the word religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars.
- Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother
The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry night! This is how
I want to die.
It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:
into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.
~ Anne Sexton,
1118:He settled himself with assurance behind the wheel and I climbed in beside him. As he turned the car away from the cathedral, and so out on to Rue Voltaire, he continued to enthuse in schoolboy fashion, murmuring, "Magnificent, excellent!" under his breath, obviously enjoying every moment of what soon turned out to be, from my own rather cautious standard, a hair-raising ride. When we had jumped one set of lights, and sent an old man, leaping for his life, and forced a large Buick driven by an infuriated American into the side of the street, he proceeded to circle the town in order, so he explained to try the car's pace. "You know," he said, "it amuses me enormously to use other people's possessions. It is one of life's great pleasures." I closed my eyes as we took another corner like a bob-sleigh. ~ Daphne du Maurier,
1119:The canyon is a ladder to the plain. The valley is pale in the end of July, when the corn and melons come of age and slowly the fields are made ready for the yield, and a faint, false air of autumn—an illusion still in the land—rises somewhere away in the high north country, a vague suspicion of red and yellow on the farthest summits. And the town lies out like a scattering of bones in the heart of the land, low in the valley, where the earth is a kiln and the soil is carried here and there in the wind and all harvests are a poor survival of the seed. It is a remote place, and divided from the rest of the world by a great forked range of mountains on the north and west; by wasteland on the south and east, a region of dunes and thorns and burning columns of air; and more than these by time and silence. ~ N Scott Momaday,
1120:The grunt pulled his collar up around his neck. “Butterfinger.” “Yeah.” Queho nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “Butterfinger. Good one. I liked that one. I always got the candy stuck between my teeth. Same with the Heath Bar.” He picked at his teeth with his finger. “Not worth the effort.” The grunt kept pace with Queho. The caravan was traveling more like an amorphous pack. The town’s wide streets accommodated the disorganization as the posse clopped along. Queho was so preoccupied with Dairy Queen, he didn’t notice. “I always got the chocolate chip cookie dough,” Queho said, licking his lips. “Oh, that was good. And remember? They’d hold it upside down?” He held out his hand to pantomime a Dairy Queen clerk holding a cup of ice cream upside down. “That way you knew how thick they made it.” The ~ Tom Abrahams,
1121:Musicians Wrestle Everywhere
157
Musicians wrestle everywhere—
All day—among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife—
And—walking—long before the morn—
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that "New Life"!
If is not Bird—it has no nest—
Nor "Band"—in brass and scarlet—drest—
Nor Tamborin—nor Man—
It is not Hymn from pulpit read—
The "Morning Stars" the Treble led
On Time's first Afternoon!
Some—say—it is "the Spheres"—at play!
Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames—and Men!
Some—think it service in the place
Where we—with late—celestial face—
Please God—shall Ascertain!
~ Emily Dickinson,
1122:Read! Read cookbooks, trade magazines — I recommend Food Arts, Saveur, Restaurant Business magazines. They are useful for staying abreast of industry trends, and for pinching recipes and concepts. Some awareness of the history of your business is useful, too. It allows you to put your own miserable circumstances in perspective when you've examined and appreciated the full sweep of culinary history. Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London is invaluable. As is Nicolas Freleng's The Kitchen, David Blum's Flash in the Pan, the Batterberrys' fine account of American restaurant history, On the Town in New York, and Joseph Mitchell's Up in the Old Hotel. Read the old masters: Escoffier, Bocuse et al as well as the Young Turks: Keller, Marco-Pierre White, and more recent generations of innovators and craftsmen. ~ Anthony Bourdain,
1123:The woman said she had never heard of the town. “It probably doesn’t even exist,” Emma said when the waitress had moved off. “I bet you Miss Crumley was just trying to get rid of us. She’s hoping we’ll get robbed or murdered or something.” “It’s very unlikely all three of us would get murdered,” Michael said, slurping down his hot chocolate. “Maybe one of us, though.” “Okay, you can get murdered,” Emma said. “No, you can get murdered.” “No, you—” “No, you—” They began giggling, Emma saying how a murderer seeing Michael simply wouldn’t be able to help himself, he’d just have to murder him, he might even murder him twice, and Michael replying how there was probably a whole bunch of murderers waiting for Emma to get off the train and how they’d have a lottery to see who got to do it. … Kate just let them go. The ~ John Stephens,
1124:Mary slips her handbag onto her shoulder and she straightens her suit jacket as
I digest this, and then she adds very quietly, “If you ask me, if the state really
wanted to help women like your sister, wouldn’t they put the thousands of
dollars they’ll spend on her trial and incarcerating her into early intervention
programs, or research into addiction? Or Lord, if it’s really all about the baby—
wouldn’t you funnel the funds into setting up a better foster care system or
maybe some parenting classes that actually help?”
“So why don’t they?” I ask, and Mary sighs and shakes her head.
“Well, it’s a little bit like this. Half the town is on fire, and the townspeople
are all so busy hollering for the fire brigade that no one thinks to find out why
people are still playing with matches. ~ Kelly Rimmer,
1125:The Danger Of Writing Defiant Verse
And now I have another lad!
No longer need you tell
How all my nights are slow and sad
For loving you too well.
His ways are not your wicked ways,
He's not the like of you.
He treads his path of reckoned days,
A sober man, and true.
They'll never see him in the town,
Another on his knee.
He'd cut his laden orchards down,
If that would pleasure me.
He'd give his blood to paint my lips
If I should wish them red.
He prays to touch my finger-tips
Or stroke my prideful head.
He never weaves a glinting lie,
Or brags the hearts he'll keep.
I have forgotten how to sighRemembered how to sleep.
He's none to kiss away my mindA slower way is his.
Oh, Lord! On reading this, I find
A silly lot he is.
~ Dorothy Parker,
1126:It was a wild, tempestuous night, towards the close of November. Holmes and I sat together in silence all the evening, he engaged with a powerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upon a palimpsest, I deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. Outside the wind howled down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely against the windows. It was strange there, in the very depths of the town, with ten miles of man’s handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip of Nature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all London was no more than the molehills that dot the fields. I walked to the window, and looked out on the deserted street. The occasional lamps gleamed on the expanse of muddy road and shining pavement. A single cab was splashing its way from the Oxford Street end. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
1127:But it’s Saturday,” I said. “I mean, don’t people take the day off?” Jackie shook her head with a smile that said I had a lot to learn. “We start shooting Monday morning, Dexter,” she said. “The wardrobe and makeup people have tons of last-minute things to do, and they need us there to do them.” “Oh,” I said, and with an effort I put on my bodyguard hat. “Will the Town Car be here to take us over?” She nodded and sat down, reaching for her cup. “It’ll be in front in ten minutes,” she said. She drained the cup, put it on the table, and said, “I better get ready.” But before she could stand up, her cell phone chimed. She shook her head and said, “It never ends.” But when she picked it up and looked at the screen, she said, “Oh,” with surprise. “It’s your sister.” She touched the screen and held the phone up to her ear. ~ Jeff Lindsay,
1128:I sensed that this was a small part of what contributed to the passivity with regard to the Three Gorges Project in Fuling. The vast majority of the people would not be directly affected by the coming changes, and so they weren’t concerned. Despite having large sections of the city scheduled to be flooded within the next decade, it wasn’t really a community issue, because there wasn’t a community as one would generally define it. There were lots of small groups, and there was a great deal of patriotism, but like most patriotism anywhere in the world, this was spurred as much by fear and ignorance as by any true sense of a connection to the Motherland. And you could manipulate this fear and ignorance by telling people that the dam, even though it might destroy the river and the town, was of great importance to China. ~ Peter Hessler,
1129:The Sailor's Sweetheart
O if love were had for asking,
In the markets of the town,
Hardly a lass would think to wear
A fine silken gown:
But love is had by grieving
By choosing and by leaving,
And there's no one now to ask me
If heavy lies my heart.
O if love were had for a deep wish
In the deadness of the night,
There'd be a truce to longing
Between the dusk and the light:
But love is had for sighing,
For living and for dying,
And there's no one now to ask me
If heavy lies my heart.
O if love were had for taking
Like honey from the hive,
The bees that made the tender stuff
Could hardly keep alive:
But love it is a wounded thing,
A tremor and a smart,
And there's no one left to kiss me now
Over my heavy heart.
~ Duncan Campbell Scott,
1130:Upon the altar, a heifer had been sacrificed and was burning. Elihu had stayed watching the sheep while David came down to the town. David’s six other brothers lined up with his father at the foot of the altar. Samuel the Seer stood before the family. Everyone stared at David, waiting for him. Samuel felt like an ominous presence to David and the rest of the village. It seemed that whenever he came around, it was because Yahweh had some kind of chastisement for the people. They wanted to avoid incurring the prophet’s displeasure or Yahweh’s rebuke. Worse yet, they didn’t want their town to be of such significance that God’s holy Seer would take interest in it. That could bring some political prominence that would only end in trouble to these peaceful people. They just wished to stay out of the concern of authorities. ~ Brian Godawa,
1131:All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white.  The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction.  Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial.  The M’Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn’t state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen.   A ~ Charles Dickens,
1132:Then, slowly, my feet settled to the ground. Before I had taken six steps I sagged like a sail when the wind fades. As I walked back through the town, past sleeping houses and dark inns, my mood swung from elation to doubt in the space of three brief breaths.

I had ruined everything. All the things I had said, things that seemed so clever at the time, were in fact the worst things a fool could say. Even now she was inside, breathing a sigh of relief to finally be rid of me.

But she had smiled. Had laughed.

She hadn't remembered our first meeting on the road from Tarbean. I couldn't have made that much of an impression on her.

'Steal me,' she had said.

I should have been bolder and kissed her at the end. I should have been more cautious. I had talked too much. I had said too little. ~ Patrick Rothfuss,
1133:There was gray train smoke over the town most days, it smelled of travel, of transcontinental trains about to flash by, of important things about to happen. The train smell sounded the ‘A’ for Lamptown and then a treble chord of frying hamburger and onions and boiling coffee was struck by Hermann Bauer's kitchen, with a sostenuto of stale beer from Delaney's back door. These were all busy smells and seemed a 6 to 6 smell, a working town's smell, to be exchanged at the last factory whistle for the festival night odors of popcorn, Spearmint chewing gum, barber-shop pomades, and the faint smell of far-off damp cloverfields. Mornings the cloverfields retreated when the first Columbus local roared through the town. Bauer’s coffee pot boiled over again, and the factory’s night watchmen filed into Delaney’s for their morning beer. ~ Dawn Powell,
1134:The town was sunk in a kind of crystal ball; everyone seemed to be asleep (transcendentally asleep!) no matter if they were walking or sitting outside. Around five the sky clouded over and at six it began to rain. The streets cleared all at once. I had the thought that if it was as if autumn had unsheathed a claw and scratched: everything was coming apart. The tourists running on the sidewalks in search of shelter, the shopkeepers pulling tarps over the merchandise displayed in the street, the increasing number of shop windows closed until next summer. Whether I felt pity or scorn when I saw this, I don't know. Detached from any external stimulus, the only thing I could see or feel with any clarity was myself. Everything else had been bombarded by something dark; movie sets consigned to dust and oblivion, as if for good. ~ Roberto Bola o,
1135:All ceremony depends on symbol; and all symbols have been vulgarized and made stale by the commercial conditions of our time...Of all these faded and falsified symbols, the most melancholy example is the ancient symbol of the flame. In every civilized age and country, it has been a natural thing to talk of some great festival on which "the town was illuminated." There is no meaning nowadays in saying the town was illuminated...The whole town is illuminated already, but not for noble things. It is illuminated solely to insist on the immense importance of trivial and material things, blazoned from motives entirely mercenary...It has not destroyed the difference between light and darkness, but it has allowed the lesser light to put out the greater...Our streets are in a permanent dazzle, and our minds in a permanent darkness. ~ G K Chesterton,
1136:In his campaign for the presidency, Reagan mastered the "excision of the language of race from conservative public discourse"… For example, when Reagan kicked off his presidential campaign at the annual Neshoba County fair near Philadelphia, Mississippi - the town were three civil rights activists were murdered in 1964 - he assured the crowd "I believe and states rights," and promised to restore to states and local government the power that properly belonged to them. His critics promptly alleged that he was signaling a racial message to his audience, suggesting allegiance with those who resisted desegregation, but Reagan firmly denied it, forcing liberals into a position that would soon become familiar, arguing that something is racist but finding it impossible to prove in the absence of explicitly racist language. (48) ~ Michelle Alexander,
1137:Proctor: I am only wondering how I may prove what she told me, Elizabeth. If the girl's a saint now, I think it is not easy to prove she's fraud, and the town gone so silly. She told it to me in a room alone- I have no proof for it.
Elizabeth: You were alone with her?
Proctor: (stubbornly) For a moment alone, aye.
Elizabeth: Why, then, it is not as you told me.
Proctor: (his anger rising) For a moment, I say. The others come in soon after.
Elizabeth: (as if she has lost all faith in him) Do as you wish then. (she turns)
Proctor: Woman. (she turns to him) I'll not have your suspicion any more.
Elizabeth: (a little loftily) I have no-
Proctor: I'll not have it!
Elizabeth: Then let you not earn it.
Proctor: Now look you-
Elizabeth: I see what I see, John. ~ Arthur Miller,
1138:One Day
The trees rustle; the wind blows
Merrily out of the town;
The shadows creep, the sun goes
Steadily over and down.
In a brown gloom the moats gleam;
Slender the sweet wife stands;
Her lips are red; her eyes dream;
Kisses are warm on her hands.
The child moans; the hours slip
Bitterly over her head:
In a gray dusk, the tears drip;
Mother is up there-dead.
The hermit hears the strange bright
Murmur of life at play;
In the waste day and waste night
Times to rebel and to pray.
The laborer toils in gray wise,
Godlike and patient and calm;
The beggar moans; his bleared eyes
Measure the dust in his palm.
The wise man, marks the flow and ebb
Hidden and held aloof:
In his deep mind is laid the web,
Shuttles are driving the woof.
~ Archibald Lampman,
1139:Once he had reached the top, he looked down on the town at his feet. Such repose, such tranquility, what a lesson in calmness! Seeing it, he was ashamed of his troubled existence. He renounced the love that brought him misery for the love of the town. It took hold of him again, suffusing his entire being as it had done during the first days of the Flemish Movement. How beautiful Bruges still was, seen from above, with its belfries, its pinnacles, its stepped gables like stairs to climb up to the land of dreams, to return to the great days of yesteryear. Among the roofs were canals fanned by the trees, quiet streets with a few women making their way in cloaks, swinging like silent bells. Lethargic peace! The sweetness of renunciation! A queen in exile, the widow of History whose only desire, basically, was to carve her own tomb. ~ Georges Rodenbach,
1140:Aksënov was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of fun and very fond of singing. When quite a young man he had been given to drink and was riotous when he had too much; but after he married he gave up drinking except now and then. One summer Aksënov was going to the Nizhny Fair, and as he bade goodbye to his family his wife said to him, “Iván Dmitrich, do not start today; I have had a bad dream about you.’ Aksënov laughed, and said, ‘You are afraid that when I get to the fair I shall go on the spree.’ His wife replied: ‘I do not know what I am afraid of; all I know is that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and when you took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite grey.’ Aksënov laughed. ‘That’s a lucky sign,’ said he. ‘See if I don’t sell out all my goods and bring you some presents from the fair. ~ Leo Tolstoy,
1141:The Goose-Girl
I WANDERED lonely by the sea,
As is my daily use,
I saw her drive across the lea
The gander and the goose.
The gander and the gray, gray goose,
She drove them all together;
Her cheeks were rose, her gold hair loose,
All in the wild gray weather.
'O dainty maid who drive the geese
Across the common wide,
Turn, turn your pretty back on these
And come and be my bride.
I am a poet from the town,
And, 'mid the ladies there,
There is not one would wear a crown
With half your charming air!'
She laughed, she shook her pretty head.
'I want no poet's hand;
Go read your fairy-books,' she said,
'For this is fairy-land.
My Prince comes riding o'er the leas;
He fitly comes to woo,
For I'm a Princess, and my geese
Were poets, once, like you!'
~ Edith Nesbit,
1142:While I was walking down the beach one bright and sunny day, I saw a great big wooden box a-floatin’ in the bay. I pulled it in and opened it up and much to my surprise, Oh, I discovered a   *     *   right before my eyes, Oh, I discovered a   *     *    right before my eyes. I picked it up and ran to town as happy as a king, I took it to a guy I know who’d buy most anything But this is what he hollered at me as I walked in his shop: Oh, get out of here with that   *     *   before I call a cop… I turned around and got right out, a-runnin’ for my life, And then I took it home with me to give it to my wife, But this is what she hollered at me as I walked in the door: Oh, get out of here with that   *     *   and don’t come back no more… I wandered all around the town until I chanced to meet A hobo who was looking for a handout on the street. ~ Michael Rosen,
1143:News To The King, Good News For All
'NEWS to the king, good news for all,'
The corn is trodden, the river runs red.
'News of the battle,' the heralds call,
'We have won the field; we have taken the town;
We have beaten the rebels and crushed them down.'
And the dying lie with the dead.
'Who was my bravest?' quoth the king,
The corn is trodden, the river runs red.
'Whom shall I honour for this great thing?'
'Threescore were best, where none were worst;
But Walter Wendulph was aye the first.'
And the dying lie with the dead.
'What of my husband?' quoth the bride,
The corn is trodden, the river runs red.
'Comes he to-morrow; how long will he bide?'
'Put off thy bridegear, busk thee in black;
Walter Wendulph will never come back.'
And the dying lie with the dead.
~ Augusta Davies Webster,
1144:So now I lye by Day and toss or rave by Night, since the ratling and perpetual Hum of the Town deny me rest: just as Madness and Phrensy are the vapours which rise from the lower Faculties, so the Chaos of the Streets reaches up even to the very Closet here and I am whirl'd about by cries of Knives to Grind and Here are your Mouse-Traps. I was last night about to enter the Shaddowe of Rest when a Watch-man, half-drunken, thumps at the Door with his Past Three-a-clock and his Rainy Wet Morning. And when at length I slipp'd into Sleep I had no sooner forgot my present Distemper than I was plunged into a worse: I dreamd my self to be lying in a small place under ground, like unto a Grave, and my Body was all broken while others sung. And there was a Face that did so terrifie me that I had like to have expired in my Dream. Well, I will say no more. ~ Peter Ackroyd,
1145:If a memory or a particular sadness we feel is capable of disappearing, to the point where we no longer notice it, it can also return and sometimes remain there for a long time. There were evenings when, as I crossed the town on my way to the restaurant, I felt so great a pang of longing for Mme de Guermantes that it took my breath away: it was as if part of my breast had been cut out by a skilled anatomist and replaced by an equal part of immaterial suffering, by an equivalent degree of nostalgia and love. And however neat the surgeon’s stitches are, life is rather painful when longing for another person is substituted for the intestines; it seems to occupy more space than they do; it is a constantly felt presence; and then, how utterly unsettling it is to be obliged to think with part of the body! Yet it does somehow make us feel more authentic. ~ Marcel Proust,
1146:The article was entitled “Vicious Assault Shakes Texas Town,” as if the victim in question were the town itself. James McKinley Jr., the article’s author, focused on how the men’s lives would be changed forever, how the town was being ripped apart, how those poor boys might never be able to return to school. There was discussion of how the eleven-year-old girl, the child, dressed like a twenty-year-old, implying that there is a realm of possibility where a woman can “ask for it” and that it’s somehow understandable that eighteen men would rape a child. There were even questions about the whereabouts of the girl’s mother, given, as we all know, that a mother must be with her child at all times or whatever ill befalls the child is clearly the mother’s fault. Strangely, there were no questions about the whereabouts of the father while this rape was taking place. ~ Roxane Gay,
1147:I walked down the empty Broad to breakfast, as I often did on Sundays, at a tea-shop opposite Balliol. The air was full of bells from the surrounding spires and the sun, casting long shadows across the open spaces, dispelled the fears of night. The tea-shop was hushed as a library; a few solitary men in bedroom slippers from Balliol and Trinity looked up as I entered, then turned back to their Sunday newspapers. I ate my scrambled eggs and bitter marmalade with the zest which in youth follows a restless night. I lit a cigarette and sat on, while one by one the Balliol and Trinity men paid their bills and shuffled away, slip-slop, across the street to their colleges. It was nearly eleven when I left, and during my walk I heard the change-ringing cease and, all over the town, give place to the single chime which warned the city that service was about to start. ~ Evelyn Waugh,
1148:She looked at her mother. The way her shoulders always seemed to droop, the way her eyes were always shifting. Suddenly, Esi was filled with a horrible shame. She remembered the first time she'd seen an elder spit on the captives in the town square. The man had said, 'Northerners, they are not even people. They are the dirt that begs for spit.' Esi was five years old then. His words had felt like a lesson, and the next time she passed, she timidly gathered her won spit and launched it at a little boy who stood huddled with his mother. The boy had cried out, speaking a language that Esi didn't understand, and Esi had felt bad, not for having spit, but for knowing how angry her mother would have been to see her do it.

Now all Esi could picture was her own mother behind the dull metal of the cages. Her own mother, huddled with a sister she would never know. ~ Yaa Gyasi,
1149:The scream reached the ears of Simon Fronwieser along with the sound of pounding downstairs at the front door. The physician’s house in the Hennengasse was just a stone’s throw from the river. Earlier, Simon had looked up from his books several times, distracted by the shouting of the raftsmen. Now that the screams were resounding through the narrow lanes of the town, he knew that something must have happened. The knock at the door grew more urgent. With a sigh he closed one of his hefty anatomy volumes. Like all the others, this book never went below the surface of the human body. The composition of the humors, bleeding as a universal remedy…Simon had read these same litanies far too many times, but they hadn’t really taught him anything about the inside of the body. And nothing would change today, as along with the knocking there was now shouting downstairs. ~ Oliver P tzsch,
1150:In all cultures, ceremonies are designed to communicate the experience of one group of people to the wider community. When people bury loved ones, when they wed, when they graduate from college, the respective ceremonies communicate something essential to the people who are watching... if contemporary America doesn’t develop ways to publicly confront the emotional consequences of war those consequences will continue to burn a hole through the vets themselves... ...Offer veterans all over the country the use of their town hall every Veteran’s Day to speak freely about their experience at war... A community ceremony like that would finally return the experience of war to our entire nation, rather than just leaving it to the people who fought. The bland phrase “I support the troops” would then mean showing up at the town hall once a year to hear these people out. ~ Sebastian Junger,
1151:The town itself had been swallowed, strangled, and buried. In a very real sense there was no Augustam and there were no more fat ladies, or pretty girls, or pompous men, or wet-crotched children waving puffy clouds of cotton candy. There was no bustling Italian man here to throw slices of watermelon. Only Crowd, a creature with no body, no head, no mind. Crowd was nothing but a Voice and an Eye, and it was not surprising that Crowd was both God and Mammon. Garraty felt it. He knew the others were feeling it. It was like walking between giants electrical pylons, feeling the tingles and shocks stand every hair on end, making the tongue jitter nuttily in the mouth, making the eyes seem to crackle and shoot of sparks as they rolled in their beds of moisture. Crowd was to be pleased. Crowd was to be worshiped and feared. Ultimately, Crowd was to be made sacrifice unto. ~ Richard Bachman,
1152:When the windows like the jackal’s eye and desire pierce the dawn, silken windlasses lift me up to suburban footbridges. I summon a girl who is dreaming in the little gilded house; she meets me on the piles of black moss and offers me her lips which are stones in the rapid river depths. Veiled forebodings descend the buildings’ steps. The best thing is to flee from the great feather cylinders when the hunters limp into the sodden lands. If you take a bath in the watery patterns of the streets, childhood returns to the country like a greyhound. Man seeks his prey in the breezes and the fruits are drying on the screens of pink paper, in the shadow of the names overgrown by forgetfulness. Joys and sorrows spread in the town. Gold and eucalyptus, similarly scented, attack dreams. Among the bridles and the dark edelweiss subterranean forms are resting like perfumers’ corks. ~ Andr Breton,
1153:Tears Of The Fatherland
So, now we are destroyed; utterly; more than utterly!
The gang of shameless peoples, the maddening music of war,
The sword fat with blood, the thundering of the guns
Have consumed our sweat and toil, exhausted our reserves.
Towers are on fire, churches turned upside down;
The town hall is in ruins, the strong cut down, destroyed.
Young girls are raped; wherever we turn our gaze,
Fire, plague, and death pierce heart and spirit through.
Here, town and ramparts run with ever-fresh streams of blood.
It's three times six years now, since our mighty river's flow
Was blocked almost by corpses, just barely trickling through.
Yet, I pass over in silence something more terrible than death,
More desperate even than plague, fire and famine;
That so many were bereaved of their soul's treasure too.
~ Andreas Gryphius,
1154:You were happy!” I exclaimed, as I returned quickly to the town, “‘as gay and contented as a man can be!’” God of heaven! and is this the destiny of man? Is he only happy before he has acquired his reason, or after he has lost it? Unfortunate being! And yet I envy your fate: I envy the delusion to which you are a victim. You go forth with joy to gather flowers for your princess — in winter — and grieve when you can find none, and cannot understand why they do not grow. But I wander forth without joy, without hope, without design; and I return as I came. You fancy what a man you would be if the states general paid you. Happy mortal, who can ascribe your wretchedness to an earthly cause! You do not know, you do not feel, that in your own distracted heart and disordered brain dwells the source of that unhappiness which all the potentates on earth cannot relieve. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
1155:THE Andersons lived in a lovely clapboard house at the corner of Washington and Main, a few blocks past the hubbub of stores and businesses, where the town settled into private residences for the well-to-do. Beyond the wide front porch, where Mr. and Mrs. Anderson liked to sit in the evenings, the man scooping into his silk tobacco pouch and the woman squinting at her needlework, were the parlor, dining room, and kitchen. Bessie spent most of her time on that first floor, chasing after the children, preparing meals, and tidying up. At the top of the staircase were the bedrooms—Maisie and little Raymond shared theirs—and the second washroom. Raymond took a long nap in the afternoon and Bessie liked to sit in the window seat as he settled into his dreams. She could just make out the top two floors of the Griffin Building, with its white cornices that blazed in the sunlight. ~ Colson Whitehead,
1156:There was once a Cossack who saw a rabbi walking through the town square nearly every day at about the same time. One day he asked curiously: “Where are you going, rabbi?” The rabbi answered: “I am not sure.” “You pass this way every day at this time. Surely, you know where you’re going.” When the rabbi insisted that he did not know, the Cossack became irritated, then suspicious, and finally took the rabbi to jail. Just as he was locking the cell, the rabbi faced him and said gently: “You see, I didn’t know.” Before the Cossack interrupted him, the rabbi knew where he was going, but afterward, he no longer knew. The interruption (we can call it a measurement) offered new possibilities. This is the message of quantum mechanics. The world is not determined by initial conditions, once and for all. Every event of measurement is potentially creative and may open new possibilities. ~ Amit Goswami,
1157:In the preacher's words the Heavenly City has risen up, surmounting their lives, the house, the town -- the final hope, in which all the riddles and ends of the world are gathered, illuminated, and bound. This is the preacher's hope, and he has moved to it alone, outside the claims of time and sorrow, by the motion of desire which he calls faith. In it, having invoked it and raised it up, he is free of the world. But it is this hope -- this last simplifying rest-giving movement of the mind -- Mat realizes he is not free, and never has been. He is doomed to hope in the world, in the bonds of his own love. He is doomed to take every chance and desperate hope of hope between him and death, Virgil's, Margaret's, his. His hope of Heaven must be the hope of a man bound to the world that his life is not ultimately futile or ultimately meaningless, a hope more burdening than despair. ~ Wendell Berry,
1158:The town of L— represented the earth, with its sorrows and its graves left behind, yet not out of sight, nor wholly forgotten. The ocean, in everlasting but gentle agitation, and brooded over by a dove-like calm, might not unfitly typify the mind and the mood which then swayed it. For it seemed to me as if then first I stood at a distance, and aloof from the uproar of life; as if the tumult, the fever, and the strife, were suspended; a respite granted from the secret burthens of the heart; a sabbath of repose; a resting from human labours. Here were the hopes which blossom in the paths of life, reconciled with the peace which is in the grave; motions of the intellect as unwearied as the heavens, yet for all anxieties a halcyon calm: a tranquility that seemed no product of inertia, but as if resulting from mighty and equal antagonisms; infinite activities, infinite repose. ~ Thomas de Quincey,
1159:They hung over the town, muted red, dark-pink, surrounded by every conceivable nuance of gray. The setting was wild and beautiful. Actually everyone should be in the streets, I thought, cars should be stopping, doors should be opened and drivers and passengers emerging with heads raised and eyes sparkling with curiosity and a craving for beauty, for what was it that was going on above our heads? However, a few glances at most were cast upward, perhaps followed by isolated comments about how beautiful the evening was, for sights like this were not exceptional, on the contrary, hardly a day passed without the sky being filled with fantastic cloud formations, each and every one illuminated in unique, never-to-be-repeated ways, and since what you see every day is what you never see, we lived our lives under the constantly changing sky without sparing it a glance or a thought. ~ Karl Ove Knausg rd,
1160:Between the palaces of the knights and those that served them; the convents, the elegant homes belonging to officers of the Church and the town; between the bakehouse and the shops of the craftsmen, the arsenals and magazines, the warehouses, the homes of merchants and courtesans, Italian, Spanish, Greek; past the painted shrines and courtyards scraped from pockets of earth with their bright waxy green carob trees, a fig, a finger of vine, a blue and orange pot of dry, dying flowers and a tethered goat bleating in a swept yard, padded the heirs of this rock, this precious knot in the trade of the world. Umber-skinned, grey-eyed, barefoot and robed as Arabs with the soft, slurring dialect that Dido and Hannibal spoke, they slipped past the painted facades to their Birgu of fishermen's huts and blank, Arab-walled houses or to sleep, curled in the shade, with the curs in a porch. ~ Dorothy Dunnett,
1161:Apology
Be not angry with me that I bear
Your colours everywhere,
All through each crowded street,
And meet
The wonder-light in every eye,
As I go by.
Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze,
Blinded by rainbow haze,
The stuff of happiness,
No less,
Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds
Of peacock golds.
Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way
Flushes beneath its gray.
My steps fall ringed with light,
So bright,
It seems a myriad suns are strown
About the town.
Around me is the sound of steepled bells,
And rich perfumed smells
Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud,
And shroud
Me from close contact with the world.
I dwell impearled.
You blazon me with jewelled insignia.
A flaming nebula
Rims in my life. And yet
You set
The word upon me, unconfessed
To go unguessed.
~ Amy Lowell,
1162:I had just returned to Woodstock from the Midwest - from my father's funeral. The previous week had left me drained. I had gone back to the town of my early years in a way I could never have imagined - to see my father laid to rest. Now there would be no way to say what I was never capable of saying before. Growing up, the cultural and generational differences had been insurmountable - nothing but the sound of voices, colorless unnatural speech. My father, who was plain speaking and straight talking had said, 'Isn't an artist a fellow who paints?' when told by one of my teachers that his son had the nature of an artist. It seemed I'd always been chasing after something that moved - a car, a bird, a blowing leaf - anything that might lead me into some more lit place, some unknown land downriver. I had not the vaguest notion of the broken world I was living in, what society could do with you. ~ Bob Dylan,
1163:Nathaniel's trying to get hold of it right now.
All very well, but could he use—Wait a minute! The radiant features of the boy contorted, slipped out of true, as if the condoling intelligence had drawn back in shock; an instant later they were as perfect as before. Let's get this straight. He told you his name?
Yes. Now—
I like that . . . I like that! He's been giving me gyp for years, simply because I could have spilled the beans, and now he's telling any old broad he meets, free of charge! Who else knows? Faquarl? Nouda? Did he deck his name out in neon lights and parade it round the town? I ask you! And I never told anyone!
You let it slip last time I summoned you.
Well, apart from that.
But you could have told his enemies, couldn't you, Bartimaeus? You'd have found a way to harm him if you'd really wished it. And Nathaniel knows that too, I think. I had a talk with him. ~ Jonathan Stroud,
1164:In any case, if the reader would have a correct idea of the mood of these exiles, we must conjure up once more those dreary evenings, sifting down through a haze of dust and golden light upon the treeless streets filled with teeming crowds of men and women. For, characteristically, the sound that rose towards the terraces still bathed in the last glow of daylight, now that the noises of vehicles and motors--the sole voice of cities in ordinary times--had ceased, was but one vast rumour of low voices and incessant footfalls, the drumming of innumerable soles timed to the eerie whistling of the plague in the sultry air above, the sound of a huge concourse of people marking time, a never-ending, stifling drone that, gradually swelling, filled the town from end to end, and evening after evening gave its truest, mournfullest expression to the blind endurance which had ousted love from all our hearts. ~ Albert Camus,
1165:From the mountain peaks for streams descend and flow near the town; in the cascades the white water is calling, but the mistis do not hear it. On the hillsides, on the plains, on the mountaintops the yellow flowers dance in the wind, but the mistis hardly see them. At dawn, against the cold sky, beyond the edge of the mountains, the sun appears; then the larks and doves sing, fluttering their little wings; the sheep and the colts run to and fro in the grass, while the mistis sleep or watch, calculating the weight of their steers. In the evening Tayta Inti gilds the sk, gilds the earth, but they sneeze, spur their horses on the road, or drink coffee, drink hot pisco.
But in the hearts of the Puquios, the valley is weeping and laughing, in their eyes the sky and the sun are alive; within them the valley sings with the voice of the morning, of the noontide, of the afternoon, of the evening. ~ Jos Mar a Arguedas,
1166:The landlady showed up today. Now, there’s an interesting woman.” “She is that.” “She tells me she was the town drunk,” he said. “She was,” Jack confirmed. “She got in treatment and seems to be doing great. She’s a whole new person.” “What was the town drunk like?” Dan asked. Jack looked upward, thinking. Then he brought his gaze down to Dan’s. “Know what? I’m not going to talk about that. Cheryl is a good person who had a mighty big burden with her drinking. I’ll tell you the truth, I never saw any hope. But I see her now and she’s not the same woman. Honest to God, I would’ve thought that even sober, she’d be a little slow-witted, unmotivated. Damaged. But she seems to have beat the odds—she’s just incredible. I want her to make it.” “She’s making it,” Dan said. “That’s nice, that you won’t talk about it. Must’ve been kind of bad.” “Buddy, we’ve all been through bad times we’d like to forget.” And ~ Robyn Carr,
1167:Edgard wasn’t convinced the three of them together out on the town was the best idea. “You sure you want me to come along, Chassie? I don’t wanna be a third wheel.”

“Trev is relieved to be off the dancin’ hook, aren’t you, hon?”

“Yep. I’ll be more’n happy to hold down a barstool and guard the beer while you’re two-steppin’.” Trevor gave Edgard a genuine grin. “You don’t know what you’re in for, Ed. Chassie can go all night.”

“I’m the lucky man to test your stamina? All night?” He grinned. “I’m all over that.”

“I’ll bet a guy like you has plenty of stayin’ power,” Chassie shot back with a sexy growl. “I’m lucky, showin’ up with the two hottest guys in the county. That uppity Brandy Martinson is so gonna eat her heart out.”

“I’m sure she’s used to no one noticing her when you’re in the room, sweetheart,”

Edgard drawled.

“Ed, stop flirtin’ with my wife. ~ Lorelei James,
1168:The Town
You said: “I’ll go to another land, to other seaways wandering,
Some other town may yet be found better than this,
Where every effort of mine is a writ of guiltiness;
And my heart seems buried like a corpse. My mind--How long is it to be in this decay confined?
Wherever I turn, wherever I lift my eyes,
The blackening ruins of my life arise,
here I have spent so many years spoiling and swquandering.”
“You’ll find no other places, no new seas in all your wanderings,
The town will follow you about. You’ll range
In the same streets. In the same suburbs change
From youth to age; inn this same house grow white.
No hope of another town; this is where you’ll always alight.
There is no road to another, there is no ship
To take you there. As here in this small strip
You spoiled your life, the whole earth felt your squanderings.”
~ Constantine P. Cavafy,
1169:We’ve decided to build walls around our towns, with defensive fortifications in key locations, and our main food supply stored in an old nuclear bunker under city hall, which is refrigerated and is backed-up by large generators that can be fueled by corn alcohol. As for defenses, since most of us are quite well armed, all I ask is for men, or women, to keep guard over the entrances to the town and make sure we stay on alert for possible desperate people who would have no problem killing all of us for just a bite to eat. “Now, for you farmers and ranchers, I suggest surrounding most of your property with electrified barbed wire. If you have ranch hands, have them armed while they’re patrolling the fence-line. We want to protect our food as much as we can. As of now, this is the plan. Since I know there’ll be questions, please approach the microphone that’s been set-up, and ask your questions. Thank you. ~ Cliff Ball,
1170:Good-Night
The skylarks are far behind that sang over the down;
I can hear no more those suburb nightingales;
Thrushes and blackbirds sing in the gardens of the town
In vain: the noise of man, beast, and machine prevails.
But the call of children in the unfamiliar streets
That echo with a familiar twilight echoing,
Sweet as the voice of nightingale or lark, completes
A magic of strange welcome, so that I seem a king
Among men, beast, machine, bird, child, and the ghost
That in the echo lives and with the echo dies.
The friendless town is friendly; homeless, I am not lost;
Though I know none of these doors, and meet but strangers' eyes.
Never again, perhaps, after to-morrow, shall
I see these homely streets, these church windows alight,
Not a man or woman or child among them all:
But it is All Friends' Night, a traveller's good-night.
~ Edward Thomas,
1171:Low Tide At St. Andrews
(NEW BRUNSWICK)
The long red flats stretch open to the sky,
Breathing their moisture on the August air.
The seaweeds cling with flesh-like fingers where
The rocks give shelter that the sands deny;
And wrapped in all her summer harmonies
St. Andrews sleeps beside her sleeping seas.
The far-off shores swim blue and indistinct,
Like half-lost memories of some old dream.
The listless waves that catch each sunny gleam
Are idling up the waterways land-linked,
And, yellowing along the harbour's breast,
The light is leaping shoreward from the west.
And naked-footed children, tripping down,
Light with young laughter, daily come at eve
To gather dulse and sea clams and then heave
Their loads, returning laden to the town,
Leaving a strange grey silence when they go,-The silence of the sands when tides are low.
~ Emily Pauline Johnson,
1172:They could not help loving anything that made them laugh. The Lisbon earthquake was “embarrassing to the physicists and humiliating to theologians” (Barbier). It robbed Voltaire of his optimism. In the huge waves which engulfed the town, in the chasms which opened underneath it, in volcanic flames which raged for days in the outskirts, some 50,000 people perished. But to the courtiers of Louis XV it was an enormous joke. M. de Baschi, Madame de Pompadour’s brother-in-law, was French Ambassador there at the time. He saw the Spanish Ambassador killed by the arms of Spain, which toppled onto his head from the portico of his embassy; Baschi then dashed into the house and rescued his colleague’s little boy whom he took, with his own family, to the country. When he got back to Versailles he kept the whole Court in roars of laughter for a week with his account of it all. “Have you heard Baschi on the earthquake? ~ Nancy Mitford,
1173:The graveyard was at the top of the hill. It looked over all of the town. The town was hills - hills that issued down in trickles and then creeks and then rivers of cobblestone into the town, to flood the town with rough and beautiful stone that had been polished into smooth flatness over the centuries. It was a pointed irony that the very best view of the town could be had from the cemetery hill, where high, thick walls surrounded a collection of tombstones like wedding cakes, frosted with white angels and iced with ribbons and scrolls, one against another, toppling, shining cold. It was like a cake confectioner's yard. Some tombs were big as beds. From here, on freezing evenings, you could look down at the candle-lit valley, hear dogs bark, sharp as tuning forks banged on a flat stone, see all the funeral processions coming up the hill in the dark, coffins balanced on shoulders.

("The Candy Skull") ~ Ray Bradbury,
1174:Some three halfe pennyworth of Latine here also had he throwen at his face, but it was choise stuffe I can tell you, as there is a choise euen amongest ragges gathered vp from the dunghill. At the townes end met him the burgers and dunstical incorporationers of Wittenberg in their distinguished liueries, their distinguished liuerie faces I mene, for they were most of them hot liuered dronkards, and had all the coate coulours of sanguin, purple, crimson, copper, carnation that were to be had in their countenaunces. Filthy knaues, no cost had they bestowed on the town for his welcome, sauing new painted their houghs & bousing houses, which commonly are built fayrer than their Churches, and ouer their gates set the town armes, which sounded gulping after this sort, Vanhotten, slotten, irk bloshen glotten gelderslike: what euer the wordes were, the sense was this, Good drinke is a medicine for all diseases. A ~ Thomas Nashe,
1175:They live beyond the quick ghetto. In hovels. In the shantytown.' He smiled. 'And every night, after the sun's descended, they can crawl safely out from their shacks and shuffle into the town. Stick-figures in rags, leaning against the walls. Exhausted and starving, hands outstretched. Begging.' His voice was soft and vicious. 'Begging for the quick to take pity on them. And every so often one of us will acquiesce, and out of pity and contempt, embarrassed by our soft philanthropy, we'll stand in the eaves of a building and offer up our wrists. And you and your kind will open them, all frantic with hunger and fawning with gratitude, and take a few eager swigs, till we decide you've had enough and take back our hands while you weep and beg for more, and maybe spew because you've gone without a hit so long your stomach can't handle what it craves, and we leave you lying in the dirt, blissed by your little fix. ~ China Mi ville,
1176:But I enjoyed the feeling of wind in my hair, and I knew my father liked to see it blow straight out when we stood on the quay and watched the boats come in. And after all it was my only pride.

The train waited behind us, puffing and hissing through its valves, and even though it was only an hour's journey to Skagen, I had never been there.

'Can't we go to Skagen one day?' I asked. Being with Jesper and his friends had made me realize the world was far bigger than the town I lived in, and the fields around it, and I wanted to go travelling and see it.

'There's nothing but sand at Skagen,' my father said, 'you don't want to go there my lass." And because it was Sunday and he seldom said my lass, he took a cigar from his waistcoat pocket with a pleased expression, lit it, and blew out smoke into the wind. The smoke flew back in our faces and scorched them, but I pretended not to notice and so did he. ~ Per Petterson,
1177:What would you think about us doing the ceremony together?”

“The Crying Pools ceremony?” Kami asked. “The one Lillian said was dangerous?”

“Yeah,” Ash said. “I mean, we both know it’s a big decision. But it’s something to think over. It might make all the difference to the town. Look, do you want to come in?” He stepped a little aside. The night air was pulling frost-tipped fingers through Kami’s hair, but she stayed where she was.

“Did Jared say that? That it was a big decision?”

“And we both needed to think it through,” Ash said.

“Think it through?” Kami repeated, above the sound of the wind. “Jared? Don’t you know him at all? If he sounds reasonable, or sensible, or capable of any sort of rational thought, it means he’s lying through his teeth! What did you tell him about the ceremony?”

They stared at each other for a moment of horrified silence. “I told him how to do it,”  ~ Sarah Rees Brennan,
1178:But then she remembered something else, just a flash: looking up at Damon’s face in the woods and feeling such—such excitement, such affinity with him. As if he understood the flame that burned inside her as nobody else ever could. As if together they could do anything they liked, conquer the world or destroy it; as if they were better than anyone else who had ever lived.
I was out of my mind, irrational, she told herself, but that little flash of memory wouldn’t go away.
And then she remembered something else: how Damon had acted later that night, how he’d kept her safe, even been gentle with her.
Stefan was looking at her, and his expression had changed from belligerence to bitter anger and fear. Part of her wanted to reassure him completely, to throw her arms around him and tell him that she was his and always would be and that nothing else mattered. Not the town, not Damon, not anything.
But she wasn’t doing it. ~ L J Smith,
1179:As in Lahore, a road in this town is named after Goethe. There is a Park Street here as in Calcutta, a Malabar Holl as in Bombay, and a Naag Tolla Hill as in Dhaka. Because it was difficult to pronounce the English names, the men who arrived in this town in the 1950s had rechristened everything they saw before them. They had come from across the Subcontinent, lived together ten to a room, and the name that one of them happened to give to a street or landmark was taken up by the others, regardless of where they themselves were from. But over the decades, as more and more people came, the various nationalities of the Subcontinent have changed the names according to the specific country they themselves are from – Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Sri Lankan. Only one name has been accepted by every group, remaining unchanged. It’s the name of the town itself. Dasht-e-Tanhaii.
The Wilderness of Solitude.
The Desert of Loneliness. ~ Nadeem Aslam,
1180:...why not let nature show you a few things? Cutting grass and pulling weeds can be a way of life... Lilacs on a bush are better than orchids. And dandelions and devil grass are better! Why? Because they bend you over and turn you away from all the people and the town for a little while and sweat you and get you down where you remember you got a nose again. And when you're all to yourself that way, you're really yourself for a little while; you get to thinking things through, alone. Gardening is the handiest excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are, Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is kin to Atlas letting the world spin easy on his shoulder. As Samuel Spaudling, Esquire, once said, 'Dig in the earth, delve in the soul.' Spin those mower blades, Bill, and walk in the spray of the Fountain of Youth. ~ Ray Bradbury,
1181:M. and I have plagued each other with our differences for more than forty years. But it is also a tonic.
Along with the differences that abide in each of us, there is also in each of us the maverick, the darling stubborn one who won’t listen, who insists, who chooses preference or the spirited guess over yardsticks or even history. I suspect this maverick is somewhat what the soul is, or at least that the soul lives close by and companionably with its agitating and inquiring force. And of course all of it, the differences and the maverick uprisings, are part of the richness of life. If you are too much like myself, what shall I learn of you, or you of me? I bring home sassafras leaves and M. looks and admires. She tells me how it feels to float in the air above the town and the harbor, and my world is sweetened by her description of those blue miles. The touch of our separate excitements is another of the gifts of our life together. ~ Mary Oliver,
1182:No Beer, No Work
The shades of night was fallin’ slow
As through New York a guy did go
And nail on ev’ry barroom door
A card that this here motter bore:
'No beer, no work.'
His brow was sad, his mouth was dry;
It was the first day of July,
And where, all parched and scorched it hung,
These words was stenciled on his tongue:
'No beer, no work.'
'Oh, stay,' the maiden said, 'and sup
This malted milk from this here cup.'
A shudder passed through that there guy,
But with a moan he made reply:
'No beer, no work.'
At break of day, as through the town
The milkman put milk bottles down,
Onto one stoop a sort of snore
Was heard, and then was heard no more—
'No beer, no work.'
The poor old guy plumb dead was found
And planted in the buryin’ ground,
Still graspin’ in his hand of ice
Them placards with this sad device:
'No beer, no work.'
~ Ellis Parker Butler,
1183:The Appology
'Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule
I am alone forbid to play the fool
To follow through the Groves a wand'ring Muse
And fain'd Idea's for my pleasures chuse
Why shou'd it in my Pen be held a fault
Whilst Mira paints her face, to paint a thought
Whilst Lamia to the manly Bumper flys
And borrow'd Spiritts sparkle in her Eyes
Why shou'd itt be in me a thing so vain
To heat with Poetry my colder Brain?
But I write ill and there-fore shou'd forbear
Does Flavia cease now at her fortieth year
In ev'ry Place to lett that face be seen
Which all the Town rejected at fifteen
Each Woman has her weaknesse; mind [sic] indeed
Is still to write tho' hopelesse to succeed
Nor to the Men is this so easy found
Ev'n in most Works with which the Witts abound
(So weak are all since our first breach with Heav'n)
Ther's lesse to be Applauded than forgiven.
~ Anne Kingsmill Finch,
1184:But I knew the way the people in the town thought about things. They always had some time left over from their life to bother about other people and what they did. They thought they had to get together to help other people out, like the time they got together about the woman who let a colored man borrow her car and told her the best place for her was up north with all the other nigger lovers, and the time they got the veterans with overseas wives out. If you were different from anybody in town, you had to get out. That's why everybody was so much alike. The way they talked, what they did, what they liked, what they hated. If somebody got to hate something and he was the right person, everybody had to hate it too, or people began to hate the ones who didn't hate it. They used to tell us in school to think for yourself, but you couldn't do that in the town. You had to think what your father thought all his life, and that was what everybody thought. ~ John Kennedy Toole,
1185:Hard to believe Rebel Park was once a battlefield. All that suffering and death.”
“I thought you liked suffering and death,” Parker threw back. “I mean…you always look like suffering and death.”
“Parker, watch where you’re going!” Ashley’s voice went shrill. “For God’s sake!”
As the speedometer dropped down again, Miranda shut her eyes and clutched the edge of her seat. “So Rebel Park, the one behind Hayes House, was the actual battlefield?”
“I’m not sure.” Ashley considered a moment. “I mean, it was a huge battle. So the park was probably only part of the battlefield.”
Once more, Parker looked in the rearview mirror. “Back then, all this area was farmland and woods and swamps. That’s where most of the fighting happened. The town was pretty much spared--mainly because the Union army used it for their headquarters.”
“Parker’s mom works at the Historical Society.” Roo glanced at Miranda. “He really isn’t that smart. ~ Richie Tankersley Cusick,
1186:The town fair, which took place over the last weekend of August each year, was just over a month away. If their family agreed about anything, it was the town fair. Twiss loved the Wild West game and the spun sugar; their father loved the putting game and the caramel apples; their mother loved the bean counting game- last year she'd guessed 1,245 beans and won a forty-pound sack of kidney beans- and the Ferris wheel; and Milly loved what everyone else loved, except the livestock show and the amateur rodeo, where boys from the 4-H club wrestled calves to the ground for giant gold belt buckles.
Milly also loved how the fair transformed the abandoned field behind the high school from twenty-five dandelion-inhabited acres that went unnoticed most of the year into a kind of fairy-tale place, where people sucked on cherry-flavored ice chips and honey-roasted peanuts, and the Ferris wheel went round and round, and the firecrackers reached higher and higher. ~ Rebecca Rasmussen,
1187:She was nobody here. It was not just that she had no friends and family; it was rather that she was a ghost in this room, in the streets on the way to work, on the shop floor. Nothing meant anything. The rooms in the house on Friary Street belonged to her, she thought; when she moved in them she was really there. In the town, if she walked to the shop or to the Vocational School, the air, the light, the ground, it was all solid and part of her, even if she met no one familiar. Nothing here was part of her. It was false, empty, she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to think, as she had done so many times in her life, of something she was looking forward to, but there was nothing. Not the slightest thing. Not even Sunday. Nothing maybe except sleep, and she was not even certain she was looking forward to sleep. In any case, she could not sleep yet, since it was not yet nine o’clock. There was nothing she could do. It was as though she had been locked away. ~ Colm T ib n,
1188:The Lifting Of The Mist
All the long day the vapours played
At blindfold in the city streets,
Their elfin fingers caught and stayed
The sunbeams, as they wound their sheets
Into a filmy barricade
'Twixt earth and where the sunlight beats.
A vagrant band of mischiefs these,
With wings of grey and cobweb gown;
They live along the edge of seas,
And creeping out on foot of down,
They chase and frolic, frisk and tease
At blind-man's buff with all the town.
And when at eventide the sun
Breaks with a glory through their grey,
The vapour-fairies, one by one,
Outspread their wings and float away
In clouds of colouring, that run
Wine-like along the rim of day.
Athwart the beauty and the breast
Of purpling airs they twirl and twist,
Then float away to some far rest,
Leaving the skies all colour-kiss't-A glorious and a golden West
That greets the Lifting of the Mist.
~ Emily Pauline Johnson,
1189:As we walk through Savignio, the copper light of dusk settling over the town's narrow streets, we stop anyone we can find to ask for his or her ragù recipe. A retired policeman says he likes an all-pork sauce with a heavy hit of pancetta, the better for coating the pasta. A gelato maker explains that a touch of milk defuses the acidity of the tomato and ties the whole sauce together. Overhearing our kitchen talk below, an old woman in a navy cardigan pokes her head out of a second-story window to offer her take on the matter: "I only use tomatoes from my garden- fresh when they're in season, preserved when it gets cold."
Inspired by the Savignio citizenry, we buy meat from the butcher, vegetables and wine from a small stand in the town's piazza, and head to Alessandro's house to simmer up his version of ragù: two parts chopped skirt steak, one part ground pancetta, the sautéed vegetable trio, a splash of dry white wine, and a few canned San Marzano tomatoes. ~ Matt Goulding,
1190:I still dream in pictures and color, always the world of my childhood. I see the purple Judas trees at Easter lighting up the roadsides and terraces of the town. Ochre cliffs made of cinnamon powder. Autumn clouds rolling along the ground of the hills, and the patchwork of wet oak leaves on the grass. The shape of a rose petal. And my parents' faces, which will never grow any older.
"But it is strange how scent brings it all back too. I only have to smell certain aromas, and I am back in a certain place with a certain feeling."
The comforting past smelled of heliotrope and cherry and sweet almond biscuits: close-up smells, flowers you had to put your nose to as the sight faded from your eyes. The scents of that childhood past had already begun to slip away: Maman's apron with blotches of game stew; linen pressed with faded lavender; the sheep in the barn. The present, or what had so very recently been the present, was orange blossom infused with hope. ~ Deborah Lawrenson,
1191:A Nazarene, born of a virgin, in the town of Bethlehem, from the tribe of Judah, a Son of David. It did not matter what these chortling fools thought, the odds on fulfilling those prophecies alone were only possible for one man: Messiah. Artabanus was right about the prophet Daniel’s influence. The story of King Nebuchadnezzar II and his dream of a mighty statue of kingdoms to come was fresh on the minds of all Jews in the region. The dream image had foretold the kingdoms of Greece, Media-Persia, and now, Rome. But what was of more interest to Eleazar was the stone that was cut from the mountain of God without human hands. It hit the last kingdom of the statue and broke them all to pieces.   And in the days of those kings the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed. It shall break in pieces all these kingdoms and bring them to an end, and it shall stand forever. But the stone that struck the image became a great mountain and filled the whole earth. ~ Brian Godawa,
1192:Soli Cantare Periti Arcades
Oh, I would live in a dairy,
And its Colin I would be,
And many a rustic fairy
Should churn the milk with me.
Or the fields should be my pleasure,
And my flocks should follow me,
Piping a frolic measure
For Joan or Marjorie.
For the town is black and weary,
And I hate the London street;
But the country ways are cheery,
And country lanes are sweet.
Good luck to you, Paris ladies!
Ye are over fine and nice
I know where the country maid is,
Who needs not asking twice.
Ye are brave in your silks and satins,
As ye mince about the Town;
But her feet go free in pattens,
If she wear a russet gown.
If she be not queen nor goddess
She shall milk my brown-eyed herds,
And the breasts beneath her bodice
Are whiter than her curds.
So I will live in a dairy,
And its Colin I will be,
And its Joan that I will marry,
Or, haply, Marjorie.
~ Ernest Christopher Dowson,
1193:The Sun
Through the streets where at windows of old houses
the persian blinds hide secret luxuries,
when the cruel sun strikes with redoubled fury
on the roofs and fields, the meadows and city,
I go alone in my crazy sword-play
scenting a chance rhyme on every road-way,
stumbling on words and over the pavement
finding verses I often dreamed might be sent.
This nurturing father, anaemia’s foe
stirs, in the fields, the worm and the rose,
makes our cares evaporate into the blue,
fills the hives and our brains with honey-dew.
It is he who gives youth to the old man, the cripple,
makes them like young girls, happy and gentle,
and commands the crops to grow ripe in an hour
of the immortal heart, that so longs to flower.
When he shines on the town, a poet that sings,
he redeems the fate of the meanest things,
like a king he enters, no servants, alone,
all palaces, all hospitals where men moan.
~ Charles Baudelaire,
1194:Good Books
Good books are friendly things to own.
If you are busy they will wait.
They will not call you on the phone
Or wake you if the hour is late.
They stand together row by row,
Upon the low shelf or the high.
But if you're lonesome this you know:
You have a friend or two nearby.
The fellowship of books is real.
They're never noisy when you're still.
They won't disturb you at your meal.
They'll comfort you when you are ill.
The lonesome hours they'll always share.
When slighted they will not complain.
And though for them you've ceased to care
Your constant friends they'll still remain.
Good books your faults will never see
Or tell about them round the town.
If you would have their company
You merely have to take them down.
They'll help you pass the time away,
They'll counsel give if that you need.
He has true friends for night and day
Who has a few good books to read.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1195:As Wilson mourned his wife, German forces in Belgium entered quiet towns and villages, took civilian hostages, and executed them to discourage resistances. In the town of Dinant, German soldiers shot 612 men, women, and children. The American press called such atrocities acts of "frightfulness," the word then used to describe what later generations would call terrorism. On August 25, German forces bean an assault on the Belgian city of Louvain, the "Oxford of Belgium," a university town that was home to an important library. Three days of shelling and murder left 209 civilians dead, 1,100 buildings incinerated, and the library destroyed, along with its 230,000 books, priceless manuscripts, and artifacts. The assault was deemed an affront to just to Belgium but to the world. Wilson, a past president of Princeton University, "felt deeply the destruction of Louvain," according to his friend, Colonel House; the president feared "the war would throw the world back three or four centuries. ~ Erik Larson,
1196:8 April 1891
The obscenity of nostrils and mouths; the ignominious cupidity of smiles and women encountered in the street; the shifty baseness on every side, as of hyenas and wild beasts ready to bite: tradesmen in their shops and strollers on their pavements. How long must I suffer this? I have suffered it before, as a child, when, descending by chance to the servant's quarters, I overheard in astonishment their vile gossip, tearing up my own kind with their lovely teeth.

This hostility to the entire race, this muted detestation of lynxes in human form, I must have rediscovered it later while at school. I had a repugnance and horror for all base instincts, but am I not myself instinctively violent and lewd, murderous and sensual? Am I any different, in essence, from the members of the riotous and murderous mob of a hundred years ago, who hurled the town sergeants into the Seine and cried, 'String up the aristos!' just as they shout 'Down with the army!' or 'Death to the Jews! ~ Jean Lorrain,
1197:And then we went out to see the town. I was particularly eager to have a look at Gatlinburg because I had read about it in a wonderful book called The Lost Continent. In it the author describes the scene on Main Street thus: “Walking in an unhurried fashion up and down the street were more crowds of overweight tourists in boisterous clothes, with cameras bouncing on their bellies, consuming ice-creams, cotton candy, and corn dogs, sometimes simultaneously.” And so it was today. The same throngs of pear-shaped people in Reeboks wandered between food smells, clutching grotesque comestibles and bucket-sized soft drinks. It was still the same tacky, horrible place. Yet I would hardly have recognized it from just nine years before. Nearly every building I remembered had been torn down and replaced with something new—principally, mini-malls and shopping courts, which stretched back from the main street and offered a whole new galaxy of shopping and eating opportunities. In The Lost Continent I ~ Bill Bryson,
1198:How could the wind be so strong, so far inland, that cyclists
coming into the town in the late afternoon looked more like
sailors in peril? This was on the way into Cambridge, up Mill
Road past the cemetery and the workhouse. On the open
ground to the left the willow-trees had been blown, driven
and cracked until their branches gave way and lay about the
drenched grass, jerking convulsively and trailing cataracts of
twigs. The cows had gone mad, tossing up the silvery weeping
leaves which were suddenly, quite contrary to all their exper-
ience, everywhere within reach. Their horns were festooned
with willow boughs. Not being able to see properly, they
tripped and fell. Two or three of them were wallowing on
their backs, idiotically, exhibiting vast pale bellies intended by
nature to be always hidden. They were still munching. A scene
of disorder, tree-tops on the earth, legs in the air, in a university
city devoted to logic and reason. ~ Penelope Fitzgerald,
1199:going on? She did not know, but before the sun went down she would find out. It had something to do with that pamphlet she found in the house—sitting there before God and everybody—something to do with citizens’ councils. She knew about them, all right. New York papers full of it. She wished she had paid more attention to them, but only one glance down a column of print was enough to tell her a familiar story: same people who were the Invisible Empire, who hated Catholics; ignorant, fear-ridden, red-faced, boorish, law-abiding, one hundred per cent red-blooded Anglo-Saxons, her fellow Americans—trash. Atticus and Hank were pulling something, they were there merely to keep an eye on things—Aunty said Atticus was on the board of directors. She was wrong. It was all a mistake; Aunty got mixed up on her facts sometimes. . . . She slowed up when she came to the town. It was deserted; only two cars were in front of the drugstore. The old courthouse stood white in the afternoon glare. A black hound ~ Harper Lee,
1200:What do grown-up people know about the things boys are afraid of? Oh, hickory switches and such like, they know that. But what about what goes on in their minds when they have to come home alone at night through the lonesome places? What do they know about lonesome places where no light from the street-corner ever comes? What do they know about a place and time when a boy is very small and very alone, and the night is as big as the town, and the darkness is the whole world? When grown-ups are big, old people who cannot understand anything, no matter how plain? A boy looks up and out, but he can't look very far when the trees bend down over and press close, when the sheds rear up along one side and the trees on the other, when the darkness lies like a cloud along the sidewalk and the arc-lights are far, far away. No wonder then that Things grow in that dark place near the grain elevator. No wonder a boy runs like the wind until his heartbeats sound like a drum and push up to suffocate him. ~ August Derleth,
1201:The Canadian Rossignol (In May)
WHEN furrowed fields of shaded brown,
And emerald meadows spread between,
And belfries towering from the town,
All blent in wavering mists are seen;
When quickening woods with freshening hue
Along Mount Royal rolling swell,
When winds caress and May is new,
Oh, then my shy bird sings so well!
Because the bloodroots flock so white,
And blossoms scent the wooing air,
And mounds with trillium flags are dight,
And dells with violets frail and rare;
Because such velvet leaves unclose,
And new-born rills all chiming ring,
And blue the sun-kissed river flows,
My timid bird is forced to sing.
A joyful flourish lifted clear,
Four notes, then fails the frolic song,
And memories of a sweeter year
The wistful cadences prolong;–
'A sweeter year–Oh, heart too sore!–
I cannot sing!'–So ends the lay.
Long silence. Then awakes once more
His song, ecstatic with the May.
~ Edward William Thomson,
1202:Dog days in Maycomb meant at least one revival, and one was in progress that week. It was customary for the town’s three churches—Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian—to unite and listen to one visiting minister, but occasionally when the churches could not agree on a preacher or his salary, each congregation held its own revival with an open invitation to all; sometimes, therefore, the populace was assured of three weeks’ spiritual reawakening. Revival time was a time of war: war on sin, Coca-Cola, picture shows, hunting on Sunday; war on the increasing tendency of young women to paint themselves and smoke in public; war on drinking whiskey—in this connection at least fifty children per summer went to the altar and swore they would not drink, smoke, or curse until they were twenty-one; war on something so nebulous Jean Louise never could figure out what it was, except there was nothing to swear concerning it; and war among the town’s ladies over who could set the best table for the evangelist. ~ Harper Lee,
1203:That case was not unique in the sexual history of New Haven. When a second deformed pig was born in that troubled town, another unfortunate eccentric was also accused of bestiality by his neighbors. Even though he could not be convicted under the two-witness rule, he was imprisoned longer than anybody else in the history of the colony. When yet a third defective piglet was born with one red eye and what appeared to be a penis growing out of its head, the magistrates compelled everyone in town to view it in hopes of catching the malefactor. The people of New Haven seem to have been perfectly obsessed by fear of unnatural sex. When a dog belonging to Nicholas Bayly was observed trying to copulate with a sow, neighbors urged that it be killed. Mrs. Bayly refused and incautiously made a joke of it, saying of her dog, “if he had not a bitch, he must have something.” The magistrates of New Haven were not amused. Merely for making light of bestiality, the Baylys were banished from the town.12 ~ David Hackett Fischer,
1204:In Valleys Of Springs And Rivers
"Clunton and Clunbury,
Clungunford and Clun,
Are the quietest places
Under the sun."
In valleys of springs and rivers,
By Ony and Teme and Clun,
The country for easy livers,
The quietest under the sun,
We still had sorrows to lighten,
One could not be always glad,
And lads knew trouble at Knighton
When I was a Knighton lad.
By bridges that Thames runs under,
In London, the town built ill,
'Tis sure small matter for wonder
If sorrow is with one still.
And if as a lad grows older
The troubles he bears are more,
He carries his griefs on a shoulder
That handselled them long before.
Where shall one halt to deliver
This luggage I'd lief set down?
Not Thames, not Teme is the river,
Nor London nor Knighton the town:
'Tis a long way further than Knighton,
A quieter place than Clun,
Where doomsday may thunder and lighten
And little 'twill matter to one.
~ Alfred Edward Housman,
1205:Sam walked cautiously around Pack Leader to see the other side. There were the insect jaws protruding from the matted fur. Two, maybe three of them.
“I came for hunter kill me,” Pack Leader said.
Sam knew this was not the original Pack Leader. Lana had killed that Pack Leader. But whether this was the second coyote to hold the title or some other coyote, he didn’t know. This one had slightly better powers of speech than the first.
“Hunter’s dead,” Sam said.
“You kill.”
“Yes.”
“Kill me, Bright Hands.”
Sam had no sympathy for the coyote. The coyotes had participated in the town plaza massacre. There were bodies buried in the cemetery that had been so badly ripped by coyote teeth that they were unrecognizable.
“The flying snakes cause this?” Sam asked, pointing at the awful parasites.
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
Pack Leader made a purely coyote growl deep in his throat. “No words.”
“Then show us,” Sam said. “Take us to them.”
“Then you burn me?”
“Then I’ll burn you. ~ Michael Grant,
1206:There is something memorable in the experience to be had by going into a fair ground that stands at the edge of a Middle Western town on a night after the annual fair has been held. The sensation is one never to be forgotten. On all sides are ghosts, not of the dead, but of living people. Here, during the day just passed, have come the people from hundreds of little frame houses have gathered within these board walls. Young girls have laughed and men with beards have talked of the affairs of their lives. The place has been filled to overflowing with life. It has itched and squirmed with life and now it is night and the life has all gone away. The silence is almost terrifying. One conceals oneself standing silently beside the trunk of a tree and what there is of a reflective tendency in his nature is intensified. One shudders at the thought of the meaninglessness of life while at the same instant, and if the people of the town are his people, one loves life so intensely that tears come into the eyes. ~ Sherwood Anderson,
1207:If my people who are called by my name will humble themselves, and pray…then I will hear from heaven, and forgive their sin and heal their land. 2 CHRONICLES 7:14 Lord, I pray that You will bless my nation. Raise up wise and godly leaders who have the welfare of the people as their priority and concern, and who do the right thing so that we can lead the kind of peaceful lives you have promised in Your Word (1 Timothy 2:1-2). There is so much in the world and in my country that makes me anxious and afraid, but You have said to pray about everything that concerns me instead of worrying, and if I do, Your peace will guard my heart and mind (Philippians 4:6-7). Show me how I should pray in specific ways. I ask that You would pour out Your Spirit on every part of this country and especially on the town where I live. Expose evil and remove it from among us. Take corrupt leaders out of power. Protect us from the enemy’s plans to harm us. Keep danger, disaster, and violence far from us. In Jesus’ name I pray. ~ Stormie Omartian,
1208:The Song Of The Builder
I sink my piers to the solid rock,
And I send my steel to the sky,
And I pile up the granite, block by block
Full twenty stories high;
Nor wind nor weather shall wash away
The thing that I've builded, day by day.
Here's something of mine that shall ever stand
Till another shall tear it down;
Here is the work of my brain and hand,
Towering above the town.
And the idlers gay in their smug content,
Have nothing to leave for a monument.
Here from my girders I look below
At the throngs which travel by,
For little that's real will they leave to show
When it comes their time to die.
But I, when my time of life is through,
Will leave this building for men to view.
Oh, the work is hard and the days are long,
But hammers are tools for men,
And granite endures and steel is strong,
Outliving both brush and pen.
And ages after my voice is stilled,
Men shall know I lived by the things I build.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1209:I let myself into the cellar, locked the door behind me. The cellar was cold. I found the whisky, let myself out of the cellar and locked it, turned all the lights out, gave Mrs McSpadden the bottle, accepted a belated new-year kiss from her, then made my way out through the kitchen and the corridor and the crowded hall where the music sounded loud and people were laughing, and out through the now almost empty entrance hall and down the steps of the castle and down the driveway and down to Gallanach, where I walked along the esplanade - occasionally having to wave to say 'Happy New Year' to various people I didn't know - until I got to the old railway pier and then the harbour, where I sat on the quayside, legs dangling, drinking my whisky and watching a couple of swans glide on black, still water, to the distant sound of highland jigs coming from the Steam Packet Hotel, and singing and happy-new-year shouts echoing in the streets of the town, and the occasional sniff as my nose watered in sympathy with my eyes. ~ Iain Banks,
1210:Everything was turned to salt and embers. But the finale was yet to come. Huge geysers of salt water burst out in locations all about the Jordan Sea. They had been released like vents from Sheol. The salt water would kill all sea life in its wake as it spread through the fresh waters. One last seismic convulsion ripped through the plain. The entire valley dropped three hundred feet in five seconds. It was as if the earth had been sucked downward. In the sudden surface change, a runoff of the Jordan Sea rushed in, to fill the newly lowered plain. A wall of salt water washed over the cities of the plain, putting out the fires. It buried the inhabitants and their ruins under a blanket of salt water. A new shoreline washed up all the way to the town of Zoar, where Lot had fled to. Black steam billowed and mixed with the smoke of the burning bitumen. The plans of Ba’al and Ashtart had been thwarted. Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah and Zeboiim, were now under the deadly brine waters of what would now be called the Dead Sea. ~ Brian Godawa,
1211:But I didn’t despise the Christian girls. No, for some strange reason it was precisely them I fell for. How could I explain that to Hilde? And although I, like her, always tried to see beneath the surface, on the basis of a fundamental yet unstated tenet that what lay beneath was the truth or the reality, and, like her, always sought meaning, even if it were only to be found in an acknowledgment of meaninglessness, it was actually on the glittering and alluring surface that I wanted to live, and the chalice of meaninglessness I wanted to drain – in short I was attracted by all the town’s discos and nightspots, where I wanted nothing more than to drink myself senseless and stagger around chasing girls I could fuck, or at least make out with. How could I explain that to Hilde? I couldn’t, and I didn’t. Instead I opened a new subdivision in my life. “Booze and hopes of fornication” it was called, and it was right next to “insight and sincerity,” separated only by a minor garden-fence-like change of personality. ~ Karl Ove Knausg rd,
1212:IN the drizzling mist, with the snow high-pil'd,
In the Winter night, in the forest wild,
I heard the wolves with their ravenous howl,
I heard the screaming note of the owl:

Wille wau wau wau!

Wille wo wo wo!

Wito hu!

I shot, one day, a cat in a ditch--
The dear black cat of Anna the witch;
Upon me, at night, seven were-wolves came down,
Seven women they were, from out of the town.

Wille wau wau wau!

Wille wo wo wo!

Wito hu!

I knew them all; ay, I knew them straight;
First, Anna, then Ursula, Eve, and Kate,
And Barbara, Lizzy, and Bet as well;
And forming a ring, they began to yell:

Wille wau wau wau!

Wille wo wo wo!

Wito hu!

Then call'd I their names with angry threat:
"What wouldst thou, Anna? What wouldst thou, Bet?"
At hearing my voice, themselves they shook,
And howling and yelling, to flight they took.

Wille wau wau wau!

Wille wo wo wo!

Wito hu!
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Gipsy Song
,
1213:Immediately, I kicked into gear and did what the plan dictated: I got out of bed and took a shower, washing every last inch of myself until I squeaked. I shaved my legs all the way up to my groin and dried my hair and curled it, and put on layers of shimmery makeup. By the time I gently tapped Marlboro Man on the shoulder and told him the news, I looked like I was ready for a night on the town…and the contractions were intense enough to make me stop in my tracks and wait until they passed.
“What?” Marlboro Man raised his head off the pillow and looked at me, disoriented.
“I’m in labor,” I whispered. Why was I whispering?
“Seriously?” he replied, sitting up and looking at my belly, as if it would look any different.
Marlboro Man threw on his clothes and brushed his teeth, and within minutes we were in the car, driving to the hospital over sixty miles away. My labor was progressing; I could tell. I felt like something was inside my body and wanted to come out.
It was a normal sensation, given the circumstances. ~ Ree Drummond,
1214:Spring (Fragment 3)
Is it only dirt you notice?
Does the thaw not catch your glance?
As a dapple-grey fine stallion
Does it not through ditches dance?
Is it only birds that chatter
In the blueness of the skies,
Sipping through the straws of sunrays
Lemon liturgies on ice?
Only look, and you will see it:
From the rooftops to the ground
Moscow, all day long, like Kitezh
Lies, in light-blue water drowned.
Why are all the roofs transparent
And the colours crystal-bright?
Bricks like rushes gently swaying,
Mornings rush into the night.
Like a bog the town is swampy
And the scabs of snow are rare.
February, like saturated
Cottonwool in spirits, flares.
This white flame wears out the garrets,
And the air, in the oblique
Interplace of twigs and birds, is
Naked, weightless and unique.
In such days the crowds of people
Knock you down; you are unknown,
Nameless; and your girl is with them,
But you, too, are not alone.
~ Boris Pasternak,
1215:Even in her dark bombazine dress, as high-necked and pristine as a nun's habit, Larissa Crossland possessed a soft, elegant beauty. With her dark sable hair always seeming on the verge of tumbling from its pins, and sultry pale green eyes, she was original and striking. However, her looks generated little heat. She was often admired but never pursued... never flirted with or desired. Perhaps it was the way she used cheerfulness like a weapon, if such a thing were possible, keeping everyone at a distance.
It seemed to many in the town of Market Hill that Lara was an almost saintly figure. A woman with her looks and position could have managed to snare a second husband, yet she had chosen to stay here and involve herself in charitable works. She was unfailingly gentle and compassionate, and her generosity extended to nobleman and beggar alike. Young had never heard Lady Hawksworth utter an unkind word about anyone, not the husband who had virtually abandoned her nor the relatives who treated her with contemptible stinginess. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
1216:Cole envisioned the next few weeks passing as a sort of painless montage: there'd be music, and different moments of the townspeople hard at work building a defensive wall around the perimeter of the town, and digging holes to serve as traps, and training with the few weapons they had. There'd be a wiping of perspiration and drinks raised to one another and the exchange of friendly smiles between comrades, and perhaps deeper, more meaningful glances between him and MaryAnn.

But by midmorning of the first day, Cole had come to the unavoidable conclusion that the remainder of the experience would in fact drag on in exceedingly real time, with lots of heaving and hoing and digging and hauling under the hot sun, full of the kind of intense straining that raised the danger of a really spectacular hernia. And, judging from the few tense conversations he'd had so far, he foresaw a series of increasingly strident arguments with Nora regarding matters strategic. Plus, of course, at the end of all this effort they'd all probably be dead. ~ Michael Rubens,
1217:GIVEN A CHOICE between death and the Buford Zippy Mart, Nico would’ve had a tough time deciding. At least he knew his way around the Land of the Dead. Plus the food was fresher. ‘I still don’t get it,’ Coach Hedge muttered as they roamed the centre aisle. ‘They named a whole town after Leo’s table?’ ‘I think the town was here first, Coach,’ Nico said. ‘Huh.’ The coach picked up a box of powdered doughnuts. ‘Maybe you’re right. These look at least a hundred years old. I miss those Portuguese farturas.’ Nico couldn’t think about Portugal without his arms hurting. Across his biceps, the werewolf claw marks were still swollen and red. The store clerk had asked Nico if he’d picked a fight with a bobcat. They bought a first-aid kit, a pad of paper (so Coach Hedge could write more paper aeroplane messages to his wife), some junk food and soda (since the banquet table in Reyna’s new magic tent only provided healthy food and fresh water) and some miscellaneous camping supplies for Coach Hedge’s useless but impressively complicated monster traps. ~ Rick Riordan,
1218:The famous seventeenth-century Ming painter Chou Yung relates a story that altered his behavior forever. Late one winter afternoon he set out to visit a town that lay across the river from his own town. He was bringing some important books and papers with him and had commissioned a young boy to help him carry them. As the ferry neared the other side of the river, Chou Yung asked the boatman if they would have time to get to the town before its gates closed, since it was a mile away and night was approaching. The boatman glanced at the boy, and at the bundle of loosely tied papers and books—“Yes,” he replied, “if you do not walk too fast.” As they started out, however, the sun was setting. Afraid of being locked out of the town at night, prey to local bandits, Chou and the boy walked faster and faster, finally breaking into a run. Suddenly the string around the papers broke and the documents scattered on the ground. It took them many minutes to put the packet together again, and by the time they had reached the city gates, it was too late. ~ Robert Greene,
1219:At last he was to feel that he had the town, as it were, in his pocket, and was ready for anything. Accordingly he sent a confidential messenger to Rome, to ask his father what step he should next take, his power in Gabii being, by God's grace, by this time absolute. Tarquin, I suppose, was not sure of the messenger's good faith: in any case, he said not a word in reply to his question, but with a thoughtful air went out to the garden. The man followed him, and Tarquin, strolling up and down in silence, began knocking off poppy-heads with his stick. The messenger at last wearied of putting his question and waiting for the reply, so he returned to Gabii supposing his mission to have failed. He told Sextus what he had said and what he had seen his father do: the king, he declared, whether from anger, or hatred, or natural arrogance, had not uttered a single word. Sextus realized that though his father had not spoken, he had, by his action, indirectly expressed his meaning clearly enough; so he proceeded at once to act upon his murderous instructions. ~ Livy,
1220:Ballade Of A Special Edition
He comes; I hear him up the street-Bird of ill omen, flapping wide
The pinion of a printed sheet,
His hoarse note scares the eventide.
Of slaughter, theft, and suicide
He is the herald and the friend;
Now he vociferates with pride-A double murder in Mile End!
A hanging to his soul is sweet;
His gloating fancy's fain to bide
Where human-freighted vessels meet,
And misdirected trains collide.
With Shocking Accidents supplied,
He tramps the town from end to end.
How often have we heard it cried-A double murder in Mile End.
War loves he; victory or defeat,
So there be loss on either side.
His tale of horrors incomplete,
Imagination's aid is tried.
Since no distinguished man has died,
And since the Fates, relenting, send
No great catastrophe, he's spied
This double murder in Mile End.
Fiend, get thee gone! no more repeat
Those sounds which do mine ears offend.
It is apocryphal, you cheat,
Your double murder in Mile End.
~ Amy Levy,
1221:Something In The Papers
'What's in the paper?' Oh, it's dev'lish dull:
There's nothing happening at all-a lull
After the war-storm. Mr. Someone's wife
Killed by her lover with, I think, a knife.
A fire on Blank Street and some babies-one,
Two, three or four, I don't remember, done
To quite a delicate and lovely brown.
A husband shot by woman of the town
The same old story. Shipwreck somewhere south.
The crew, all saved-or lost. Uncommon drouth
Makes hundreds homeless up the River Mud
Though, come to think, I guess it was a flood.
'T is feared some bank will burst-or else it won't
They always burst, I fancy-or they don't;
Who cares a cent?-the banker pays his coin
And takes his chances: bullet in the groin
But that's another item-suicide
Fool lost his money (serve him right) and died.
Heigh-ho! there's noth-Jerusalem! what's this:
Tom Jones has failed! My God, what an abyss
Of ruin!-owes me seven hundred clear!
Was ever such a damned disastrous year!
~ Ambrose Bierce,
1222:Things throng and laugh loud in the sky; the sands and dust dance
and whirl like children. Man's mind is aroused by their shouts; his
thoughts long to be the playmates of things.
  Our dreams, drifting in the stream of the vague, stretch their
arms to clutch the earth, -their efforts stiffen into bricks and
stones, and thus the city of man is built.
  Voices come swarming from the past,-seeking answers from the
living moments. Beats of their wings fill the air with tremulous
shadows, and sleepless thoughts in our minds leave their nests to
take flight across the desert of dimness, in the passionate thirst
for forms. They are lampless pilgrims, seeking the shore of light,
to find themselves in things. They will be lured into poets's
rhymes, they will be housed in the towers of the town not yet
planned, they have their call to arms from the battle fields of the
future, they are bidden to join hands in the strife of peace yet
to come.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts LVIII - Things Throng And Laugh
,
1223:She was with me the day I went to the paint store to pick out the color. I had a nice tan color in mind, but May latched on to this sample called Caribbean Pink. She said it made her feel like dancing a Spanish flamenco. I thought, "Well, this is the tackiest color I've ever seen, and we'll have half the town talking about us, but if it can lift May's heart like that, I guess she ought to live inside it."
"All this time I just figured you liked pink," I said.
She laughed again. "You know, some things don't matter that much, Lily.. Like the color of a house. How big is that in the over-all scheme of life? But lifting a person's heart-now, that matters. The whole problem with people is-"
"They don't know what matters and what doesn't," I said, filling in her sentence and feeling proud of myself for doing so.
"I was gonna say, The problem is they know what matters, but they don't choose it. You know how hard that is, Lily? I love May, but it was still so hard to choose Caribbean Pink. The hardest thing on earth is choosing what matters. ~ Sue Monk Kidd,
1224:There are several aerial films of the incoming tsunami, but the one that plays and replays in my imagination was shot above the town of Natori, south of the city of Sendai. It begins over land rather than sea, with a view of dun winter paddy fields. Something is moving across the landscape as if it is alive, a brown-snouted animal hungrily bounding over the earth. Its head is a scum of splintered debris; entire cars bob along on its back. It seems to steam and smoke as it moves; its body looks less like water or mud than a kind of solid vapor. And then a large boat can be seen riding it inland, hundreds of yards from the sea, and—unbelievably—blue-tiled houses, still structurally intact, spinning across the inundated fields with orange flames dancing on their roofs. The creature turns a road into a river, then swallows it whole, and then it is raging over more fields and roads towards a village and a highway thick with cars. One driver is accelerating ahead of it, racing to escape—before the car and its occupants are gobbled up by the wave. ~ Richard Lloyd Parry,
1225:Under Stars

The sleep of this night deepens

because I have walked coatless from the house

carrying the white envelope.

All night it will say one name

in its little tin house by the roadside.


I have raised the metal flag

so its shadow under the roadlamp

leaves an imprint on the rain-heavy bushes.

Now I will walk back

thinking of the few lights still on

in the town a mile away.


In the yellowed light of a kitchen

the millworker has finished his coffee,

his wife has laid out the white slices of bread

on the counter. Now while the bed they have left

is still warm, I will think of you, you

who are so far away

you have caused me to look up at the stars.


Tonight they have not moved

from childhood, those games played after dark.

Again I walk into the wet grass

toward the starry voices. Again, I

am the found one, intimate, returned

by all I touch on the way. ~ Tess Gallagher,
1226:Golden--Of The Selkirks
A trail upwinds from Golden;
It leads to a land God only knows,
To the land of eternal frozen snows,
That trail unknown and olden.
And they tell a tale that is strange and wild-Of a lovely and lonely mountain child
That went up the trail from Golden.
A child in the sweet of her womanhood,
Beautiful, tender, grave and good
As the saints in time long olden.
And the days count not, nor the weeks avail;
For the child that went up the mountain trail
Came never again to Golden.
And the watchers wept in the midnight gloom,
Where the canyons yawn and the Selkirks loom,
For the love that they knew of olden.
And April dawned, with its suns aflame,
And the eagles wheeled and the vultures came
And poised o'er the town of Golden.
God of the white eternal peaks,
Guard the dead while the vulture seeks!-God of the days so olden.
For only God in His greatness knows
Where the mountain holly above her grows,
On the trail that leads from Golden.
~ Emily Pauline Johnson,
1227:One bright October morning in the year 1828, a lone lorn woman by the name of GUMMIDGE might have been seen standing at the corner of a wheat-field where two cross-roads met and embraced. She was weeping violently. Ever and anon she would raise her head and gaze mysteriously in the direction of a cloud of dust which moved slowly over the hill toward the town. Her name was FATIMA. FATIMA GUMMIDGE. "Sister ANNIE," she cried, "what do you see?" But sister ANNIE was far away. She was not there. She was attending an agricultural fair in the beautiful young state of Kansas. Thus gracefully do we introduce our heroine upon the scene. The reader will be able to judge, from this, whether we are familiar with the literature of our day, or not. He will be able to form a complimentary opinion of our culture. He will perceive that we are acquainted with the writings of Messrs. JAMES, and DICKENS, and BLUEBEARD. There is nothing like impressing your reader with an adequate sense of your ability for laborious research, when you are doing biography for a high-toned journal. ~ Various,
1228:The Accursed Cherub
Bluish roofs and white doors
As on nocturnal Sundays,
At the town's end,
the road without Sound is white,
and it is night.
The street has strange houses
With shutters of angels.
But look how he runs towards a Boundary-stone,
evil and shivering, A dark cherub who staggers,
Having eaten too many jububes.
He does a cack : then disappears :
But his cursed cack appears,
Under the holy empty moon,
A slight cesspool of dirty blood !
Louis Ratisbonne.
Original French
L'angelot maudit
Toits bleuâtres et portes blanches
Comme en de nocturnes dimanches,
Au bout de la ville sans bruit
La Rue est blanche, et c'est la nuit.
La Rue a des maisons étranges
Avec des persiennes d'Anges.
Mais, vers une borne, voici
Accourir, mauvais et transi,
Un noir Angelot qui titube,
Ayant trop mangé de jujube.
Il fait caca : puis disparaît :
159
Mais son caca maudit paraît,
Sous la lune sainte qui vaque,
De sang sale un léger cloaque
~ Arthur Rimbaud,
1229:They made their way through the cluttered back alleys that Edna knew so well. They avoided the central bonfire. They were almost to her parents’ street, when curiosity got the better of them. They decided to turn back and take a look. A gap in the wreckage gave them a better look at the open space. The debris in the town square had been cleared away and piled up with wood from the marauding. Nearly a hundred of the giants stood around like a gang of miscreants. Vomit arose in Edna’s throat. They could see a crude line of cages full of weeping, pleading humans. Other humans were strung up from poles, and still others were encircled and taunted by groups of Nephilim. But the ultimate atrocity playing out before their eyes was not one of torture and rape, but cannibalism. The Nephilim were eating their captives one by one. Some took the time to impale the victims and roast them over the flames. Others had no such civility, eating the poor humans alive and drinking their blood. The hostages were not being held for ransom at all. They were being held for food. ~ Brian Godawa,
1230:The Lads In Their Hundreds
The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.
There's chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart,
And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave,
And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart,
And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave.
I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell
The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern;
And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell
And watch them depart on the way that they will not return.
But now you may stare as you like and there's nothing to scan;
And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,
The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
~ Alfred Edward Housman,
1231:The sidewalks were haunted by dust
ghosts all night as the furnace wind summoned them up,
swung them about, and gentled them down in a warm spice on
the lawns. Trees, shaken by the footsteps of late-night strol-
lers, sifted avalanches of dust. From midnight on, it seemed a
volcano beyond the town was showering red-hot ashes every-
where, crusting slumberless night watchmen and irritable
dogs. Each house was a yellow attic smoldering with spon-
taneous combustion at three in the morning.

Dawn, then, was a time where things changed element for
element. Air ran like hot spring waters nowhere, with no
sound. The lake was a quantity of steam very still and deep
over valleys of fish and sand held baking under its serene
vapors. Tar was poured licorice in the streets, red bricks were
brass and gold, roof tops were paved with bronze. The high-
tension wires were lightning held forever, blazing, a threat
above the unslept houses.
The cicadas sang louder and yet louder.
The sun did not rise, it overflowed. ~ Ray Bradbury,
1232:My Peggy Is A Young Thing
My Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens,
Fair as the day, and sweet as May
Fair as the day, and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The Wawking of the Fauld.
My Peggy speaks sæ sweetly,
When'er we meet alane,
I wish næ mair to lay my care,
I wish næ mair of a' that's rare.
My Peggy speaks sæ sweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld;
But she gars a' my spirits glow
At Wawking of the Fauld.
My Peggy smiles sæ kindly,
Whene'er I whisper Love,
That I look down on a' the Town,
That I look down upon a Crown.
My Peggy smiles sæ kindly,
It makes my blythe and bauld,
And naithing gi'es me sic delight,
As Wawking of the Fauld.
My Peggy sings sæ saftly,
When on my pipe I play;
By a' the rest it is confest,
By a' the rest, that she sings best.
My Peggy sings sæ saftly,
And in her songs are tald,
With innocence the wale of Sense,
At Wawking of the Fauld.
~ Allan Ramsay,
1233:Cornish Lullaby
Out on the mountain over the town,
All night long, all night long,
The trolls go up and the trolls go down,
Bearing their packs and crooning a song;
And this is the song the hill-folk croon,
As they trudge in the light of the misty moon,-This is ever their dolorous tune:
"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-Bright red gold for dearie!"
Deep in the hill the yeoman delves
All night long, all night long;
None but the peering, furtive elves
See his toil and hear his song;
Merrily ever the cavern rings
As merrily ever his pick he swings,
And merrily ever this song he sings:
"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-Bright red gold for dearie!"
Mother is rocking thy lowly bed
All night long, all night long,
Happy to smooth thy curly head
And to hold thy hand and to sing her song;
'T is not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old,
Nor the song of the yeoman, stanch and bold,
And the burden it beareth is not of gold;
But it's "Love, love!--nothing but love,-Mother's love for dearie!"
~ Eugene Field,
1234:In America, too, the reality behind the words of the Declaration of Independence (issued in the same year as Adam Smith’s capitalist manifesto, The Wealth of Nations) was that a rising class of important people needed to enlist on their side enough Americans to defeat England, without disturbing too much the relations of wealth and power that had developed over 150 years of colonial history. Indeed, 69 percent of the signers of the Declaration of Independence had held colonial office under England. When the Declaration of Independence was read, with all its flaming radical language, from the town hall balcony in Boston, it was read by Thomas Crafts, a member of the Loyal Nine group, conservatives who had opposed militant action against the British. Four days after the reading, the Boston Committee of Correspondence ordered the townsmen to show up on the Common for a military draft. The rich, it turned out, could avoid the draft by paying for substitutes; the poor had to serve. This led to rioting, and shouting: “Tyranny is Tyranny let it come from whom it may. ~ Howard Zinn,
1235:Gold And Love For Dearie
Out on the mountain over the town,
All night long, all night long,
The trolls go up and the trolls go down,
Bearing their packs and singing a song;
And this is the song the hill-folk croon,
As they trudge in the light of the misty moon-This is ever their dolorous tune:
'Gold, gold! ever more gold-Bright red gold for dearie!'
Deep in the hill a father delves
All night long, all night long;
None but the peering, furtive elves
Sees his toil and hears his song;
Merrily ever the cavern rings
As merrily ever his pick he swings,
And merrily ever this song he sings:
'Gold, gold! ever more gold-Bright red gold for dearie!'
Mother is rocking thy lowly bed
All night long, all night long,
Happy to smooth thy curly head,
To hold thy hand and to sing her song:
'T is not of the hill-folk dwarfed and old,
Nor the song of thy father, stanch and bold,
And the burthen it beareth is not of gold:
But it 's 'Love, love! nothing but love-Mother's love for dearie!'
~ Eugene Field,
1236:I’m grinning like the town idiot. And now is not the time to be grinning like the town idiot, not when I’m buck naked in a room full of showering dudes and my girlfriend is glaring daggers at me. But I’m so happy to see her that I can’t control my facial muscles.

My eyes eat up the sight of her. Her gorgeous face. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail with a pink hair thingie. Infuriated green eyes.

She’s so damn hot when she’s mad at me.

“It’s nice to see you too, baby,” I answer cheerfully. “How was your break?”

“Don’t you baby me. And don’t ask about my break because you don’t deserve to know about it!” Hannah glowers at me, then shifts her attention to the three hockey players in the neighboring stalls. “For the love of Pete, would you guys just rinse off and skedaddle already? I’m trying to yell at your captain.”

I choke back a laugh, which ends up spilling out when my teammates snap to attention like they’ve been issued a command by a drill sergeant. Showers turn off and towels come out, and a moment later, Hannah and I are alone. ~ Elle Kennedy,
1237:The hearing was adjourned. For a few brief moments, as I left the Law Courts on my way to the van, I recognised the familiar smells and colours of a summer evening. In the darkness of my mobile prison I rediscovered one by one, as if rising from the depths of my fatigue, all the familiar sounds of a town that I loved and of a certain time of day when I sometimes used to feel happy. The cries of the newspaper sellers in the languid evening air, the last few birds in the square, the shouts of the sandwich sellers, the moaning of the trams high in the winding streets of the town and the murmuring of the sky before darkness spills over onto the port, all these sounds marked out an invisible route which I knew so well before going into prison. Yes, this was the time of day when, long ago, I used to feel happy. What always awaited me then was a night of easy, dreamless sleep. And yet something had changed, for with the prospect of the coming day, it was to my cell that I returned. As if a familiar journey under a summer sky could as easily end in prison as in innocent sleep. ~ Albert Camus,
1238:The Pleiades
LAST night I saw the Pleiades again,
Faint as a drift of steam
From some tall chimney-stack;
And I remembered you as you were then:
Awoke dead worlds of dream,
And Time turned slowly back.
I saw the Pleiades through branches bare,
And close to mine your face
Soft glowing in the dark;
For Youth and Hope and Love and You were there
At our dear trysting-place
In that bleak London park.
And as we kissed the Pleiades looked down
From their immeasurable
Aloofness in cold Space.
Do you remember how a last leaf brown
Between us flickering fell
Soft on your upturned face?
Last night I saw the Pleiades again,
Here in the alien South,
Where no leaves fade at all;
And I remembered you as you were then,
And felt upon my mouth
Your leaf-light kisses fall!
The Pleiades remember and look down
On me made old with grief,
Who then a young god stood,
When you—now lost and trampled by the Town,
A lone wind-driven leaf,—
Were young and sweet and good!
~ Arthur Henry Adams,
1239:All at once Sherman was aware of a figure approaching him on the sidewalk, in the wet black shadows of the town houses and the trees. Even from fifty feet away, in the darkness, he could tell. It was that deep worry that lives in the base of the skull of every resident of Park Avenue south of Ninety-sixth Street—a black youth, tall, rangy, wearing white sneakers. Now he was forty feet away, thirty-five. Sherman stared at him. Well, let him come! I’m not budging! It’s my territory! I’m not giving way for any street punks! The black youth suddenly made a ninety-degree turn and cut straight across the street to the sidewalk on the other side. The feeble yellow of a sodium-vapor streetlight reflected for an instant on his face as he checked Sherman out. He had crossed over! What a stroke of luck! Not once did it dawn on Sherman McCoy that what the boy had seen was a thirty-eight-year-old white man, soaking wet, dressed in some sort of military-looking raincoat full of straps and buckles, holding a violently lurching animal in his arms, staring, bug-eyed, and talking to himself. ~ Tom Wolfe,
1240:Women are supposed to undergo a second, gynecologist annual exam, and this one has been well defined since its inception in the 1950s: breast and external genitalia exams, a Pap smear to detect cervical cancer, a vaginal and perhaps rectal exam. These exams are not always voluntarily undertaken; they may be required as a condition of obtaining or renewing a prescription for a contraceptive: Recall the searing scene in Mad Men where Peggy undergoes a gyn exam in order to get birth control pills and the (male) doctor cautions her that just because the pills are expensive, she shouldn't become "the town pump just to get [her] money's worth." Many women are traumatized by these exams, which in their detailed attention to breasts and genitalia so closely mimic actual sexual encounters. Out-of-place intimacies, like unwelcome touching by a male coworker, are normally regarded as "sexual harassment," but the entire gyn exam consists of intimate touching, however disguised as a professional scientifically justified procedure. And sometimes this can be a pretty thin disguise. ~ Barbara Ehrenreich,
1241:that you had always felt to be safe before, it tended to leave a scar. ‘But you knew her sister, I believe?’ she pressed on. Diane looked puzzled. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ And she wasn’t lying either, Hillary thought instantly. She knew this type of witness. All her life, Diane Burgess had respected the law — she’d probably been taught it by her respectable working-class parents, and then had it reinforced by her school teachers, and would no doubt have drummed the same mindset into any children she may have had. Added to that, she was a genuinely timid soul, and they tended to avoid confrontation out of habit. More than anything else, she would be uncomfortable lying, especially to someone in authority. It was far easier for someone like this to simply tell the truth. It required less effort. Hillary would have bet her first pay cheque — when she got it — that this woman was going to answer anything and everything put to her as honestly and as simply as she could hope for. ‘You used to work at Tesco didn’t you? In the town?’ ‘Oh that was years ago.’ ‘But you used to serve Anne ~ Faith Martin,
1242:I knew a young fellow once, who was studying to play the bagpipes, and you would be surprised at the amount of opposition he had to contend with.  Why, not even from the members of his own family did he receive what you could call active encouragement.  His father was dead against the business from the beginning, and spoke quite unfeelingly on the subject. My friend used to get up early in the morning to practise, but he had to give that plan up, because of his sister.  She was somewhat religiously inclined, and she said it seemed such an awful thing to begin the day like that. So he sat up at night instead, and played after the family had gone to bed, but that did not do, as it got the house such a bad name.  People, going home late, would stop outside to listen, and then put it about all over the town, the next morning, that a fearful murder had been committed at Mr. Jefferson’s the night before; and would describe how they had heard the victim’s shrieks and the brutal oaths and curses of the murderer, followed by the prayer for mercy, and the last dying gurgle of the corpse. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
1243:Now, life, ordinary, jolly, heathen, human life, is simply chockful of these dead words and meaningless ceremonies. You will not escape from them by escaping from the Church into the world. When the critic in question, or a thousand other critics like him, say that we are only required to make a material or mechanical attendance at Mass, he says something which is not true about the ordinary Catholic in his feelings about the Catholic Sacraments. But he says something which is true about the ordinary official attending official functions, about the ordinary Court levee or Ministerial reception, and about three-quarters of the ordinary society calls and polite visits in the town. This deadening of repeated social action may be a harmless thing; it may be a melancholy thing; it may be a mark of the Fall of Man; it may be anything the critic chooses to think. But those who have made it, hundreds and hundreds of times, a special and concentrated charge against the Church, are men blind to the whole human world they live in and unable to see anything but the thing they traduce. There ~ G K Chesterton,
1244:I Watched The Moon Around The House (629)
I watched the Moon around the House
Until upon a Pane -She stopped -- a Traveller's privilege -- for Rest -And there upon
I gazed -- as at a stranger -The Lady in the Town
Doth think no incivility
To lift her Glass -- upon -But never Stranger justified
The Curiosity
Like Mine -- for not a Foot -- nor Hand -Nor Formula -- had she -But like a Head -- a Guillotine
Slid carelessly away -Did independent, Amber -Sustain her in the sky -Or like a Stemless Flower -Upheld in rolling Air
By finer Gravitations -Than bind Philosopher -No Hunger -- had she -- nor an Inn -Her Toilette -- to suffice -Nor Avocation nor Concern
for little Mysteries
As harass us -- like Life -- and Death -And Afterwards -- or Nay -But seemed engrossed to Absolute -With shining -- and the Sky -The privilege to scrutinize
Was scarce upon my Eyes
When, with a Silver practise -She vaulted out of Gaze --
511
And next -- I met her on a Cloud -Myself too far below
To follow her superior Road -Or its advantage -- Blue -~ Emily Dickinson,
1245:Provincetown is by nature a destination. It is the land’s end; it is not en route to anywhere else. One of its charms is the fact that those who go there have made some effort to do so. Provincetown is three miles long and just slightly more than two blocks wide. Two streets run its entire length from east to west: Commercial, a narrow one-way street where almost all the businesses are, and Bradford, a more utilitarian two-way street a block north of Commercial. Residential roads, some of them barely one car wide, run at right angles on a semiregular grid between Commercial and Bradford streets and then, north of Bradford, meander out into dunes or modest hollows of surviving forest, as the terrain dictates. Although the town has been there since before 1720 (the year it was incorporated) and has survived any number of disastrous storms, it is still possible that a major hurricane, if it hit head-on, would simply sweep everything away, since Provincetown has no bedrock, no firm purchase of any kind. It is a city of sand, more or less the way Arctic settlements are cities of ice. ~ Michael Cunningham,
1246:I'm a writer and I'm feeling like death, as you would too if you'd just flown into Grand Rapids, Michigan at some ungodly hour of the morning only to discover that you can't get into your hotel room for another three hours. In fact it's enough just to have flown into Grand Rapids, Michigan. If you are a native of Grand Rapids, Michigan, then please assume that I am just kidding. Anyone else will surely realise that I am not.

Having nowhere else to go, I am standing up, leaning against a mantelpiece. Well, a kind of mantelpiece. I don't know what it is, in fact. It's made of brass and some kind of plastic and was probably drawn in by the architect after a nasty night on the town. That reminds me of another favourite piece of information: there is a large kink in the trans-Siberian railway because when the Czar (I don't know which Czar it was because I am not in my study at home I'm leaning against something shamefully ugly in Michigan and there are no books) decreed that the trans-Siberian railway should be built, he drew a line on a map with a ruler. The ruler had a nick in it. ~ Douglas Adams,
1247:In a sense Provincetown is a beach. If you stand on the shore watching the tide recede, you are merely that much closer to the water and that much more available to weather than you would be in the middle of town. All along the bay side, the entire length of town, the beach slopes gently, bearded with kelp and dry sea grass. Because Provincetown stands low on the continental shelf, it is profoundly affected by tides, which can exceed a twelve-foot drop at the syzygy of sun, moon, and earth. Interludes of beach that are more than a hundred yards wide at low tide vanish entirely when the tide is high. The water of the bay is utterly calm in most weathers and warmer than that of the ocean beaches, but this being the North Atlantic, no water anywhere is ever what you could rightfully call warm, not even in August. Except in extreme weather the bay beach is entirely domesticated, the backyard of the town, never empty but never crowded, either; there is no surf there, and the water that laps docilely up against the shore is always full of boats. The bay beach is especially good for dogs ~ Michael Cunningham,
1248:When I Woke
When I woke, the town spoke.
Birds and clocks and cross bells
Dinned aside the coiling crowd,
The reptile profligates in a flame,
Spoilers and pokers of sleep,
The next-door sea dispelled
Frogs and satans and woman-luck,
While a man outside with a billhook,
Up to his head in his blood,
Cutting the morning off,
The warm-veined double of Time
And his scarving beard from a book,
Slashed down the last snake as though
It were a wand or subtle bough,
Its tongue peeled in the wrap of a leaf.
Every morning I make,
God in bed, good and bad,
After a water-face walk,
The death-stagged scatter-breath
Mammoth and sparrowfall
Everybody's earth.
Where birds ride like leaves and boats like ducks
I heard, this morning, waking,
Crossly out of the town noises
A voice in the erected air,
No prophet-progeny of mine,
Cry my sea town was breaking.
No Time, spoke the clocks, no God, rang the bells,
I drew the white sheet over the islands
And the coins on my eyelids sang like shells.
~ Dylan Thomas,
1249:Ballade Of The Dead Cities
The dust of Carthage and the dust
Of Babel on the desert wold,
The loves of Corinth, and the lust,
Orchomenos increased with gold;
The town of Jason, over-bold,
And Cherson, smitten in her prime What are they but a dream half-told?
Where are the cities of old time?
In towns that were a kingdom's trust,
In dim Atlantic forests' fold,
The marble wasteth to a crust,
The granite crumbles into mould;
O'er these--left nameless from of old As over Shinar's brick and slime,
One vast forgetfulness is roll'd Where are the cities of old time?
The lapse of ages, and the rust,
The fire, the frost, the waters cold,
Efface the evil and the just;
From Thebes, that Eriphyle sold,
To drown'd Caer-Is, whose sweet bells toll'd
Beneath the wave a dreamy chime
That echo'd from the mountain-hold, 'Where are the cities of old time?'
ENVOY.
Prince, all thy towns and cities must
Decay as these, till all their crime,
And mirth, and wealth, and toil are thrust
Where are the cities of old time.
~ Andrew Lang,
1250:Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey of duck saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.
He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said,
They drowned a man there last week.
He went for a drive, and he made a start,
Which should have been made last week,
For the old horse died of a broken heart;
So he footed it home and he dragged the cart -But the horse was all right last week,
They said,
He trotted a match last week.
So he asked all the bushies who came from afar
To visit the town last week
If the'd dine with him, and they said "Hurrah!"
But there wasn't a drop in the whisky jar -You should have been here last week,
He said,
I drank it all up last week!
~ Banjo Paterson,
1251:The Inheritance
Since you did depart
Out of my reach, my darling,
Into the hidden,
I see each shadow start
With recognition, and I
Am wonder-ridden.
I am dazed with the farewell,
But I scarcely feel your loss.
You left me a gift
Of tongues, so the shadows tell
Me things, and silences toss
Me their drift.
You sent me a cloven fire
Out of death, and it burns in the draught
Of the breathing hosts,
Kindles the darkening pyre
For the sorrowful, till strange brands waft
Like candid ghosts.
Form after form, in the streets
Waves like a ghost along,
Kindled to me;
The star above the house-top greets
Me every eve with a long
Song fierily.
All day long, the town
Glimmers with subtle ghosts
Going up and down
In a common, prison-like dress;
But their daunted looking flickers
To me, and I answer, Yes!
So I am not lonely nor sad
Although bereaved of you,
My little love.
I move among a kinsfolk clad
141
With words, but the dream shows through
As they move.
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
1252:They have found a house in the stay-away zone, under the barrage balloons south of London. The town, evacuated in ’40, is still “regulated”—still on the Ministry’s list. Roger and Jessica occupy the place illegally, in a defiance they can never measure unless they’re caught. Jessica has brought an old doll, seashells, her aunt’s grip filled with lace knickers and silk stockings. Roger’s managed to scare up a few chickens to nest in the empty garage. Whenever they meet here, one always remembers to bring a fresh flower or two. The nights are filled with explosion and motor transport, and wind that brings them up over the downs a last smack of the sea. Day begins with a hot cup and a cigarette over a little table with a weak leg that Roger has repaired, provisionally, with brown twine. There’s never much talk but touches and looks, smiles together, curses for parting. It is marginal, hungry, chilly—most times they’re too paranoid to risk a fire—but it’s something they want to keep, so much that to keep it they will take on more than propaganda has ever asked them for. They are in love. Fuck the war. ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1253:They have found a house in the stay-away zone, under the barrage balloons south of London. The town, evacuated in '40, is still "regulated"—still on the Ministry's list. Roger and Jessica occupy the place illegally, in a defiance they can never measure unless they're caught. Jessica has brought an old doll, seashells, her aunt's grip filled with lace knickers and silk stockings. Roger's managed to scare up a few chickens to nest in the empty garage. Whenever they meet here, one always remembers to bring a fresh flower or two. The nights are filled with explosion and motor transport, and wind that brings them up over the downs and a smack of the sea. Day begins with a hot cup and a cigarette over a little table with a weak leg that Roger has repaired, provisionally, with brown twine. There's never much talk but touches and looks, smiles together, curses for parting. It is marginal, hungry, chilly-most times they're too paranoid to risk a fire—but it's something they want to keep, so much that to keep it, they will take on more than propaganda has ever asked them for. They are in love. Fuck the war. ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1254:Joy In The Woods
There is joy in the woods just now,
The leaves are whispers of song,
And the birds make mirth on the bough
And music the whole day long,
And God! to dwell in the town
In these springlike summer days,
On my brow an unfading frown
And hate in my heart always—
A machine out of gear, aye, tired,
Yet forced to go on—for I’m hired.
Just forced to go on through fear,
For every day I must eat
And find ugly clothes to wear,
And bad shoes to hurt my feet
And a shelter for work-drugged sleep!
A mere drudge! but what can one do?
A man that’s a man cannot weep!
Suicide? A quitter? Oh, no!
But a slave should never grow tired,
Whom the masters have kindly hired.
But oh! for the woods, the flowers
Of natural, sweet perfume,
The heartening, summer showers
And the smiling shrubs in bloom,
Dust-free, dew-tinted at morn,
The fresh and life-giving air,
The billowing waves of corn
And the birds’ notes rich and clear:—
For a man-machine toil-tired
May crave beauty too—though he’s hired
~ Claude McKay,
1255:There is something memorable in the experience to be had by going to a fair ground that stands at the edge of a Middle Western town on a night after the annual fair has been held. The sensation is one never to be forgotten. On all sides are ghosts, not of the dead, but of living people. Here, during the day just passed, have come the people pouring in from the town and the country around. Farmers with their wives and children and all the people from the hundreds of little frame houses have gathered within these board walls. Young girls have laughed and men with beards have talked of the affairs of their lives. The place has been filled to overflowing with life. It has itched and squirmed with life and now it is night and the life has all gone away. The silence is almost terrifying. One conceals oneself standing silently beside the trunk of a tree and what there is of a reflective tendency in his nature is intensified. One shudders at the thought of the meaningless of life while at the same instant, and if the people of the town are his people, one loves life so intensely that tears come into the eyes. ~ Sherwood Anderson,
1256:IF you have revisited the town, thin Shade,
Whether to look upon your monument
(I wonder if the builder has been paid)
Or happier-thoughted when the day is spent
To drink of that salt breath out of the sea
When grey gulls flit about instead of men,
And the gaunt houses put on majesty:
Let these content you and be gone again;
For they are at their old tricks yet.
A man
Of your own passionate serving kind who had brought
In his full hands what, had they only known,
Had given their children's children loftier thought,
Sweeter emotion, working in their veins
Like gentle blood, has been driven from the place,
And insult heaped upon him for his pains,
And for his open-handedness, disgrace;
Your enemy, an old fotil mouth, had set
The pack upon him.
Go, unquiet wanderer,
And gather the Glasnevin coverlet
About your head till the dust stops your ear,
The time for you to taste of that Salt breath
And listen at the corners has not come;
You had enough of sorrow before death
Away, away! You are safer in the tomb.

~ William Butler Yeats, To A Shade
,
1257:BID a strong ghost stand at the head
That my Michael may sleep sound,
Nor cry, nor turn in the bed
Till his morning meal come round;
And may departing twilight keep
All dread afar till morning's back.
That his mother may not lack
Her fill of sleep.
Bid the ghost have sword in fist:
Some there are, for I avow
Such devilish things exist,
Who have planned his murder, for they know
Of some most haughty deed or thought
That waits upon his future days,
And would through hatred of the bays
Bring that to nought.
Though You can fashion everything
From nothing every day, and teach
The morning stats to sing,
You have lacked articulate speech
To tell Your simplest want, and known,
Wailing upon a woman's knee,
All of that worst ignominy
Of flesh and bone;
And when through all the town there ran
The servants of Your enemy,
A woman and a man,
Unless the Holy Writings lie,
Hurried through the smooth and rough
And through the fertile and waste,
protecting, till the danger past,
With human love.

~ William Butler Yeats, A Prayer For My Son
,
1258:The After-Dinner Smoke
THROUGH the smoke clouds that I blow
I can see the Long Ago
And the merry lanes of boyhood
That I gayly used to tread;
See the crows upon the wing,
Hear the thrushes sweetly sing,
And once more I 'm stretched out dreaming
With the green grass for a bed.
As I slowly puff away,
I 'm a boy once more at play,
I am angling for the catfish
Or I 'm swimming with my chums;
Now I chaw green apples, too,
Underneath God's stretch of blue,
With not a thought of trouble
Or the pain that after comes.
As the blue smoke slowly curls,
Once again I see the girls
In their little gingham dresses
And their faces berry-brown;
Then one little maid I see
Who was all in all to me
In the days before I journeyed
From the old home to the town.
Now she comes into the room
Where I 'm dreaming in the gloom,
And she says the air is frightful,
And she starts to gasp and choke;
But, of course, she doesn't know
How the days of Long Ago
Come back to me each evening
In my after-dinner smoke.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1259:At the sight of the city utterly perishing amidst the flames Scipio burst into tears, and stood long reflecting on the inevitable change which awaits cities, nations, and dynasties, one and all, as it does every one of us men. This, he thought, had befallen Ilium, once a powerful city, and the once mighty empires of the Assyrians, Medes, Persians, and that of Macedonia lately so splendid. And unintentionally or purposely he quoted---the words perhaps escaping him unconsciously---

"The day shall be when holy Troy shall fall
And Priam, lord of spears, and Priam's folk."

And on my asking him boldly (for I had been his tutor) what he meant by these words, he did not name Rome distinctly, but was evidently fearing for her, from this sight of the mutability of human affairs. . . . Another still more remarkable saying of his I may record. . . [When he had given the order for firing the town] he immediately turned round and grasped me by the hand and said: "O Polybius, it is a grand thing, but, I know not how, I feel a terror and dread, lest some one should one day give the same order about my own native city. ~ Polybius,
1260:Little-Oh Dear
See, what a wonderful garden is here,
Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear!
Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown Search ye the country and hunt ye the town
And never ye'll meet with a garden so queer
As this one I've made for my Little-Oh-Dear!
Marigolds white and buttercups blue,
Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew,
The cactus that trails over trellis and wall,
Roses and pansies and violets - all
Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer
When into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear.
And up at the top of that lavender-tree
A silver-bird singeth as only can she;
For, ever and only, she singeth the song
"I love you - I love you!" the happy day long; Then the echo - the echo that smiteth me here!
"I love you, I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear!
The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly But what careth my little precious, or I?
From her pathway of flowers that in spring time upstart
She walketh the tenderer way in my heart
And, oh, it is always the summer-time here
With that song of "I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear!
~ Eugene Field,
1261:I.
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evenings breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream,
Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.

II.
There is no dew on the dry grass to-night,
Nor damp within the shadow of the trees;
The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;
And in the inconstant motion of the breeze
The dust and straws are driven up and down,
And whirled about the pavement of the town.

III.
Within the surface of the fleeting river
The wrinkled image of the city lay,
Immovably unquiet, and forever
It trembles, but it never fades away;
Go to the...
You, being changed, will find it then as now.

IV.
The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shut
By darkest barriers of cinereous cloud,
Like mountain over mountain huddled--but
Growing and moving upwards in a crowd,
And over it a space of watery blue,
Which the keen evening star is shining through.

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Evening - Ponte Al Mare, Pisa
,
1262:The Three Fishers
Three fishers went sailing away to the west,
Away to the west as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbour bar be moaning.
10
11
12
13
14
Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.
But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbour bar be moaning.
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come home to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep;
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.
~ Charles Kingsley,
1263:(a) Are the skies you sleep under likely to open up for weeks on end?
(b) Is the ground you walk on likely to tremble and split?
(c) Is there a chance (and please check the box, no matter how small that chance seems) that the ominous mountain casting a midday shadow over your home might one day erupt with no rhyme or reason?

Because if the answer is yes to one or all of these questions, then the life you lead is a midnight thing, always a hair's breadth from the witching hour; it is volatile, it is threadbare; it is carefree in the true sense of that term; it is light, losable like a key or a hair clip. And it is lethargy: why not sit all morning, all day, all year, under the same cypress tree drawing the figure eight in the dust? More than that, it is disaster, it is chaos: why not overthrow a government on a whim, why not blind the man you hate, why not go mad, go gibbering through the town like a loon, waving your hands, tearing your hair? There's nothing to stop you---or rather anything could stop you, any hour, any minute. That feeling. That's the real difference in a life. ~ Zadie Smith,
1264:/Farsi Now that I have raised the glass of pure wine to my lips, The nightingale starts to sing! Go to the librarian and ask for the book of this bird's songs, and Then go out into the desert. Do you really need college to read this book? Break all your ties with people who profess to teach, and learn from the Pure Bird. From Pole to Pole the news of those sitting in quiet solitude is spreading. On the front page of the newspaper, the alcoholic Chancellor of the University Said: "Wine is illegal. It's even worse than living off charity." It's not important whether we drink Gallo or Mouton Cadet: drink up! And be happy, for whatever our Winebringer brings is the essence of grace. The stories of the greed and fantasies of all the so-called "wise ones" Remind me of the mat-weavers who tell tourists that each strand is a yarn of gold. Hafiz says: The town's forger of false coins is also president of the city bank. So keep quiet, and hoard life's subtleties. A good wine is kept for drinking, never sold. [1512.jpg] -- from Drunk on the Wine of the Beloved: 100 Poems of Hafiz, by Thomas Rain Crowe

~ Hafiz, The Essence of Grace
,
1265:For instance, there's a college in northern California called Chico State, which is where guys like Reagan and Shultz [Reagan's Secretary of State] send their kids so they won't be infected by "lefties" at Berkeley. The place is right in the middle of four hundred miles of cornfields, or whatever it is they grow out there, a million miles from nowhere, and when you fly in you land at an airport that's about half the size of a house. Well, when I landed there, a student and a faculty member who were like the two local radicals at the school came out to meet me. And as we were walking to the car, I noticed we had to go a pretty long distance, because the airport was all surrounded with yellow police tape. So I asked these guys, "What's going on, are they rebuilding the landing strip or something?" You know what they said? "No, that's to protect the airport from Arab terrorists." I said, "Arab terrorists in northern California?" But they thought so. And when I got into the town, everybody was walking around in army fatigues and wearing yellow ribbons, saying "If Saddam comes, we're going to fight to the death," and so on. ~ Noam Chomsky,
1266:102
What To Do
IF I had wealth and I had health,
And I 'd a roof above me,
If I'd a wife to cheer my life,
But not one child to love me,
No rosy-lipped young laughing miss,
No bright-eyed, roguish laddie,
I 'd search the town, both up and down,
Till one should call me daddie.
I would not have a roof that ne'er
Knew sound of childish chatter,
Nor keep a floor, unlettered o'er
By little feet that patter.
Nor would I hang upon my walls
Great pictures, just to show them,
Unless a tot had left a lot
Of finger-marks below them.
I would not like to settle down
Within my old armchair,
And take my ease, with empty knees —
I want a youngster there.
Likewise with everything I have,
How incomplete 't would be,
Unless I had a girl or lad
To share it all with me.
And so I say if I had wealth,
And had a roof above me.
If I 'd a wife to cheer my life,
But had no child to love me,
Then I would search both up and down,
To beg or buy or borrow,
A child to be a part of me —
I 'd have one here tomorrow.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1267:There is another system, more beaded than weather or murder, that is moving up into the province. As Les leaves the chair to investigate his son’s crying a thousand zombies form an alliterative fog around Lake Scugog and beyond, mouthing the words Helen, hello, help. This fog predominates the region; however, other systems compete, bursting and winding with vowels braiding into dipthongs so long that they dissipate across a thousand panting lips. In the suburbs of Barrie, for instance, an alliteration that began with the wail of a cat in heat picked up the consonant “Guh” from a fisherman caught in surprise on Lake Simcoe. The echoing coves of the lake added a sort of meter, and by the time these sounds arrived in Gravenhurst, the people there were certain that a musical was blaring from speakers in the woods. All across the province, zombies, like extras in a crowd scene, imitate a thousand conversations. They open and close their mouths on things and sound is a heavy carpet of mumbling, a pre-production monstrosity. In minutes the Pontypool fog will march on the town of Sunderland and over the barriers south of Lindsay. ~ Tony Burgess,
1268:Cambridge In The Long
Where drowsy sound of college-chimes
Across the air is blown,
And drowsy fragrance of the limes,
I lie and dream alone.
A dazzling radiance reigns o'er all-O'er gardens densely green,
O'er old grey bridges and the small,
Slow flood which slides between.
This is the place; it is not strange,
But known of old and dear.-What went I forth to seek? The change
Is mine; why am I here?
Alas, in vain I turned away,
I fled the town in vain;
The strenuous life of yesterday
Calleth me back again.
And was it peace I came to seek?
Yet here, where memories throng,
Ev'n here, I know the past is weak,
I know the present strong.
This drowsy fragrance, silent heat,
Suit not my present mind,
Whose eager thought goes out to meet
The life it left behind.
Spirit with sky to change; such hope,
An idle one we know;
Unship the oars, make loose the rope,
Push off the boat and go. . .
Ah, would what binds me could have been
Thus loosened at a touch!
This pain of living is too keen,
Of loving, is too much.
29
~ Amy Levy,
1269:His wife, Electra, was a capable helpmeet, although—like himself— a dreamer of dreams and a private dabbler in romance. The first thing she did, after her marriage—child as she was, aged only nineteen— was to buy an acre of ground on the edge of the town, and pay down the cash for it—twenty-five dollars, all her fortune. Saladin had less, by fifteen. She instituted a vegetable garden there, got it farmed on shares by the nearest neighbor, and made it pay her a hundred per cent. a year. Out of Saladin's first year's wage she put thirty dollars in the savings-bank, sixty out of his second, a hundred out of his third, a hundred and fifty out of his fourth. His wage went to eight hundred a year, then, and meantime two children had arrived and increased the expenses, but she banked two hundred a year from the salary, nevertheless, thenceforth. When she had been married seven years she built and furnished a pretty and comfortable two-thousand-dollar house in the midst of her garden-acre, paid half of the money down and moved her family in. Seven years later she was out of debt and had several hundred dollars out earning its living. ~ Mark Twain,
1270:We’ve been sitting on a little news. We’re having a baby.” “Well, damn!” Paul said. He looked at Preacher and grinned. “You finally came through on ovulation day, huh, buddy?” He puffed up a little. “I did at that,” he said, throwing his chest out. “And John promises that in the future when we have personal business, like we’re going to have sex all day and I’m going to stand on my head between rounds, he’s not going to tell the town. Or the one-ninety-second.” “Aw, I think we took it pretty much in stride,” Paul said, but he couldn’t help grinning. “That’s awful good news, Paige. I’m really happy for you.” “You know, it’s not that easy,” Preacher said. “Being married to someone like Paige and waiting for ovulation day. I think I did pretty good there. I should get a little more credit.” “I imagine it’s pretty tough.” Paul laughed. “You know, I needed that. Some great news, a good laugh. Congratulations to you both.” He lifted his glass. “This last year has been awful tough. The past month has been pure shit. Let’s toast a new year, with new stuff, good stuff. Here’s to the new baby.” “I’ll drink to that,” Preacher said. “And ~ Robyn Carr,
1271:Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam’s neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the mediæval grace
Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking. ~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,
1272:To great effect, Reagan echoed white frustration in race-neutral terms through implicit racial appeals. His 'color-blind' rhetoric on crime, welfare, taxes, and states' rights was clearly understood by white (and black) voters as having a racial dimension, though claims to that effect were impossible to prove. The absence of explicitly racist rhetoric afforded the racial nature of his coded appeals a certain plausible deniability. For example, when Reagan kicked off his presidential campaign at the annual Neshoba County Fair near Philadelphia, Mississippi - the town where three civil rights activists were murdered in 1964 - he assured the crowd 'I believe in states' rights,' and promised to restore to states and local governments the power that properly belonged to them. His critics promptly alleged that he was signaling a racial message to his audience, suggesting allegiance with those who resisted desegregation, but Reagan firmly denied it, forcing liberals into a position that would soon become familiar - arguing that something is racist but finding it impossible to prove in the absence of explicitly racist language. ~ Michelle Alexander,
1273:The three classic levels of war – strategic, operational, and tactical – still exist in Fourth Generation war. But all three are affected, and to some extent changed, by the Fourth Generation. One important change is that, while in the first three generations strategy was the province of generals, the Fourth Generation has given us the “strategic corporal.” These days, the actions of a single enlisted man can have strategic consequences, especially if they happen to take place when cameras are rolling. The Second Persian Gulf War provides numerous examples. In one case, U.S. Marines had occupied a Shi’ite town in southern Iraq. A Marine corporal was leading a patrol through the town when it encountered a funeral procession coming the other way. The corporal ordered his men to stand aside and take their helmets off as a sign of respect. Word of that action quickly spread around town, and it helped the Marines’ effort to be welcomed as liberators. That in turn had a strategic impact, because the American strategy depended upon keeping Shi’ite southern Iraq quiet in order for American supply lines to pass through the territory. ~ William S Lind,
1274:A March Day In London
The east wind blows in the street to-day;
The sky is blue, yet the town looks grey.
'Tis the wind of ice, the wind of fire,
Of cold despair and of hot desire,
Which chills the flesh to aches and pains,
And sends a fever through all the veins.
From end to end, with aimless feet,
All day long have I paced the street.
My limbs are weary, but in my breast
Stirs the goad of a mad unrest.
I would give anything to stay
The little wheel that turns in my brain;
The little wheel that turns all day,
That turns all night with might and main.
What is the thing I fear, and why?
Nay, but the world is all awry-The wind's in the east, the sun's in the sky.
The gas-lamps gleam in a golden line;
The ruby lights of the hansoms shine,
Glance, and flicker like fire-flies bright;
The wind has fallen with the night,
And once again the town seems fair
Thwart the mist that hangs i' the air.
And o'er, at last, my spirit steals
A weary peace ; peace that conceals
Within its inner depths the grain
Of hopes that yet shall flower again.
~ Amy Levy,
1275:Home And The Office
Home is the place where the laughter should ring,
And man should be found at his best.
Let the cares of the day be as great as they may,
The night has been fashioned for rest.
So leave at the door when the toiling is o'er
All the burdens of worktime behind,
And just be a dad to your girl or your lad—
A dad of the rollicking kind.
The office is made for the tasks you must face;
It is built for the work you must do;
You may sit there and sigh as your cares pile up high,
And no one may criticize you;
You may worry and fret as you think of your debt,
You may grumble when plans go astray,
But when it comes night, and you shut your desk tight,
Don't carry the burdens away.
Keep daytime for toil and the nighttime for play,
Work as hard as you choose in the town,
But when the day ends, and the darkness descends,
Just forget that you're wearing a frown—
Go home with a smile! Oh, you'll find it worth while;
Go home light of heart and of mind;
Go home and be glad that you're loved as a dad,
A dad of the fun-loving kind.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1276:Ged saw all these things from outside and apart, alone, and his heart was very heavy in him, though he would not admit to himself that he was sad. As night fell he still lingered in the streets, reluctant to go back to the inn. He heard a man and a girl talking together merrily as they came down the street past him towards the town square, and all at once he turned, for he knew the man's voice.

He followed and caught up with the pair, coming up beside them in the late twilight lit only by distant lantern-gleams. The girl stepped back, but the man stared at him and then flung up the staff he carried, holding it between them as a barrier to ward off the threat or act of evil. And that was somewhat more than Ged could bear. His voice shook a little as he said, "I thought you would know me, Vetch."

Even then Vetch hesitated for a moment.

"I do know you," he said, and lowered the staff and took Ged's hand and hugged him round the shoulders-" I do know you! Welcome, my friend, welcome! What a sorry greeting I gave you, as if you were a ghost coming up from behind– and I have waited for you to come, and looked for you- ~ Ursula K Le Guin,
1277:Ebony Life"

A frightening stillness will mark that day
And the shadow of streetlights and fire-alarms will exhaust the light
All things, the quietest and the loudest, will be silent
The suckling brats will die
The tugboats the locomotives the wind will glide by in silence
We will hear the great voice which coming from far away will pass over the city
We will wait a long time for it
Then at the rich man's time of day
When the dust the stones the missing tears
form the sun's robe on the huge deserted squares
We shall finally hear the voice.
It will growl at doors for a long while
It will pass over the town tearing up flags and breaking windowpanes.
We will hear it

What silence before it, but still greater the silence
it will not disturb but will hold guilty will brand and denounce
Day of sorrows and joys
The day the day to come when the voice will pass over the city
A ghostly seagull told me she loved me as much as I loved her
That this great terrible silence was my love
That the wind carrying the voice was the great revolt of the world
And that the voice would look kindly on me. ~ Robert Desnos,
1278:The Village Garden
To E.M.S.
Here, where your garden fenced about and still is,
Here, where the unmoved summer air is sweet
With mixed delight of lavender and lilies,
Dreaming I linger in the noontide heat.
Of many summers are the trees recorders,
The turf a carpet many summers wove;
Old-fashioned blossoms cluster in the borders,
Love-in-a-mist and crimson-hearted clove.
All breathes of peace and sunshine in the present,
All tells of bygone peace and bygone sun,
Of fruitful years accomplished, budding, crescent,
Of gentle seasons passing one by one.
Fain would I bide, but ever in the distance
A ceaseless voice is sounding clear and low;-The city calls me with her old persistence,
The city calls me--I arise and go.
Of gentler souls this fragrant peace is guerdon;
For me, the roar and hurry of the town,
Wherein more lightly seems to press the burden
Of individual life that weighs me down.
I leave your garden to the happier comers
For whom its silent sweets are anodyne.
Shall I return? Who knows, in other summers
The peace my spirit longs for may be mine?
~ Amy Levy,
1279:He got carried away as he developed his idea: 'The aesthetic quality of towns is essential. If, as has been said, every landscape is a frame of mind, then it is even more true of a townscape. The way the inhabitants think and feel corresponds to the town they live in. An analogous phenomenon can be observed in certain women who, during their pregnancy, surround themselves with harmonious objects, calm statues, bright gardens, delicate curios, so that their child-to-be, under their influence, will be beautiful. In the same way one cannot imagine a genius coming from other than a magnificent town. Goethe was born in Frankfurt, a noble city where the Main flows between venerable palaces, between walls where the ancient heart of Germany lives on. Hoffmann explains Nuremberg - his soul performs acrobatics on the gables like a gnome on the decorated face of an old German clock. In France there is Rouen, with its rich accumulation of architectural monuments, its. cathedral like an oasis of stone, which produced Corneille and then Flaubert, two pure geniuses shaking hands across the centuries. There is no doubt about it, beautiful towns make beautiful souls. ~ Georges Rodenbach,
1280:Miniver Cheevy
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of the warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Mininver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
190
~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,
1281:...David Mich is the Hollywood genius who produced and wrote much of the HBO series Deadwood. Mr. Milch's story was an interesting one to me, at least as it emerged from maybe half a dozen profiles written about him back when Deadwood was in its heyday, and it goes like this: Mr. Milch had pined to do a western ever since he was an important writer on an
Emmy-winning network cop series and could just as easily have been a novelist, if I remember the story correctly, and after years of research and reading everything available on the old west decided to focus his talents on the town of Deadwood in the 1870s. But hold your horses, Tex. As Mr. Milch explained it, he didn't read everything after all, he read everything except the novel Deadwood, and was not only able on his own to come up with the same setting and feel and characters that populated the novel, but somehow intuited a footnote-in-history sort of character named Charlie Utter into pretty much the same human being who is the central character of the novel. Except Mr. Milch gave him an English accent, and if that's not Hollywood genius I don't know what is. ...
--Acknowledgments ~ Pete Dexter,
1282:The sixth of January, 1482, is not, however, a day of which history has preserved the memory. There was nothing notable in the event which thus set the bells and the bourgeois of Paris in a ferment from early morning. It was neither an assault by the Picards nor the Burgundians, nor a hunt led along in procession, nor a revolt of scholars in the town of Laas, nor an entry of “our much dread lord, monsieur the king,” nor even a pretty hanging of male and female thieves by the courts of Paris. Neither was it the arrival, so frequent in the fifteenth century, of some plumed and bedizened embassy. It was barely two days since the last cavalcade of that nature, that of the Flemish ambassadors charged with concluding the marriage between the dauphin and Marguerite of Flanders, had made its entry into Paris, to the great annoyance of M. lé Cardinal de Bourbon, who, for the sake of pleasing the king, had been obliged to assume an amiable mien towards this whole rustic rabble of Flemish burgomasters, and to regale them at his Hôtel de Bourbon, with a very “pretty morality, allegorical satire, and farce,” while a driving rain drenched the magnificent tapestries at his door. ~ Victor Hugo,
1283:The Church Bells
The Viennese authorities have melted down
the great bell in St. Stephen's to supply metal
for guns or muntions. Every poor village
has made a similar gift.—Lokal Anzeiger.
The great bell booms across the town,
Reverberant and slow,
And drifting from their houses down
The calm-eyed people go.
Their feet fall on the portal stones
Their fathers' fathers trod;
And still the bell, with reverent tones,
From cottage nooks and purple thrones
Is calling souls to God.
The chapel bells with ardor spake
Above the poplars tall,
And perfumed Sabbath seemed to wake.
Responsive to their call
From dappled vale and green hillside
And nestling village hives
The peasants came in simple pride
To hear how their Lord Jesus died
To sweeten all their lives.
They boom beyond the battered town;
The hills are belching smoke;
And valleys charred and ranges brown
Are quaking 'neath the stroke.
The iron roar to Heaven swells,
And domes and steeples nod;
Through cities vast and ferny dells
And village streets the clamant bells
Are calling souls to God!
~ Edward George Dyson,
1284:Comin thro' the Rye"

[First Setting]
Comin thro' the rye, poor body,
Comin thro' the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie
Comin thro' the rye.

[CHORUS.]
Oh Jenny 's a' weet poor body
Jenny 's seldom dry,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie
Comin thro' the rye.

Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body —
Need a body cry.
Oh Jenny 's a' weet, &c.

Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the glen;
Gin a body kiss a body —
Need the warld ken!
Oh Jenny 's a' weet, &c.

[Second Setting]
Gin a body meet a body, comin thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry;
Ilka body has a body, ne'er a ane hae I;
But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I.

Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the well,
Gin a body kiss a body, need a body tell;
Ilka body has a body, ne'er a ane hae I,
But a the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I.

Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the town,
Gin a body kiss a body, need a body gloom;
Ilka Jenny has her Jockey, ne'er a ane hae I,
But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I. ~ Robert Burns,
1285:True, at first sight, Grand manifested both the outward signs and typical manner of a humble employee in the local administration. Tall and thin he seemed lost in the garments that the always chose a size too large, under the illusion that they would wear longer. Though he still had most of the teeth in his lower jaw, all the upper ones were gone, with the result that when he smiled, raising his upper lip - the lower scarcely moved - his mouth looked like a small black hole let into his face. Also he had the walk of a shy young priest, sidling along walls and slipping mouselike into doorways, and he exuded a faint odor of smoke and basement rooms; in short, he had all the attributes of insignificance. Indeed, it cost an effort to picture him otherwise than bent over a desk, studiously revising the tariff of the town baths or gathering for a junior secretary the materials of a report on the new garbage-collection tax. Even before you knew what his employment was, you had a feeling that he'd been brought into the world for the sole purpose of performing the discreet but needful duties of a temporary assistant municipal clerk on a salary of sixty-two francs, thirty centimes a day. ~ Albert Camus,
1286:The Rich Man's Woes
HE 'S worth a million dollars and you think he should be glad,
Because you want for money you believe he can't be sad;
His name is in the papers nearly every day or so,
If he wants a trip to Europe he can pack his grip and go,
But he's really heavy-hearted and he often wears a frown,
For his daughter contradicts him and his new wife calls him down.
He's not dunned by bill collectors, and he doesn't have to fret
Though the cost of living's soaring; what he wants he's sure to get.
He can order from his tailor three or four suits at a time,
And he tips the waiters dollars where another tips a dime;
But he really isn't happy as he motors round the town,
For his daughter contradicts him and his new wife calls him down.
O, it's folly to sit yearning for another fellow's lot,
For he's sure to have some worries that perhaps afflict you not;
And it's folly now to wish for any other fellow's place,
For it's certain he has troubles that would make you
sour of face; And the man who 's worth a million maybe wants to be a clown
When his daughter contradicts him and his new wife calls him down.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1287:BARABAS: As for myself, I walk abroad a-nights,
And kill sick people groaning under walls.
Sometimes I go about and poison wells;
And now and then, to cherish Christian thieves,
I am content to lose some of my crowns,
That I may, walking in my gallery,
See 'em go pinion'd along by my door.
Being young, I studied physic, and began
To practice first upon the Italian;
There I enrich'd the priests with burials,
And always kept the sexton's arms in ure
With digging graves and ringing dead men's knells.
And, after that, was I an engineer,
And in the wars 'twixt France and Germany,
Under pretence of helping Charles the Fifth,
Slew friend and enemy with my stratagems:
Then, after that, was I an usurer,
And with extorting, cozening, forfeiting,
And tricks belonging unto brokery,
I fill'd the gaols with bankrupts in a year,
And with young orphans planted hospitals;
And every moon made some or other mad,
And now and then one hang himself for grief,
Pinning upon his breast a long great scroll
How I with interest tormented him.
But mark how I am blest for plaguing them:
I have as much coin as will buy the town. ~ Christopher Marlowe,
1288:By all kinds of traps and sign-boards, threatening the extreme penalty of the divine law, exclude such trespassers from the only ground which can be sacred to you. It is so hard to forget what it is worse than useless to remember! If I am to be a thoroughfare, I prefer that it be of the mountain-brooks, the Parnassian streams, and not the town-sewers. There is inspiration, that gossip which comes to the ear of the attentive mind from the courts of heaven. There is the profane and stale revelation of the bar-room and the police court. The same ear is fitted to receive both communications. Only the character of the hearer determines to which it shall be open, and to which closed. I believe that the mind can be permanently profaned by the habit of attending to trivial things, so that all our thoughts shall be tinged with triviality. Our very intellect shall be macadamized, as it were,--its foundation broken into fragments for the wheels of travel to roll over; and if you would know what will make for the most durable pavement, surpassing rolled stones, spruce blocks, and asphaltum, you have only to look into some of our minds which have been subjected to this treatment so long. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
1289:Brother Ramiro carried the carefully wrapped Compendium between his chest and his folded arms as they crossed the town square. Adelard glanced at the trio of scorched stakes where heretics were unburdened of their sins by the cleansing flame. He had witnessed many an auto da fé here since his arrival from France.

"Note how passersby avert their eyes and give us a wide berth," Ramiro said.

Adelard had indeed noticed that. "I don't know why. They can't know that I am a member of the tribunal."

"They don't. They see the black robes and know us as Dominicans, members of the order that runs the Inquisition, and that is enough. This saddens me."

"Why?"

"You are an inquisitor, I am a simple mendicant. You would not know."

"I was not always an inquisitor, Ramiro."

"But you did not know Ávila before the Inquisition arrived. We were greeted with smiles and welcomed everywhere. Now no one looks me in the eye. What do you think their averted gazes mean? That they have heresies to hide?"

"Perhaps."

"Then you are wrong. It means that the robes of our order have become associated with the public burnings of heretics to the exclusion of all else. ~ F Paul Wilson,
1290:The Harder Part
It's mighty hard for Mother—I am busy through the day
And the tasks of every morning keep the gloomy thoughts away,
And I'm not forever meeting with a slipper or a gown
To remind me of our sorrow when I'm toiling in the town.
But with Mother it is different—there's no minute she is free
From the sight of things which tell her of the joy which used to be.
She is brave and she is faithful, and we say we're reconciled,
But your hearts are always heavy once you've lost a little child;
And a man can face his sorrow in a manly sort of way,
For his grief must quickly leave him when he's busy through the day;
But the mother's lot is harder—she must learn to sing and smile
Though she's living in the presence of her sorrow all the while.
Through the room where love once waited she must tip-toe day by day,
She must see through every window where the baby used to play,[Pg 63]
And there's not a thing she touches, nor a task she finds to do,
But it sets her heart to aching and begins the hurt anew.
Oh, a man can turn from sorrow, for his mind is occupied,
But the mother's lot is harder—grief is always at her side.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1291:The Future Of Forestry
How will the legend of the age of trees
Feel, when the last tree falls in England?
When the concrete spreads and the town conquers
The country’s heart; when contraceptive
Tarmac’s laid where farm has faded,
Tramline flows where slept a hamlet,
And shop-fronts, blazing without a stop from
Dover to Wrath, have glazed us over?
Simplest tales will then bewilder
The questioning children, “What was a chestnut?
Say what it means to climb a Beanstalk,
Tell me, grandfather, what an elm is.
What was Autumn? They never taught us.”
Then, told by teachers how once from mould
Came growing creatures of lower nature
Able to live and die, though neither
Beast nor man, and around them wreathing
Excellent clothing, breathing sunlight –
Half understanding, their ill-acquainted
Fancy will tint their wonder-paintings
Trees as men walking, wood-romances
Of goblins stalking in silky green,
Of milk-sheen froth upon the lace of hawthorn’s
Collar, pallor in the face of birchgirl.
So shall a homeless time, though dimly
Catch from afar (for soul is watchfull)
A sight of tree-delighted Eden.
~ Clive Staples Lewis,
1292:Gentlewomen of the jury! Bear with me! Allow me to take just a tiny bit of your precious time. So this was le grand moment. I had left my Lolita still sitting on the edge of the abysmal bed, drowsily raising her foot, fumbling at the shoelaces and showing as she did so the nether side of her thigh up to the crotch of her panties she had always been singularly absent-minded, or shameless, or both, in matters of legshow. This, then, was the hermetic vision of her which I had locked inafter satisfying myself that the door carried no inside bolt. The key, with its numbered dangler of carved wood, became forthwith the weighty sesame to a rapturous and formidable future. It was mine, it was part of my hot hairy fist. In a few minutes say, twenty, say half-an-hour, sicher its sicher as my uncle Gustave used to say I would let myself into that “342” and find my nymphet, my beauty and bride, imprisoned in her crystal sleep. Jurors! If my happiness could have talked, it would have filled that genteel hotel with a deafening roar. And my only regret today is that I did not quietly deposit key “342” at the office, and leave the town, the country, the continent, the hemisphere,indeed, the globe that very same night. ~ Vladimir Nabokov,
1293:The Johnson boy came to Tommy’s mind, how he couldn’t get off drugs, and then Tommy thought of Marilyn Macauley and her husband, Charlie, and then his mind went to his older brother, who had died a few years back, and he thought how his brother—who had been in World War II, who had been at the camps when they were being emptied—he thought how his brother had returned from the war a different man; his marriage ended, his children disliked him. Not long before his brother died, he told Tommy about what he had seen in the camps, and how he and the others had the job of taking the townspeople through them. They had somehow taken a group of women from the town through the camps to show them what had been right there, and Tommy’s brother said that although some of the women wept, some of them put their chins up, and looked angry, as if they refused to be made to feel bad. This image had always stayed with Tommy, and he wondered why it came to him now. He unrolled the window all the way down. It seemed the older he grew—and he had grown old—the more he understood that he could not understand this confusing contest between good and evil, and that maybe people were not meant to understand things here on earth. But ~ Elizabeth Strout,
1294:Chang opened the door and checked the hallway. She said, “Let’s go.” She opened the door wider. There was a guy standing there. Eyewitness testimony was suspect because of preconditions, and cognitive bias, and suggestibility. It was suspect because people see what they expect to see. Reacher was no different. He was human. The front part of his brain wasted the first precious split second working on the image of the guy at the door, trying to rearrange it into a plausible version of a theoretical McCann. Which was not an easy mental task, because McCann was supposed to be sixty years old and thin and gaunt, whereas the guy at the door was clearly twenty years younger than that, and twice as solid. But still Reacher tried, instinctively, because who else could it be, but McCann? Who else could be at McCann’s door, in McCann’s building, in McCann’s city? Then half a second later the back part of Reacher’s brain took over, and the image resolved itself, crisp and clear, not a potential McCann at all, not even remotely a contender, but the familiar twice-glimpsed face, now three times seen, first in the diner, next in the Town Car, and finally in the there and then, in a dim upstairs hallway in a three-floor walk-up. ~ Lee Child,
1295:--the Falls,” Ashley was explaining once more. “Closer to the water than it used to be. I wish they’d fix it so it wouldn’t flood.”
This time Miranda did her best to focus. “So…it’s like, a waterfall?”
“No.” Roo exhaled a stream of smoke. “It’s like, a cemetery.”
“A real cemetery?”
“I told you this was a bad idea.” Taking a last puff, Roo tossed the cigarette. “I told you it would freak her out too much.”
“I didn’t say I was freaked out. I just asked if it was a real cemetery.”
“Actually, it’s a park and a cemetery--” Ashley began, but Roo cut her off.
“There was a big battle here during the Civil War. And afterward, there were lots of dead Yankee soldiers who couldn’t be identified. So when nobody claimed their bodies, the town built a cemetery for them.” She paused, chewed thoughtfully on a short, black fingernail. “Originally, it was called Site of the Fallen Union. But over the years, it got shortened to just the Falls.”
“And therein lies the irony!” Parker grinned. “Because, as we all know, it wasn’t the Union that ended up falling.”
Straining forward, Roo tilted the rearview mirror so that Parker’s face disappeared from view. He calmly readjusted it. ~ Richie Tankersley Cusick,
1296:You remind me of the man that lived by the river. He heard a radio report that the river was going to rush up and flood the town, and that the all the residents should evacuate their homes.

But the man said, "I'm religious. I pray. God loves me. God will save me." The waters rose up. A guy in a rowboat came along and he shouted, "Hey, hey you, you in there. The town is flooding. Let me take you to safety." But the man shouted back, "I'm religious. I pray. God loves me. God will save me."

A helicopter was hovering overhead and a guy with a megaphone shouted, "Hey you, you down there. The town is flooding. Let me drop this ladder and I'll take you to safety." But the man shouted back that he was religious, that he prayed, that God loved him and that God will take him to safety.

Well... the man drowned. And standing at the gates of St. Peter he demanded an audience with God. "Lord," he said, "I'm a religious man, I pray, I thought you loved me. Why did this happen?"

God said, "I sent you a radio report, a helicopter and a guy in a rowboat. What the hell are you doing here?

He sent you a priest, a rabbi and a Quaker. Not to mention his son, Jesus Christ. What do you want from him? ~ Aaron Sorkin,
1297:Long Time. The famous seventeenth-century Ming painter Chou Yung relates a story that altered his behavior forever. Late one winter afternoon he set out to visit a town that lay across the river from his own town. He was bringing some important books and papers with him and had commissioned a young boy to help him carry them. As the ferry neared the other side of the river, Chou Yung asked the boatman if they would have time to get to the town before its gates closed, since it was a mile away and night was approaching. The boatman glanced at the boy, and at the bundle of loosely tied papers and books—“Yes,” he replied, “if you do not walk too fast.” As they started out, however, the sun was setting. Afraid of being locked out of the town at night, prey to local bandits, Chou and the boy walked faster and faster, finally breaking into a run. Suddenly the string around the papers broke and the documents scattered on the ground. It took them many minutes to put the packet together again, and by the time they had reached the city gates, it was too late. When you force the pace out of fear and impatience, you create a nest of problems that require fixing, and you end up taking much longer than if you had taken your time. ~ Robert Greene,
1298:In those days, Alice had a population of 4,000 and hardly any visitors. Today it’s a thriving little city with a population of 25,000 and it is full of visitors – 350,000 of them a year – which is of course the whole problem. These days you can jet in from Adelaide in two hours, from Melbourne and Sydney in less than three. You can have a latte and buy some opals and then climb on a tour bus and travel down the highway to Ayers Rock. The town has not only become accessible, it’s become a destination. It’s so full of motels, hotels, conference centres, campgrounds and desert resorts that you can’t pretend even for a moment that you have achieved something exceptional by getting yourself there. It’s crazy really. A community that was once famous for being remote now attracts thousands of visitors who come to see how remote it no longer is. Nearly all guidebooks and travel articles indulge the gentle conceit that Alice retains some irreproducible outback charm – some away-from-it-all quality that you must come here to see – but in fact it is Anywhere, Australia. Actually, it is Anywhere, Planet Earth. On our way into town we passed strip malls, car dealerships, McDonald’s and Kentucky Fried Chicken outlets, banks and petrol stations. ~ Bill Bryson,
1299:And I hope that all my readers are acquainted with an old English Cathedral town or I fear the significance of Mr Norrell’s chusing that particular place will be lost upon them. They must understand that in an old Cathedral town the great old church is not one building among many; it is the building - different from all others in scale, beauty, and solemnity. Even in modern times when an old Cathedral town may have provided itself with all the elegant appurtenances of civic buildings, assembly and meeting rooms (and York was well-stocked with these) the Cathedral rises above them - a witness to the devotion of our forefathers. It is as if the town contains within itself something larger than itself. When going about ones business in the muddle of narrow streets one is sure to lose sight of the Cathedral, but then the town will open out and suddenly it is there, many times taller and many times larger than any other building, and one realizes that one has reached the heart of the town and that all streets and lanes have in some way led here, to a place of mysteries much deeper than any Mr Norrell knew of. Such were Mr Segundus’s thoughts as he entered the Close and stood before the great brooding blue shadow of the Cathedral’s west face. ~ Susanna Clarke,
1300:An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she looked upon as a daughter. ....The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker's Alderney, therefore great was the sympathy and regret when, in an unguarded moment, the poor cow fell into a lime-pit. She moaned so loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile the poor beast had lost most of her hair and came out looking naked, cold and miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, though a few could not restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was said she thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but the proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown's decided "Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma'am, if you wish to keep her alive, But my advice is, kill the poor creature at once."
Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel.I have watched her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in London? ~ Elizabeth Gaskell,
1301:Levin had been his [Oblonsky's] comrade and friend in early youth, and they were fond of one another as friends who have come together in early youth often are, in spite of difference in their characters and tastes. Yet as often happens between men who chosen different pursuits each, while in argument justifying the other's activity, despised it in the depth of his heart. Each thought that his own way of living was real life, and that the life of his friend was --illusion. Oblonsky could not repress a slightly sarcastic smile at the sight of Levin. How many times he had already seen him arriving in Moscow from the country, where he [Levin] did something, though what it was Oblonsky could never quite understand or feel any interest in. Levin came to Moscow always excited, always in a hurry, rather shy and irritated by his own shyness, and usually with totally new and unexpected views about things. Oblonsky laughed at all this, and yet liked it. Similarly, Levin in his heart despised the town life his friend was leading and his official duties which considered futile and ridiculed. But the difference was that Oblonsky, doing as every one else did, laughed with confidence and good-humour, while Levin laughed uncertainly and sometimes angrily. ~ Leo Tolstoy,
1302:Crabapple Blossoms
SOMEBODY'S little girl-how easy to make a sob story over who she was once and
who she is now.
Somebody's little girl-she played once under a crab-apple tree in June and the
blossoms fell on the dark hair.
It was somewhere on the Erie line and the town was Salamanca or Painted Post
or Horse's Head.
And out of her hair she shook the blossoms and went into the house and her
mother washed her face and her mother had an ache in her heart at a rebel
voice, 'I don't want to.'
Somebody's little girl-forty little girls of somebodies splashed in red tights
forming horseshoes, arches, pyramids-forty little show girls, ponies, squabs.
How easy a sob story over who she once was and who she is now-and how the
crabapple blossoms fell on her dark hair in June.
Let the lights of Broadway spangle and splatter-and the taxis hustle the crowds
away when the show is over and the street goes dark.
Let the girls wash off the paint and go for their midnight sandwiches-let 'em
dream in the morning sun, late in the morning, long after the morning papers
and the milk wagonsLet 'em dream long as they want to ... of June somewhere on the Erie line ... and
crabapple blossoms.
~ Carl Sandburg,
1303:His first stop was the local branch of Child's Bank; once he replenished his supply of cash, he followed the bank manager's directions to the town's premier bootmaker, and was lucky enough to find an excellent pair of riding boots that fit him. His next stop was the best gentleman's outfitters, where he created a small furore by demanding they assemble for him outfits suitable for a groom and for a north country laborer.
The head tailor goggled at him and the assistants simply stared; holding onto his temper, he brusquely explained that the outfits were for a country house party where fancy dress was required.
Then they fell to with appropriate zeal.
It still took longer than he would have liked. The tailor fussed with the fitting until Breckenridge declared, "Damn it, man! There's no prize for being the most perfectly dressed groom in the north!"
The tailor jumped. Pins cascaded from between his lips and scattered on the ground. His assistants rushed in to gather them up.
The tailor swallowed. "No, of course not, sir. If Sir will remain still, I will endeavor to remove the pins...although really, such shoulders...well, I would have thought..."
"Never mind about showing off my damned shoulders-just make sure I have room to move. ~ Stephanie Laurens,
1304:My Comrade
Out from my window westward
I turn full oft my face;
But the mountains rebuke the vision
That would encompass space;
They lift their lofty foreheads
To the kiss of the clouds above,
And ask, "With all our glory,
Can we not win your love?"
I answer, "No, oh mountains!
I see that you are grand;
But you have not the breadth and beauty
Of the fields in my own land;
You narrow my range of vision
And you even shut from me
The voice of my old comrade,
The West Wind wild and free."
But to-day I climbed the mountains
On the back of a snow-white steed,
And the West Wind came to greet me-He flew on the wings of speed.
His charger, and mine that bore me,
Went gaily neck to neck,
Till the town in the valley belkow us
Looked like a small, dark speck.
And oh! what tales he whispered
As he rode there by me,
Of friends whose smiling faces
I am so soon to see.
And the mountains frowned in anger,
Because I balked their spite,
And met my old-time comrade
There on their very height;
But I laughed up in their faces,
As I rode slowly back,
While the Wind went faster and faster,
405
Like a race-horse on the track.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
1305:When we were in New York, you cried for two days and passed out. You said a word in your sleep, over and over. Akinli.” Elizabeth stared down at the drawing.
“At first I thought it was gibberish. And then I thought it was the name of a town or a building. . . . I didn’t figure out it belonged to a person until you made that.” Elizabeth pointed down to the paper, worn from being folded and unfolded who knew how many times.
“When Elizabeth came to me, I had to tell her the truth, and we decided to find him. You gave us the name of the town. We went there looking for someone answering to that name, fitting this image.” Miaka smiled ruefully. “Very small town. It wasn’t hard.”
Tears pooled in my eyes. “You’ve really seen him?”
They both nodded. I thought about all those trips they had taken, making up ridiculous stories so they could get to him without me knowing.
“How is he?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. “Is he okay? Has he gone back to school? Is he still with Ben and Julie? Is he happy? Could you tell? Is he happy?”
The questions tumbled out without me being able to hold them in. I was desperate to know. I felt a single word would put my soul at ease.
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “That’s the thing, Kahlen. We’re afraid he’s dying. ~ Kiera Cass,
1306:From Lightning And Tempest
The spring-wind pass'd through the forest, and whispered low in the leaves,
And the cedar toss'd her head, and the oak stood firm in his pride ;
The spring-wind pass'd through the town, through the housetops, casements,
and eaves,
And whisper'd low in the hearts of the men, and the men replied,
Singing—'Let us rejoice in the light
Of our glory, and beauty, and might ;
Let us follow our own devices, and foster our own desires.
As firm as our oaks in our pride, as our cedars fair in our sight,
We stand like the trees of the forest that brave the frosts and the fires.'
The storm went forth to the forest, the plague went forth to the town,
And the men fell down to the plague, as the trees fell down to the gale ;
And their bloom was a ghastly pallor, and their smile was a ghastly frown,
And the song of their hearts was changed to a wild, disconsolate wail,
Crying—'God ! we have sinn'd, we have sinn'd,
We are bruised, we are shorn, we are thinn'd,
Our strength is turn'd to derision, our pride laid low in the dust,
Our cedars are cleft by Thy lightnings, our oaks are strew'd by Thy wind,
And we fall on our faces seeking Thine aid, though Thy wrath is just.'
~ Adam Lindsay Gordon,
1307:The year was 1952.” I clear my throat and look down at my paper. “It was summer, and Frank Sinatra was on the radio. Lana Turner and Ava Gardner were the starlets of the day. Stormy was eighteen. She was in the marching band, she was voted Best Legs, and she always had a date on Saturday night. On this particular night, she was on a date with a boy named Walt. On a dare, she went skinny-dipping in the town lake. Stormy never could turn down a dare.”
Mr. Perelli laughs and says, “That’s right, she never could.” Other people murmur in agreement, “She never could.”
“A farmer called the police, and when they shined their lights on the lake, Stormy told them to turn around before she would come out. She got a ride home in a police car that night.”
“Not the first time or the last,” someone calls out, and everyone laughs, and I can feel my shoulders start to relax.
“Stormy lived more life in one night than most people do their whole lives. She was a force of nature. She taught me that love--” My eyes well up and I start over. “Stormy taught me that love is about making brave choices every day. That’s what Stormy did. She always picked love; she always picked adventure. To her they were one and the same. And now she’s off on a new adventure, and we wish her well. ~ Jenny Han,
1308:Samuel Sewall
Samuel Sewall, in a world of wigs,
Flouted opinion in his personal hair;
For foppery he gave not any figs,
But in his right and honor took the air.
Thus in his naked style, though well attired,
He went forth in the city, or paid court
To Madam Winthrop, whom he much admired,
Most godly, but yet liberal with the port.
And all the town admired for two full years
His excellent address, his gifts of fruit,
Her gracious ways and delicate white ears,
And held the course of nature abolute.
But yet she bade him suffer a peruke,
"That One be not distinguished from the All";
Delivered of herself this stern rebuke
Framed in the resonant language of St. Paul.
"Madam," he answered her, "I have a Friend
Furnishes me with hair out of His strength,
And He requires only I attend
Unto His charity and to its length."
And all the town was witness to his trust:
On Monday he walked out with the Widow Gibbs,
A pious lady of charm and notable bust,
Whose heart beat tolerably beneath her ribs.
On Saturday he wrote proposing marriage,
And closed, imploring that she be not cruel,
"Your favorable answer will oblige,
Madam, your humble servant, Samuel Sewall."
~ Anthony Evan Hecht,
1309:an idle threat, for Nuri Said with the guns had gone back to Guweira. There were only one hundred and eighty Turks in the village, but they had supporters in the Muhaisin, a clan of the peasantry; not for love so much as because Dhiab, the vulgar head-man of another faction, had declared for Feisal. So they shot up at Nasir a stream of ill-directed bullets. The Howeitat spread out along the cliffs to return the peasants' fire. This manner of going displeased Auda, the old lion, who raged that a mercenary village folk should dare to resist their secular masters, the Abu Tayi. So he jerked his halter, cantered his mare down the path, and rode out plain to view beneath the easternmost houses of the village. There he reined in, and shook a hand at them, booming in his wonderful voice: 'Dogs, do you not know Auda?' When they realized it was that implacable son of war their hearts failed them, and an hour later Sherif Nasir in the town-house was sipping tea with his guest the Turkish Governor, trying to console him for the sudden change of fortune. At dark Mastur rode in. His Motalga looked blackly at their blood enemies the Abu Tayi, lolling in the best houses. The two Sherifs divided up the place, to keep their unruly followers apart. They had little authority to mediate ~ T E Lawrence,
1310:Macer : A Character
When simple Macer, now of high renown,
First fought a Poet's Fortune in the Town,
'Twas all th' Ambition his high soul could feel,
To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele.
Some Ends of verse his Betters might afford,
And gave the harmless fellow a good word.
Set up with these he ventur'd on the Town,
And with a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Crown.
There he stopp'd short, nor since has write a tittle,
But has the wit to make the most of little;
Like stunted hide-bound Trees, that just have got
Sufficient sap at once to bear and rot.
Now he begs Verse, and what he gets commends,
Not of the Wits his foes, but Fools his friends.
So some coarse Country Wench, almost decay'd,
Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid;
Awkward and supple, each devoir to pay;
She flatters her good Lady twice a day;
Thought wond'rous honest, tho' of mean degree,
And strangely lik'd for her Simplicity:
In a translated Suit, then tries the Town,
With borrow'd Pins, and Patches not her own:
But just endur'd the winter she began,
And in four months a batter'd Harridan.
Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk,
To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk.
~ Alexander Pope,
1311:During China’s War of the Three Kingdoms (A.D. 207-265), the great general Chuko Liang, leading the forces of the Shu Kingdom, dispatched his vast army to a distant camp while he rested in a small town with a handful of soldiers. Suddenly sentinels hurried in with the alarming news that an enemy force of over 150,000 troops under Sima Yi was approaching. With only a hundred men to defend him, Chuko Liang’s situation was hopeless. The enemy would finally capture this renowned leader. Without lamenting his fate, or wasting time trying to figure out how he had been caught, Liang ordered his troops to take down their flags, throw open the city gates, and hide. He himself then took a seat on the most visible part of the city’s wall, wearing a Taoist robe. He lit some incense, strummed his lute, and began to chant. Minutes later he could see the vast enemy army approaching, an endless phalanx of soldiers. Pretending not to notice them, he continued to sing and play the lute. Soon the army stood at the town gates. At its head was Sima Yi, who instantly recognized the man on the wall. Even so, as his soldiers itched to enter the unguarded town through its open gates, Sima Yi hesitated, held them back, and studied Liang on the wall. Then, he ordered an immediate and speedy retreat. ~ Anonymous,
1312:Fur And Feathers
The emus formed a football team
Up Walgett way;
Their dark-brown sweaters were a dream
But kangaroos would sit and scream
To watch them play.
'Now, butterfingers,' they would call,
And suck-like names;
The emus couldn't hold the ball
They had no hands, but hands aren't all
In football games.
A match against the kangaroos
They played one day.
The kangaroos were forced to choose
Some wallabies and wallaroos
That played in grey.
The rules that in the west prevail
Would shock the town;
For when a kangaroo set sail
An emu jumped upon his tail
And fetched him down.
A whistler duck as referee
Was not admired.
He whistled so incessantly
The teams rebelled, and up a tree
He soon retired.
The old marsupial captain said,
'It's do or die!'
So down the ground like fire he fled
And leaped above an emu's head
And scored a try.
Then shouting, 'Keep it on the toes!'
The emus came.
Fierce as the flooded Bogan flows
122
They laid their foemen out in rows
And saved the game.
In native bear and Darling pea
They dined that night:
But one man was an absentee:
The whistler duck, their referee,
Had taken flight.
~ Banjo Paterson,
1313:Jerusalem! My Love,My Town

I wept until my tears were dry
I prayed until the candles flickered
I knelt until the floor creaked
I asked about Mohammed and Christ
Oh Jerusalem, the fragrance of prophets
The shortest path between earth and sky
Oh Jerusalem, the citadel of laws
A beautiful child with fingers charred
and downcast eyes
You are the shady oasis passed by the Prophet
Your streets are melancholy
Your minarets are mourning
You, the young maiden dressed in black
Who rings the bells at the Nativity Church,
On sunday morning?
Who brings toys for the children
On Christmas eve?
Oh Jerusalem, the city of sorrow
A big tear wandering in the eye
Who will halt the aggression
On you, the pearl of religions?
Who will wash your bloody walls?
Who will safeguard the Bible?
Who will rescue the Quran?
Who will save Christ, From those who have killed Christ?
Who will save man?
Oh Jerusalem my town
Oh Jerusalem my love
Tomorrow the lemon trees will blossom
And the olive trees will rejoice
Your eyes will dance
The migrant pigeons will return
To your sacred roofs
And your children will play again
And fathers and sons will meet
On your rosy hills
My town
The town of peace and olives ~,
1314:This may be our only hope,” said Lillian. “Don’t think too long.”

Lillian turned and left, the baggy back of her cardigan seeming to sweep behind her like a cape.

“I wasn’t kidding. Someone really has to talk to her about her motivational speaking,” said Dad. “She’s meant to be the town leader, isn’t she?”

“She’s the only adult sorcerer alive who isn’t strictly evil,” said Rusty. “So she wins the crown by default, I guess. Unless Henry wants it.”

Kami supposed Henry was technically grown up, though he was only a couple of years older than Rusty.

“Your town seems very nice,” said Henry, in the tones of one being very polite when offered a large unwanted present that was on fire. “But I only just got here. I don’t feel qualified to lead.”

“Okay,” said Dad. “So she’s all we’ve got to work with, as Ash and Jared are both so extremely and tragically seventeen. Fine. So what we need to do now is get the town behind her. Worse politicians have been elected every day.”

“I don’t think Lillian will be kissing any babies anytime soon,” Holly said doubtfully.

“Since she probably hates babies. And kittens. And rainbows and sunshine,” said Angela, who sounded like she had a certain amount of sympathy for Lillian’s viewpoint. ~ Sarah Rees Brennan,
1315:The Fifty-Per-Cent Man
He limped into the place one day, a leg and arm were gone,
'Just half a man,' he told the boss, 'right now you look upon.
An accident did this to me, 'twere better had I died,
It robbed me of efficiency, but left me with my pride.'
The boss said kindly unto him: 'This is a busy place,
It takes two arms and two good legs to hold our daily pace;
It's able-bodied men I need, not crippled men like you.'
'Don't you suppose,' he answered then, 'there's something I can do?'
'Could you not find some sheltered nook where I can fill the day,
Where I can use my one good arm and earn my weekly pay?
Though half of me is stripped away, the other half is proud
And it will do some useful work if only it's allowed.
They've taught me now to use my hand, they've given me a trade,
They've said I need not lose my pride and meekly beg for aid,
But when the bosses look about they never seem to see
A place where they can use a man who's battered up like me.'
Oh, better far that charity, and better for the town,
It is to help the man to rise whom fate has stricken down.
And better for that factory which keeps a job or two
Where speed and strength are not required, which crippled men can do.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1316:The Last Leaf

I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,
And looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone."

The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;

But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.

I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!

And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling. ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr,
1317:Well, I thought you might want to listen to this. I mean, I thought you might be . . . ready for it.
"I don't know if you remember, but just before . . . just before Malcolm died, he took me to see a concert in the town. We went to Barbarella's, and we heard all these weird bands. You remember the kind of music he used to like? Well, the people who made this record were playing that night, and they were his favourite. He liked them more than anyone. And I thought that if you heard it, it might remind you . . . might help you to think a bit about the kind of person he was.
"And there's another reason too. You see the title of the record? It's called The Rotters' Club.
"The Rotters' Club: that's us, Lois, isn't it? Do you see? That's what they used to call us, at school. Bent Rotter, and Lowest Rotter. We're The Rotters' Club. You and me. Not Paul. Just you and me.
"I think this record was meant for us, you see. Malcolm never got to hear it, but I think he . . . knows about it, if that doesn't sound too silly. And now it's his gift, to you and me. From - wherever he is.
"I don't know if that makes any sense.
"Anyway.
"I'll just leave it on the table here.
"Have a listen, if you feel like it.
"I've got to go now.
"I've got to go, Lois.
"I've got to go. ~ Jonathan Coe,
1318:It was on the second Tuesday in January - WI night - that winter became a serious and dramatic matter, a cold, tiring, but exhilarating time, at least for the young, and a companionable time for all, when we were stranded, snowbound and sealed off in place and, it seemed, in time too, for the usual pattern of the day’s coming and going was halted.
We had been in the town all day, and I had scarcely noticed the weather. But, by the time I put the car up the last, steep bit of hill, past Cuckoo Farm and Foxley Spinney, towards the village, the sky had gathered like a boil, and had an odd, sulphurous yellow gleam over iron grey. It was achingly cold, the wind coming north-east off the Fen made us cry. We ran down the steps and indoors, switched on the lamps and opened up the stove, made tea, shut out the weather, though we could still hear it; the wind made a thin, steely noise under doors and through all the cracks and crevices of the old house. But by six o’clock there had been one of those sudden changes. I opened the door to let in Hastings, the tabby cat, and sensed it at once. The wind dropped and died, everything was still and dark as coal, no moonlight, not a star showed through the cloud cover, and it was just a degree wamer. I could smell the approching snow. Everything waited. ~ Susan Hill,
1319:As vanguard of the invasion, the cavalry’s mission was to reconnoiter the position of the Belgian and French armies, to watch out for British landings, and to screen the German deployment against similar enemy reconnaissance. On the first day the duty of the advance squadrons, supported by infantry brought up in automobiles, was to seize the crossings of the Meuse before the bridges were destroyed and capture farms and villages as sources of food and forage. At Warsage, just inside the frontier, M. Flechet, the Burgomaster of seventy-two, wearing his scarf of office, stood in the village square as the horsemen clattered over the cobblestones of the Belgian pavé. Riding up, the squadron’s officer with a polite smile handed him a printed proclamation which expressed Germany’s “regret” at being “compelled by necessity” to enter Belgium. Though wishing to avoid combat, it said, “We must have a free road. Destruction of bridges, tunnels and railroads will be regarded as hostile acts.” In village squares all along the border from Holland to Luxembourg the Uhlans scattered the proclamations, hauled down the Belgian flag from the town halls, raised the black eagle of the German Empire, and moved on, confident in the assurance given them by their commanders that the Belgians would not fight. ~ Barbara W Tuchman,
1320:Mischief
LET those who're fond of idle tricks,
Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks,
And all that sort of fun,
Now hear a tale of idle Jim,
That warning they may take by him,
Nor do as he has done.
In harmless sport or healthful play
He did not pass his time away,
Nor took his pleasure in it;
For mischief was his only joy:
No book, or work, or even toy,
Could please him for a minute.
A neighbour's house he'd slyly pass,
And throw a stone to break the glass,
And then enjoy the joke!
Or, if a window open stood,
He'd throw in stones, or bits of wood,
To frighten all the folk.
If travellers passing chanced to stay,
Of idle Jim to ask the way,
He never told them right;
And then, quite harden'd in his sin,
Rejoiced to see them taken in,
And laugh'd with all his might.
He'd tie a string across the street,
Just to entangle people's feet,
And make them tumble down:
Indeed, he was disliked so much,
That no good boy would play with such
A nuisance to the town.
At last the neighbours, in despair,
This mischief would no longer bear:
And so–to end the tale,
This lad, to cure him of his ways,
27
Was sent to spend some dismal days
Within the county jail.
~ Ann Taylor,
1321:Mack and the boys, too, spinning in their orbits. They are the Virtues, the Graces, the Beauties of the hurried mangled craziness of Monterey and the cosmic Monterey where men in fear and hunger destroy their stomachs in the fight to secure certain food, where men hungering for love destroy everthing lovable about them. Mack and the boys are the Beauties, the Virtues, the Graces. In a world ruled by tigers with ulcers, rutted by strictured bulls, scavenged by blind jackals, Mack and the boys dine delicately with the tigers, fondle the frantic heifers, and wrap up the crumbs to feed the sea gulls of Cannery Row. What can it profit a man to gain the whole world and come to his property with a gastric ulcer, a blown prostate, and bifocals? Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped, poisoned, and trussed-up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come-to-bad-ends, blots-on-the-town, thieves, rascals, bums. Our father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature. ~ John Steinbeck,
1322:I was also really fortunate at Eton to have had a fantastic housemaster, and so much of people’s experience of Eton rests on whether they had a housemaster who rocked or bombed.
I got lucky.
The relationship with your housemaster is the equivalent to that with a headmasterat a smaller school. He is the one who supervises all you do, from games to your choice of General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE), and without doubt he is the teacher who gets to know you the best--the good and the bad.
In short, they are the person who runs the show.
Mr. Quibell was old-school and a real character--but two traits made him great: he was fair and he cared. And as a teenager those two qualities really matter to one’s self-esteem.
But, boy, did he also get grief from us.
Mr. Quibell disliked two things: pizzas and the town of Slough.
Often, as a practical joke, we would order a load of Slough’s finest pizzas to be delivered to his private door; but never just one or two pizzas--I am talking thirty of them.
As the delivery guy turned up we would all be hidden, peeping out of the windows, watching the look of both horror, then anger, as Mr. Quibell would send the poor delivery man packing, with firm instructions never to return.
The joke worked twice, but soon the pizza company got savvy. ~ Bear Grylls,
1323:In the ensuing two weeks Ian managed to buy back Elizabeth’s emeralds and Havenhurst, but he was unable to find a trace of his wife. The town house in London felt like a prison, not a home, and still he waited, sensing somehow that Elizabeth was putting him through this torment to teach him some kind of well-deserved lesson.
He returned to Montmayne, where, for several more weeks, he prowled about its rooms, paced a track in the drawing room carpet, and stared into its marble-fronted fireplaces as if the answer would be there in the flames. Finally he could stand it no more. He couldn’t concentrate on his work, and when he tried, he made mistakes. Worse, he was beginning to be haunted with walking nightmares that she’d come to harm-or that she was falling in love with someone kinder than he-and the tormenting illusions followed him from room to room.
On a clear, cold day in early December, after leaving instructions with his footmen, butler, and even his cook that he was to be notified immediately if any word at all was received from Elizabeth, he left for the cottage in Scotland. It was the one place where he might find peace from the throbbing emptiness that was gnawing away at him with a pain that increased unbearably from day to day, because he no longer really believed she would ever contact him. ~ Judith McNaught,
1324:Company K
There is a cap in the closet,
Old, tattered, and blueOf very slight value,
It may be, to you:
But a crown, jewel studded,
Could not buy it to-day,
With its letters of honor,
Brave 'Co. K.'
The head that it sheltered
Needs shelter no more:
Dead heroes make holy
The trifles they wore;
So, like chaplet of honor,
Of laurel and bay,
Seems the cap of the soldier,
Marked 'Co. K.'
Bright eyes have looked calmly
Its visor beneath,
O'er the work of the Reaper,
Grim Harvester Death!
Let the muster roll meagre,
So mournfully say,
How foremost in danger
Went 'Co. K.'
Whose footsteps unbroken
Came up to the town,
Where rampart and bastion
Looked threat'ningly down!
Who, closing up breaches,
Still kept on their way,
Till, guns downward pointed,
Faced 'Co. K.'
Who faltered or shivered?
Who shunned battle stroke?
Whose fire was uncertain?
104
Whose battle line broke?
Go, ask it of History,
Years from to-day,
And the record shall tell you,
Not 'Co. K.'
Though my darling is sleeping
To-day with the dead,
And daisies and clover
Bloom over his head,
I smile through my tears
As I lay it awayThat battle-worn cap,
Lettered 'Co. K.'
~ Anonymous Americas,
1325:The Earth
Spring bursts violently
into Moscow houses.
Moths flutter about
crawl on summer hats,
and furs hide secretly.
Pots of wallflowers and stock
stand, in the window, just,
of wooden second storeys,
the rooms breathe liberty,
the smell of attics is dust.
The street is friends
with the bleary glass,
and white night and sunset
at one, by the river, pass.
In the passage you’ll know
what’s going on below
and April’s casual flow
of words with drops of thaw.
It’s a thousand stories veiled
in a human sadness,
and twilight along the fence
grows chill with the tale.
Outside, or snug at home
the same fire and hesitation:
everywhere air’s unsure.
The same cut willow twigs,
the same white swell of buds,
at crossroads, windows above,
in streets, and workshop-doors.
Then why does the far horizon weep
in mist, and the soil smell bitter?
After all, it’s my calling, surely,
131
to see no distance is lonely,
and past the town boundary,
to see that earth doesn’t suffer.
That’s why in early spring
we meet, my friends and I,
and our evenings are – farewell documents,
our gatherings are – testaments,
so the secret stream of suffering
may warm the cold of life.
~ Boris Pasternak,
1326:Raymond of Toulouse, who, cognisant of the whole plan, had been left behind with the main body of the army, heard at this instant the signal horn, which announced that an entry had been effected, and, leading on his legions, the town was attacked from within and without. Imagination cannot conceive a scene more dreadful than that presented by the devoted city of Antioch on that night of horror. The Crusaders fought with a blind fury, which fanaticism and suffering alike incited. Men, women, and children were indiscriminately slaughtered, till the streets ran with blood. Darkness increased the destruction, for when morning dawned the Crusaders found themselves with their swords at the breasts of their fellow-soldiers, whom they had mistaken for foes. The Turkish commander fled, first to the citadel, and that becoming insecure, to the mountains, whither he was pursued and slain, and his grey head brought back to Antioch as a trophy. At daylight the massacre ceased, and the Crusaders gave themselves up to plunder. They found gold, and jewels, and silks, and velvets in abundance, but of provisions, which were of more importance to them, they found but little of any kind. Corn was excessively scarce, and they discovered to their sorrow that in this respect the besieged had been but little better off than the besiegers. ~ Charles Mackay,
1327:If I’d known we were just going to sit around and watch the plants grow today, I would have brought my book.”
Emma jerked her attention from the columbine plants she’d been checking on and back to Sean. “Sorry. Zoned out for a minute. Did you get the weed blocker done?”
“Yeah. I don’t get why they want the pathway to the beach done in white stone. Don’t you usually walk back from the water barefoot?”
“Not this couple. It doesn’t matter how practical it is. All that matters is how it looks.”
“Whatever. It’s going to take the rest of the day to get all that stone down, so stop mentally tiptoeing through the tulips and let’s go.”
Emma wanted to tell him to shove his attitude up his ass, because she was the boss, or at least flip him the bird behind his back, but she didn’t have the energy. Living a fake life was a lot more exhausting than she’d anticipated.
She didn’t even want to think about what it was like trying to sleep every night with her boxer-brief-clad roommate sprawled across the bed only ten feet away, so she thought about Gram instead. Gram, who was, at that very moment, on her way into town. The town that had heard the rumors of her engagement, but never actually seen her fiancé.
If Gram returned from town still believing Emma and Sean were headed to the altar, it would be a miracle. ~ Shannon Stacey,
1328:What's taking you so long in the privy, son?"
"Nothing, mama."
"If you stay in there much longer, a snake will come and bite you"
"Yes, mama."
I was thinking of you, Susana of the green hills. Of when we
used to fly kites in the windy season. We could hear the sounds of life from the town below; we were high above on the hill, playing out string to the wind. "Help me, Susana." And soft hands would tighten on mine. "Let out more string."

The wind made us laugh; our eyes followed the string running through our fingers after the wind until with a faint pop! it broke, as if it had been snapped by the wings of a bird. And high over head, the paper bird would tumble and somersault, trailing its rag tail, until it disappeared into the green earth.
Your lips were moist, as if kissed by the dew.
"I told you, son, come out of the privy now."
"Yes, mama. I'm coming."
I was thinking of you. Of the times you were there looking at me
with your aquamarine eyes.
He looked up and saw his mother in the doorway.
"What's taking you so long? What are you doing in there?"
"I'm thinking."
"Can't you do it somewhere else? It's not good for you to stay in the privy so long. Besides, you should be doing something. Why don't you go help your grandmother shell corn?"
"I'm going, mama. I'm going. ~ Juan Rulfo,
1329:The town , wrapped in red and green, greeted him, welcome him home as he drove down familiar streets. Driving his old truck filled Hunter with pleasure. He didn't have to look for IEDs on the side of the road. He grinned all the way to the apartment, enjoying the ride, the peace of the nigh, the old brick buildings on Main Street, the holiday finery, the palpable presence of town spirit.
He parked his truck in front of the apartment building that Ethan owned as a side business, and suddenly couldn't wait another second. He hurried up the front stairs, down the inside styaircase, then just about ran down the hallway to his basement-level unit.
He had his key in his hand, but the doorknob turned easily as he put his hand on it. Cindy had left the door open for him.
He grinned like a fool as he walked in. The loose floorboard in the middle of the living room creaked a familiar welcome as he passed his army duffel bag on the floor where he'd dumped it earlier. Cindy's little pink purse sat on his brown leather couch like a cupcake on a tray.
"Cindy?" He strode toward the bedroom in the back, his smile spreading as he anticipated a private party. If she was waiting for him naked in bed, the proposal would have to wait a litt. "Honey?"
But she wasn't waiting for him naked.
She was waiting for him dead. ~ Dana Marton,
1330:However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poor-house. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the alms-house as brightly as from the rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace. The town’s poor seem to me often to live the most independent lives of any. May be they are simply great enough to receive without misgiving. Most think that they are above being supported by the town; but it oftener happens that they are not above supporting themselves by dishonest means, which should be more disreputable. Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends. Turn the old; return to them. Things do not change; we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts. God will see that you do not want society. If I were confined to a corner of a garret all my days, like a spider, the world would be just as large to me while I had my thoughts about me. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
1331:Change is still resented on the Plains, so much so much so that many small-town people cling to the dangerous notion that while the world outside may change drastically, their town does not...
... when myth dictates that the town has not really changed, ways of adapting to new social and economic conditions are rejected: not vigorously, but with a strangely resolute inertia...
Combatting inertia in a town such as Lemmon can seem like raising the dead. It is painful to watch intelligent business people who are dedicated to the welfare of the town spend most of their energy combatting those more set in their ways. Community spirit can still work wonders here - people raised over $500,000 in the hard times of the late 1980s to keep the Lemmon nursing home open...
By the time a town is 75 or 100 years old, it may be filled with those who have come to idealize their isolation. Often these are people who never left at all, or fled back to the safety of the town after a try at college a few hundred miles from home, or returned after college regarding the values of the broader, more pluralistic world they had encountered as something to protect themselves and their families from...
More than ever, I've come to see conspiracy theories as the refuge of those who have lost their natural curiosity to cope with change. ~ Kathleen Norris,
1332:One minute it was Ohio winter, with doors closed, windows locked, the panes blind with frost, icicles fringing every roof, children skiing on slopes, housewives lumbering like great black bears in their furs along the icy streets.
And then a long wave of warmth crossed the small town. A flooding sea of hot air; it seemed as if someone had left a bakery door open. The heat pulsed among the cottages and bushes and children. The icicles dropped, shattering, to melt. The doors flew open. The windows flew up. The children worked off their wool clothes. The housewives shed their bear disguises. The snow dissolved and showed last summer's ancient green lawns.
Rocket summer. The words passed among the people in the open, airing houses. Rocket summer. The warm desert air changing the frost patterns on the windows, erasing the art work. The skis and sleds suddenly useless. The snow, falling from the cold sky upon the town, turned to a hot rain before it touched the ground.
Rocket summer. People leaned from their dripping porches and watched the reddening sky.
The rocket lay on the launching field, blowing out pink clouds of fire and oven heat. The rocket stood in the cold winter morning, making summer with every breath of its mighty exhausts. The rocket made climates, and summer lay for a brief moment upon the land.... ~ Ray Bradbury,
1333:You poor dear. I can hardly endure it when my brothers are staying at the town house. They’re always causing some trouble or another.”
“Oh, yes, and you never cause any trouble,” Oliver teased. “Never mind the shooting match where you brought three men to blows over whose rifle you should deign to use. Or the spectacle you made of yourself when you dressed as a man to enter a match. Or-“
“You can shoot a rifle, Lady Celia?” Maria leaned forward. “How did you learn? I’ve always wanted to myself, but Papa and my cousins refused to show me how a rifle works. Could you teach me?”
“No!” Oliver and Freddy said in unison. Then Oliver added, “Absolutely not.”
Lord Gabriel leaned close. “I’d be happy to teach you, Miss Butterfield.”
“Stay out of this, Gabe,” Oliver growled. “Bad enough you taught Celia. Maria already has enough weapons at her disposal.”
His grandmother arched one eyebrow. “Pray tell, what sort of weapons do you mean?”
Oliver paused, then gave a lazy smile. “Why, her beauty, of course. That weapon is devastating enough.”
“It won’t stop a scoundrel from manhandling a woman,” Lady Minerva put in.
“As if you know anything about that,” Lord Jarret pointed out. “Just because the heroines in your books get manhandled with nauseating regularity doesn’t mean the average woman does. ~ Sabrina Jeffries,
1334:Mel?” he called. “Sit with me a minute.” “I should go to Joey. She came all this way…” “Maybe we should talk. About what’s been going on with you.” She had been on this precipice for days, teetering on the fine edge of losing it. The only thing that seemed to take her mind off the violent event that changed her life was work. If she had a patient or an emergency, she could lose herself in it. Even the day with her sister, showing Joey the town, the lambs, the beauty, took her away a little bit. But it just kept coming back, haunting her. A picture of him lying on the floor bleeding out could float in front of her eyes and she’d have to pinch them closed, praying she wouldn’t break down. There was no way she could sit down and talk about it. What she needed right now was to get out of here, go home and have a good hard cry. With her sister, who understood. “I can’t,” she said, her words little more than a breath. Jack stood up. “Then let me drive you home,” he said. “No,” she said, holding up a hand. “Please. I need to just go.” “Why don’t you just let me hold you. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone.” So, Mel thought. She told him! She closed her eyes and held up a hand as if to ward him off. Her nose became red, her lips pink around the edges. “I really want to be alone. Please, Jack.” He gave his head a nod and watched her leave. Mel ~ Robyn Carr,
1335:The Town Of Nothing-To-Do
THEY say somewhere in the distance fair,
Is the town of Nothing-to-Do,
Where the sun, they say, shines every day
And the skies are always blue;
Where no one tries for a silver prize
And no one strives for gold,
There, every race has taken place,
And every tale been told.
The blacksmith sings as his anvil rings
Of the town of Nothing-to-Do,
And vows in his song, though the road is long
When with anvil and forge he's through
He will wander far, where the glad folks are,
And will rest in that happy town;
He dreams of the day when he'll put for aye
His apron and hammer down.
O, it matters not what the toiler's lot,
Be he preacher or soldier brave,
Though he delve a ditch, be he great or rich,
Be judge or a statesman grave,
He dreams always of the future days
When he'll go to Nothing-to-Do,
When he's faced life's test, and his hands will rest
And his time of toil is through.
But Nothing-to-Do, folks tell me, who
Have journeyed the hills and found it,
Is a hollow fake and a big mistake,
For the streams of care surround it.
And the people there, they all declare,
Are gloomy and sad and sighing,
And they yearn for strife, for the joy of life
Is something to do worth trying.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1336:Valentine Day In Cactus Center
Things is quiet, here in Cactus, and our bullyvards now lack
The brisk, upliftin' infloo'nce of the forty-five's loud crack;
There's three doctors and some nusses, all the way from San Antone,
And they're patchin' up the leavin's of a Valentine cyclone.
It was all because Bear Hawkins, who's some clever with the pen,
Drew a bunch o' comic picters of our foremost fightin' men;
He cartooned Windy Porter as a sheep in cowboy's clothes
And he handed worse to others 'fore he hails the stage and blows.
It was n't many minutes 'fore the post-office was filled
With a seethin' bunch a-thirstin' fer to see an artist killed;
They did n't think o' Hawkins, fer he'd covered up his play,
So they fell to argumentin', in a gin'ral sort o' way.
The wrecked the gov'ment boxes, and they bloodied up the floor-It was freshly laid with sawdust, and the P. M. ripped and swore-And they used the doors and shutters and then tore the big sign down
Fer to bear away the wounded when the smoke had left the town.
So we ain't too strong in Catcus on this comic picter bix,
And we're waitin' fer Bear Hawkins jest to tip off where he is,
But he keeps hisself in hidin', though he sent us this one line-'I still love you, Cactus Center--won't you be my valentine?'
~ Arthur Chapman,
1337:Edward Lasco was on the screened porch of his rented house in a comfortable but not elegant older section of the town where he'd lived for the past fifteen years when his wife, Elise, who six months before had left him and moved to a nearby city to work in a psychiatric hospital, came around the side of the house and stood beside the screen looking in. She had on a business outfit—natural linen suit, knee-high boots, dark glasses with at least three distinguishable colors tiered top to bottom in the lenses—and she carried a slick briefcase, thin and shiny. Her hair was shorter than he'd seen it, styled in a peculiar way so that it seemed it spots to jerk away from her head, to say, "I'm hair, boy, and you'd better believe it." Edward had come outside with a one-pint carton of skim milk and a ninety-nine-cookie package of Oreos and a just-received issue of InfoWorld, and he was entirely content with the prospect of eating his cookies and drinking his milk and reading his magazine, but when he saw Elise he was filled with a sudden, very unpleasant sense that he didn't want to see her. It'd been a good two and a half months since he'd talked to her, and there she was looking like an earnest TV art director's version of the modern businesswoman; it made him feel that his life was fucked, and this was before she'd said a word. ~ Frederick Barthelme,
1338:The Table And The Chair
Said the Table to the Chair,
'You can hardly be aware
How I suffer from the heat,
And from chilblains on my feet!
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk!
Pray let us take the air!'
Said the Table to the Chair.
Said the Chair unto the Table,
'Now you know we are not able!
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we cannot walk!'
Said the Table with a sigh,
'It can do no harm to try;
I've as many legs as you;
Why can't we walk on two?'
So they both went slowly down,
And walked about the town
With a cheerful bumpy sound,
As they toddled round and round.
And everybody cried,
As they hastened to their side,
'See! the Table and the Chair
Have come out to take the air!'
But, in going down an alley
To a castle in the valley,
They completely lost their way,
And wandered all the day
Till, to see them safely back,
They paid a Ducky-quack,
And a Beetle, and a Mouse,
Who took them to their house.
Then they whispered to each other,
'O delightful little brother!
What a lovely walk we've taken!
188
Let us dine on Beans and Bacon!'
So the Ducky and the leetle
Browny-Mousy and the Beetle
Dined, and danced upon their heads
Till they toddled to their beds.
~ Edward Lear,
1339:that every man in Eatanswill, conscious of the weight that attached to his example, felt himself bound to unite, heart and soul, with one of the two great parties that divided the town — the Blues and the Buffs. Now the Blues lost no opportunity of opposing the Buffs, and the Buffs lost no opportunity of opposing the Blues; and the consequence was, that whenever the Buffs and Blues met together at public meeting, town-hall, fair, or market, disputes and high words arose between them. With these dissensions it is almost superfluous to say that everything in Eatanswill was made a party question. If the Buffs proposed to new skylight the market-place, the Blues got up public meetings, and denounced the proceeding; if the Blues proposed the erection of an additional pump in the High Street, the Buffs rose as one man and stood aghast at the enormity. There were Blue shops and Buff shops, Blue inns and Buff inns — there was a Blue aisle and a Buff aisle in the very church itself. Of course it was essentially and indispensably necessary that each of these powerful parties should have its chosen organ and representative: and, accordingly, there were two newspapers in the town — the Eatanswill Gazette and the Eatanswill Independent; the former advocating Blue principles, and the latter conducted on grounds decidedly Buff. Fine newspapers they were. ~ Charles Dickens,
1340:The Island
Does the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town,
Rattling the windows and doors of the cheap-built place?
Do you hear its song as it flies over marsh and down?
Do you feel the kiss that the wind leaves here on my face?
Or, wrapt in a lamplit quiet, do you restrain
Thoughts that would take the wind's way hither to me,
And bid them rest safe-anchored, nor tempt again
The tumult, and torment, and passion that live in the sea?
I, for my part, when the wind sings loud in its might,
I bid it hush---nor awaken again the storm
That swept my heart out to sea on a moonless night,
And dashed it ashore on an island wondrous and warm
Where all things fair and forbidden for ever flower,
Where the worst of life is a dream, and the best comes true,
Where the harvest of years was reaped in a single hour
And the gods, for once, were honest with me and you.
I will not hear when the wind and the sea cry out,
I will not trust again to the hurrying wind,
I will not swim again in a sea of doubt,
And reach that shore with the world left well behind;
But you,---I would have you listen to every call
Of the changing wind, as it blows over marsh and main,
And heap life's joys in your hands, and offer them all,
If only your feet might touch that island again!
~ Edith Nesbit,
1341:In the morning it was raining. A fog had come over the mountains from the sea. You could not see the tops of the mountains. The plateau was dull and gloomy, and the shapes of the trees and the houses were changed. I walked out beyond the town to look at the weather. The bad weather was coming over the mountains from the sea.
The flags in the square hung wet form the with poles and the banners were wet and hung damp against the front of the houses, and in between the steady drizzle the rain came down and drove every one under the arcades and made pools of water in the square, and the streets were dark and deserted; yet the fiesta kept up without any pause. It was only driven under covers.
The covered seats of the bull-ring had been crowded with people sitting out of the rain watching the concourse of Basque and Navarrais dancers and singers, and afterward the Val Carlos dancers in their costumes danced down the street in the rain, the drums sounding hallow and damp, and the chiefs of the bands riding ahead of their big, heavy-footed horse, their costumes wet, the horses’ coats wet in the rain. The crowd was in the cafés and the dancers came in, too, and sat, their tight-wound white legs under the tables, shaking the water from their belled caps, and spreading their red and purple jackets over the chairs to dry. It was raining hard outside. ~ Ernest Hemingway,
1342:New people rarely went there to live. The same families married the same families until relationships were hopelessly entangled and the members of the community looked monotonously alike. Jean Louise, until the Second World War, was related by blood or marriage to nearly everybody in the town, but this was mild compared to what went on in the northern half of Maycomb County: there was a community called Old Sarum populated by two families, separate and apart in the beginning, but unfortunately bearing the same name. The Cunninghams and the Coninghams married each other until the spelling of the names was academic—academic unless a Cunningham wished to jape with a Coningham over land titles and took to the law. The only time Jean Louise ever saw Judge Taylor at a dead standstill in open court was during a dispute of this kind. Jeems Cunningham testified that his mother spelled it Cunningham occasionally on deeds and things but she was really a Coningham, she was an uncertain speller, and she was given to looking far away sometimes when she sat on the front porch. After nine hours of listening to the vagaries of Old Sarum’s inhabitants, Judge Taylor threw the case out of court on grounds of frivolous pleading and declared he hoped to God the litigants were satisfied by each having had his public say. They were. That was all they had wanted in the first place. ~ Harper Lee,
1343:The drive is supposed to take six and a half hours but somehow we have been on the road for eight when we come to the wooden sign sunk into grass that signifies the entrance to Deakins Park, and although Honey is still caterwauling, passing the sign feels like entering protected land, something apart from the ravages of the town. It sounds like hair-splitting to parse the varieties of mobile home, like something only a person obsessed about imperceptible class minutia would do, but there are mobile homes and mobile homes and despite how mortified Mom and I used to be by the fact that her parents lived in a mobile home now I happen to think Deakins Park is just as nice if not nicer than many a suburban cul-de-sac of for example the Nut Tree-adjacent variety. It’s a circle of nicely appointed and discreetly mobile homes of different styles and patterns built on either side of a large circular street, each with a good-size yard. The outer ring of houses is bounded by a split-rail fence, and beyond this the town gives over to the high desert, with low, prickly sagebrush and rafts of tumbleweed through which jackrabbits and antelopes poke delicately in the cool mornings. Everyone has plenty of space and a view of the low-lying mountains ringing the basin. The houses look pretty good. It’s a little neighborhood on the frontier. Home on the range, if you will. ~ Lydia Kiesling,
1344:So Janie began to think of Death. Death, that strange being with the huge square toes who lived way in the West. The great one who lived in the straight house like a platform without sides to it, and without a roof. What need has Death for a cover, and what winds can blow against him? He stands in his high house that overlooks the world. Stands watchful and motionless all day with his sword drawn back, waiting for the messenger to bid him come. Been standing there before there was a where or a when or a then. She was liable to find a feather from his wings lying in her yard any day now. She was sad and afraid too. Poor Jody! He ought not to have to wrassle in there by himself. She sent Sam in to suggest a visit, but Jody said No. These medical doctors wuz all right with the Godly sick, but they didn't know a thing about a case like his. He'd be all right just as soon as the two-headed man found what had been buried against him. He wasn't going to die at all. That was what he thought. But Sam told her different, so she knew. And then if he hadn't the next morning she was bound to know, for people began to gather in the big yard under the palm and china-berry trees. People who would not have dared to foot the place before crept in and did not come to the house. Just squatted under the trees and waited. Rumor, that wingless bird, had shadowed over the town. ~ Zora Neale Hurston,
1345:The Ocean Strand
O leave the labouring roadways of the town,
The shifting faces and the changeful hue
Of markets, and broad echoing streets that drown
The heart’s own silent music. Though they too
Sing in their proper rhythm, and still delight
The friendly ear that loves warm human kind,
Yet it is good to leave them all behind,
Now when from lily dawn to purple night
Summer is queen,
Summer is queen in all the happy land.
Far, far away among the valleys green
Let us go forth and wander hand in hand
Beyond those solemn hills that we have seen
So often welcome home the falling sun
Into their cloudy peaks when day was done—
Beyond them till we find the ocean strand
And hear the great waves run,
With the waste song whose melodies I’d follow
And weary not for many a summer day,
Born of the vaulted breakers arching hollow
Before they flash and scatter into spray,
On, if we should be weary of their play
Then I would lead you further into land
Where, with their ragged walls, the stately rocks
Shunt in smooth courts and paved with quiet sand
To silence dedicate. The sea-god’s flocks
Have rested here, and mortal eyes have seen
By great adventure at the dead of noon
A lonely nereid drowsing half a-swoon
Buried beneath her dark and dripping locks.
~ Clive Staples Lewis,
1346:The Book Of Memory
Turn me loose and let me be
Young once more and fancy free;
Let me wander where I will,
Down the lane and up the hill,
Trudging barefoot in the dust
In an age that knows no 'must,'
And no voice insistently
Speaks of duty unto me;
Let me tread the happy ways
Of those by-gone yesterdays.
Fame had never whispered then,
Making slaves of eager men;
Greed had never called me down
To the gray walls of the town,
Offering frankincense and myrrh
If I'd be its prisoner;
I was free to come and go
Where the cherry blossoms blow,
Free to wander where I would,
Finding life supremely good.
But I turned, as all must do,
From the happiness I knew
To the land of care and strife,
Seeking for a fuller life;
Heard the lure of fame and sought
That renown so dearly bought;
Listened to the voice of greed
Saying: 'These the things you need,'
Now the gray town holds me fast,
Prisoner to the very last.
Age has stamped me as its own;
Youth to younger hearts has flown;
Still the cherry blossoms blow
In the land loused to know;
Still the fragrant clover spills
Perfume over dales and hills,
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But I'm not allowed to stray
Where the young are free to play;
All the years will grant to me
Is the book of memory.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1347:You can be a rich person alone. You can be a smart person alone. But you cannot be a complete person alone. For that you must be part of, and rooted in, an olive grove. This truth was once beautifully conveyed by Rabbi Harold S. Kushner in his interpretation of a scene from Gabriel García Márquez’s classic novel One Hundred Years of Solitude: Márquez tells of a village where people were afflicted with a strange plague of forgetfulness, a kind of contagious amnesia. Starting with the oldest inhabitants and working its way through the population, the plague causes people to forget the names of even the most common everyday objects. One young man, still unaffected, tries to limit the damage by putting labels on everything. “This is a table,” “This is a window,” “This is a cow; it has to be milked every morning.” And at the entrance to the town, on the main road, he puts up two large signs. One reads “The name of our village is Macondo,” and the larger one reads “God exists.” The message I get from that story is that we can, and probably will, forget most of what we have learned in life—the math, the history, the chemical formulas, the address and phone number of the first house we lived in when we got married—and all that forgetting will do us no harm. But if we forget whom we belong to, and if we forget that there is a God, something profoundly human in us will be lost. ~ Thomas L Friedman,
1348:Moreno, Morelos, Cantine, Gomez, Gutierrez, Villanousul, Ureta, Licon, Navarro, Iturbi; Jorge, Filomena, Nena, Manuel, Jose, Tomas, Ramona. This man walked and this man sang and this man had three wives; and this man died of this, and that of that, and the third from another thing, and the fourth was shot, and the fifth was stabbed and the sixth fell straight down dead; and the seventh drank deep and died dead, and the eighth died in love, and the ninth fell from him horse, and the tenth coughed blood, and the eleventh stopped his heart, and the twelfth used to laugh much, and the thirteenth was a dancing one, and the fourteenth was most beautiful of all, the fifteenth had ten children and the sixteenth is one of those children as is the seventeenth; and the eighteenth was Tomas and did well with his guitar; the next three cut maize in their fields, had three lovers each; the twenty-second was never loved; the twenty-third sold tortillas, patting and shaping them each at the curb before the Opera House with her little charcoal stove; and the twenty-fourth beat his wife and now she walks proudly in the town and is merry with new men and here he stands bewildered by this unfair thing, and the twenty-fifth drank several quarts of river with his lungs and was pulled forth in a net, and the twenty-sixth was a great thinker and his brain now sleeps like a burnt plum in his skull. ~ Ray Bradbury,
1349:In Trouble
It's all for nothing: I've lost im now.
I suppose it ad to be:
But oh I never thought it of im,
Nor e never thought it of me.
And all for a kiss on your evening out
An a field where the grass was down ...
And e as gone to God-knows-where,
And I may go on the town.
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11
12
13
14
15
16
The worst of all was the thing e said
The night that e went away:
He said e'd a married me right enough
If I adn't a been so gay.
Me, gay! When I'd cried, and I'd asked him not,
But e said e loved me so;
An whatever e wanted seemed right to me ...
An how was a girl to know?
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18
19
20
21
22
23
24
Well, the river is deep, and drowned folk sleep sound,
An it might be the best to do;
But when he made me a light-o-love
He made me a mother too.
I've ad enough sin to last my time,
If twas sin as I got it by,
But it aint no sin to stand by his kid
An work for it till I die.
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
But oh the long days and the death-long nights
When I feel it move and turn,
And cry alone in my single bed
And count what a girl can earn
To buy the baby the bits of things
He ought to a bought, by rights;
And wonder whether e thinks of Us ...
And if e sleeps sound o' nights.
~ Edith Nesbit,
1350:Two days before we were "banished" from the town my father came to see me. He sat down and in a leisurely way, without looking at me, wiped his red face, then took out of his pocket our town Messenger, and deliberately, with emphasis on each word, read out the news that the son of the branch manager of the State Bank, a young man of my age, had been appointed head of a Department in the Exchequer.

"And now look at you," he said, folding up the newspaper, "a beggar, in rags, good for nothing! Even working-class people and peasants obtain education in order to become men, while you, a Poloznev, with ancestors of rank and distinction, aspire to the gutter! But I have not come here to talk to you; I have washed my hands of you --" he added in a stifled voice, getting up. "I have come to find out where your sister is, you worthless fellow. She left home after dinner, and here it is nearly eight and she is not back. She has taken to going out frequently without telling me; she is less dutiful -- and I see in it your evil and degrading influence. Where is she?"

In his hand he had the umbrella I knew so well, and I was already flustered and drew myself up like a schoolboy, expecting my father to begin hitting me with it, but he noticed my glance at the umbrella and most likely that restrained him.

"Live as you please!" he said. "I shall not give you my blessing! ~ Anton Chekhov,
1351:I was very aware that you were a girl, Ash. I was just scared, because the one person in the world who knew every secret I’d ever had also happened to be the most beautiful girl I’d ever known. My feelings for you were scary as hell.”
I leaned down and kissed the frown between his brows.
“Right now. Right here. I’m yours. Not Sawyer’s. He isn’t who I want. Right now all I want is you.” I chose my words carefully so we’d both understand my meaning.
He took my waist and shifted his body so I was completely on top of him. I lowered my mouth to his and sighed as his hands found the hem of my dress and the warm pressure of his palms ran up my thighs.
Tonight I would give myself to Beau because I wanted to. He was the town’s bad boy and I was the preacher’s daughter. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
“Ash, I want you. Bad, very, very bad. But you deserve better than this.”
I bent back down over him and kissed him again before pulling back enough to whisper, “It doesn’t get any better than this, Beau.”
His hands cupped my bottom and shifted me so I could feel the pressure of his obvious arousal against the warmth between my thighs.
“Please, Beau,” I cried out, not sure what I was begging for but knowing I needed more. His hands gripped my waist.
“Hold on to me, baby. I’m going to take care of you.” The raspy need in his voice only made me more desperate. ~ Abbi Glines,
1352:Homesick
I’ve lit the Christmas candle,
As we used to long ago
When it shone through cabin windows
On Holly-hedge and snow.
In this fine new house they’ve built me
That is furnished rich and fairBut I’m hearing now the breakers rolling round the cliffs of Moher,
And my heart is aching, aching for a breath of Irish air.
The wren boys on St. Stephen’s Day.
Went singin’ up and down
With their poor dead wren and thorn bush,
I heard them through the town.
But to-night down lighted city streets,
I hear the distant band,
And when’er they play ‘our own’ hymns or tune of dear old Ireland,
The poor old foolish heart of me is in another land.
‘Twas a lonely hillside chapel,
Where we tramped to midnight Mass,
With the flaring lights we carried
Throwing shadows on the grass.
But to-night my boy will drive me
In his grand new limousine,
And he’ll wrap my furs around me, proudly caring for his Mother,
And I’ll ride to the Cathedral just as grand as any queen.
Ah! No, I’m not repinin’,
And I love this wide new land,
And I’m proud to see the childer
Growin’ prosperous and grand,
But roots strike deep in Irish soil,
Old memories are sweet,
And to-night my heart is yearnin’ for the cabin I was born in,
And I smell the reek of turf-smoke driftin’ up the city streets.
~ Alice Guerin Crist,
1353:On a long journey to Glen-Stone
Isailed into its shade
there before me she proudly shone
my decision was already made.
A lass who bore the light of the town
her fur of ivory thread
how she danced is stuck in my crown
and back to this glen my boat led.
Twenty some seasons have since passed
since her eyes and mine both met
through lands unnamed and wildly vast
my blade slaying every threat
Wolf, hawk, fox, and snake
can't stand in my way
my body is weak and it may break,
but not today.
Living in blackness wrought with fright
my steel shattered facing the foes
dusks and dawns darker than night
my fallen companions in rows
Life spilled past me staining the ground
mylimbs growing ever so cold
above villians let out a cackiling sound
telling me i'd never grow old
One dance and one mouse played in my mind
calling me back from the doom
the courage to carry on i did find
to raise me out of my tomb
Wolf, hawk, fox, and snake
can't stand in my way
my body is weak and it may break
though not today
Battered and bruised i stood to my paws
raised what little i owned
predators growled caring not for my cause
of the mouse that shone light off Glen-stone
Wolf, hawk, fox, and snake
can't tand in my way
my body is weak and it may break
though not today. -The Ballad Of The Ivory Lass ~ David Petersen,
1354:The Barking Weasel
You say, John Irish, Mr. Taylor hath
A painted beard. Quite likely that is true,
And sure 'tis natural you spend your wrath
On what has been least merciful to you.
By Taylor's chin, if I am not mistaken,
You like a rat have recently been shaken.
To wear a beard of artificial hue
May be or this or that, I know not what;
But, faith, 'tis better to be black-and-blue
In beard from dallying with brush and pot
Than to be so in body from the beating
That hardy rogues get when detected cheating.
You're whacked about the mazzard rather more
Of late than any other man in town.
Certes your vulnerable back is sore
And tender, too, your corrigible crown.
In truth your whole periphery discloses
More vivid colors than a bed of posies!
You call it glory! Put your tongue in sheath!
Scars got in battle, even if on the breast,
May be a shameful record if, beneath,
A robber heart a lawless strife attest.
John Sullivan had wounds, and Paddy Ryan
Nay, as to that, even Masten has, and Bryan.
'Tis willingly conceded you've a knack
At holding the attention of the town;
The worse for you when you have on your back
What did not grow there-prithee put it down!
For pride kills thrift, and you lack board and lodging,
Even while the brickbats of renown you're dodging.
~ Ambrose Bierce,
1355:Reminded
Beneath my window twilight made
Familiar mysteries of shade.
Faint voices from the darkening down
Were calling vaguely to the town.
Intent upon a low, far gleam
That burned upon the world's extreme,
I sat, with short reprieve from grief,
And turned the volume, leaf by leaf,
Wherein a hand, long dead, had wrought
A million miracles of thought.
My fingers carelessly unclung
The lettered pages, and among
Them wandered witless, nor divined
The wealth in which, poor fools, they mined.
The soul that should have led their quest
Was dreaming in the level west,
Where a tall tower, stark and still,
Uplifted on a distant hill,
Stood lone and passionless to claim
Its guardian star's returning flame.
I know not how my dream was broke,
But suddenly my spirit woke
Filled with a foolish fear to look
Upon the hand that clove the book,
Significantly pointing; next
I bent attentive to the text,
And read-and as I read grew oldThe mindless words: 'Poor Tom's a-cold!'
Ah me! to what a subtle touch
The brimming cup resigns its clutch
Upon the wine. Dear God, is 't writ
That hearts their overburden bear
Of bitterness though thou permit
The pranks of Chance, alurk in nooks,
And striking coward blows from books,
And dead hands reaching everywhere?
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~ Ambrose Bierce,
1356:Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
  The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
  Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
  What has happened to you that you look so strange?
  Haven't you got a letter from father today?
  I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
  Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
  But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
  Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
  I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
  I shall write from A right up to K.
  But, mother, why do you smile?
  You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
  But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
  When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
  I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
  I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Wicked Postman
,
1357:He knew no matter what he did while Jackson was President, his job was safe, for he was there for one specific task, one the American public could never know about, one that even his own wife knew nothing about. One that had been handed down to him by his own father. He pressed the talk button. “Masters.”  “Sir, we have an Umbra Gamma Prime document here for immediate review.” “I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone and pressed the button to lower the glass partition separating him from the driver. “Jerry, turn us around, I need to get back to the office, fast.” His chauffeur of many years radioed the escort vehicles as he raised the partition, picked up his glass and gripped the overhead handhold. The mini-motorcade’s lead Lincoln Navigator cut left, jumped the median and blocked oncoming traffic. The Town Car limo locked up its brakes and followed, jostling its well-prepared VIP as the trailing Navigator cut across, assuming the role of lead vehicle. All three vehicles turned on their lights and sirens, leaving a trail of burnt rubber, smoke and a dozen confused drivers in their wake. Umbra Gamma Prime. It was one of the highest classifications of Top Secret there was in his business. In fact he had never had one cross his desk since he had taken the job, despite dealing with countless terrorist threats—both domestic and abroad—and having sent teams across the world in secret. ~ J Robert Kennedy,
1358:Well, tell me boy," she said, "what have you been reading?"
Craftily he picked his way across the waste land of printery,
naming as his favorites those books which he felt would win her
approval. As he had read everything, good and bad, that the town
library contained, he was able to make an impressive showing.
Sometimes she stopped him to question about a book--he rebuilt the
story richly with a blazing tenacity of detail that satisfied her
wholly. She was excited and eager--she saw at once how abundantly
she could feed this ravenous hunger for knowledge, experience,
wisdom. And he knew suddenly the joy of obedience: the wild
ignorant groping, the blind hunt, the desperate baffled desire was
now to be ruddered, guided, controlled. The way through the
passage to India, that he had never been able to find, would now be
charted for him. Before he went away she had given him a fat
volume of nine hundred pages, shot through with spirited engravings
of love and battle, of the period he loved best.
He was drowned deep at midnight in the destiny of the man who
killed the bear, the burner of windmills and the scourge of
banditry, in all the life of road and tavern in the Middle Ages, in
valiant and beautiful Gerard, the seed of genius, the father of
Erasmus. Eugene thought The Cloister and the Hearth the best story
he had ever read. ~ Thomas Wolfe,
1359:But they still did not know for what purpose David was being anointed. There were few offices that such consecration was used for: elders of Israel, prophet, priest or king. David was too young to be an elder. Could he be a prophet? He was not a Levite, so priesthood was not a possibility. Kingship was out of the question. Saul was clearly Yahweh’s chosen one for warrior king. The people murmured and debated amongst themselves. Jesse gathered up the courage to ask Samuel what everyone else was wondering. “Pray tell, Seer Samuel, for what purpose is my son being anointed?” Samuel gave a long hard stare at David, who felt his skin crawl with the holiness. “Yahweh will reveal in his own good time.” Suddenly, a rushing wind blew through the town square. David felt a gust enter him like a breath, and he knew everything had changed. Everything was different. Samuel capped the horn, and drew his servants near him and walked away through the crowd. David and the others were confused. David called to Samuel. Samuel just kept walking. David ran after him. “Samuel! Samuel! Where are you going?” “Back to Ramah.” He kept walking. David had to keep up. “What am I supposed to do?” “I have told you everything I know. Yahweh will let you know more when he is good and ready.” “What am I supposed to do until then?” “What do you do now?” “I shepherd. Play music. Train for battle.” “That sounds good. Keep it up. ~ Brian Godawa,
1360:Music
The block of flats loomed towerlike.
Two sweating athletes, human telpher,
Were carrying up narrow stairs,
As though a bell onto a belfry,
As to a stony tableland
The tables of the law, with caution,
A huge and heavy concert-grand,
Above the city's restless ocean.
At last it stands on solid ground,
While deep below the din and clatter
Are damped, as though the town were drownedSunk to the bottom of a legend.
The tenant of the topmost flat
Looks down on earth over the railings,
As if he held it in his hand,
Its lawful ruler, never failing.
Back in the drawing room he starts
To play-not someone else's music,
But his own thought, a new chorale,
The stir of leaves, Hosannas booming.
Improvisations sweep and peal,
Bring night, flames, fire barrels rolling,
Trees under downpour, rumbling wheels,
Life of the streets, fate of the lonely…
Thus Chopin would, at night, instead
Of the outgrown, naive and artless,
Write down on the black fretwork stand
His soaring dream, his new departures.
Or, overtaking in their flight
The world by many generations,
Valkyries shake the city roofs
By thunderous reverberations.
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Or through the lovers' tragic fate,
Amidst infernal crash and thunder,
Tchaikovsky harrowed us to tears,
And rent the concert hall asunder.
~ Boris Pasternak,
1361:Though men in their hundreds of thousands had tried their hardest to disfigure that little corner of the earth where they had crowded themselves together, paving the ground with stones so that nothing could grow, weeding out every blade of vegetation, filling the air with the fumes of coal and gas, cutting down trees and driving away every beast and every bird -- spring, however, was still spring, even in the town. The sun shone warm, the grass, wherever it had not been scraped away, revived and showed green not only on the narrow strips of lawn on the boulevards but between the paving-stones as well, and the birches, the poplars and the wild cherry-trees were unfolding their sticky, fragrant leaves, and the swelling buds were bursting on the lime trees; the jackdaws, the sparrows and the pigeons were cheerfully getting their nests ready for the spring, and the flies, warmed by the sunshine, buzzed gaily along the walls. All were happy -- plants, birds, insects and children. But grown-up people -- adult men and women -- never left off cheating and tormenting themselves and one another. It was not this spring morning which they considered sacred and important, not the beauty of God's world, given to all creatures to enjoy -- a beauty which inclines the heart to peace, to harmony and to love. No, what they considered sacred and important were their own devices for wielding power over each other. ~ Leo Tolstoy,
1362:Soon the air of the high place was blowing in through the gaps in the masonry, the open bays, where the wind flowed like water round the arches of a bridge. Borluut felt refreshed fanned by this sea-breeze coming from the beaches of the sky: It seemed to be sweeping up dead leaves inside him. New paths, leading elsewhere, appeared in his soul; fresh clearings
were revealed. Finally he found himself.

Total oblivion as a prelude to taking possession of one's self! He was like the first man on the first day to whom nothing has yet happened. The delights of metamorphosis. He owed them to the tall tower, to the summit he had gained where the battlemented platform was ready for him, a refuge in the infinite.

From that height he could no longer see the world, he no longer understood it. Yes, each time he was seized with vertigo, with a desire to lose his footing, to throw himself off, but not towards the ground, into the abyss with its spirals of belfries and roofs over the depths of the town below. It was the abyss above of which he felt the pull.

He was more and more bewildered.

Everything was becoming blurred - before his eyes, inside his head - because of the fierce wind, the boundless space with nothing to hold on to, the clouds he had come too close to, which long continued to journey on inside him. The delights of sojourning among the summits have their price. ~ Georges Rodenbach,
1363:I was fighting drowsiness when they finally emerged and started riding southward, again across the hills. I stared after them until my eyes watered. They kept disappearing beyond the hills but then eventually reappeared, each time getting smaller and smaller. Then they disappeared for a long time: another village or town. I made myself wait and watch. Again I was trying not to nod off when I saw a second line appear on the crest of a hill directly west of me, on the other lip of the valley.
The urge to sleep fled. I watched the line--it was a long one this time, with tiny bright dots at the front that indicated banners--descend into the town.
The banners meant the commander. Was the Marquis still with him, or had he finally gotten bored and gone back to the silk-and-velvet life in Athanarel?
You might contemplate the purpose of a court…” You brainless, twaddling idiot, I thought scornfully. I wished he were before me. I wished I could personally flout him and his busy searchers, and make him look like the fool he was. And watch the reaction, and walk away laughing.
While I was indulging my fulminating imaginings, the long line emerged again, much more quickly than the previous one had. Delight suffused me: They had obviously discovered that the previous group had been there, and had probably decided that the place was therefore safe.
Excellent. Then that was where I would go. ~ Sherwood Smith,
1364:Jim Jones
O, listen for a moment lads, and hear me tell my talehow o'er the sea from England's shore I was compelled to sail.
The jury said, "He's guilty Sir," and says the judge, says he"For life Jim Jones, I'm sending you across the stormy sea;
and take my tip before you ship to join the iron-gang.
don't be too gay at Botany Bay, or else you'll surely hangOr else you'll hang" he says, says he- "and after that Jim Jones,
high up upon the gallows-tree the crows will pick your bonesYou'll have no chance for mischeif then; remember what I say,
They'll flog the poaching out of you, out there at Botany Bay"
The winds blew high upon the sea, and the pirates come along,
but the soldiers on our convict ship were full five hundred strong,
they opened fire and somehow drove that pirate ship away.
I'd have rather joined that pirate ship than come to Botany Bay.
For night and day, the irons clang, and like poor galley slaves
we toil, and toil and when we die must fill dishonoured graves.
But by and by I'll break my chains; into the bush I'll go
and join the brave bushrangers there - Jack Donohoo and Co.
and some dark night when everything is silent in the town
I'll kill the tyrants one and all and shoot the floggers down;
I'll give the law a little shock; remember what I say,
They'll yet regret they sent Jim Jones in chains to Botany Bay.
~ Anonymous Oceania,
1365:Side Show
Very sturdy rogues.
Several have exploited your worlds.
With no needs, and in no hurry
to make use of their brilliant faculties
and their knowledge of your conveniences.
What ripe men! Eyes vacant like the summer night,
red and black, tricolored, steel studded with gold stars;
faces distorted, leaden, blanched, ablaze;
burlesque hoarsenesses! The cruel strut of flashy finery!
Some are young,-- how would they look on Cherubim?-endowed with terrifying voices and some dangerous resources.
They are sent buggering in the town, tricked out with nauseating _luxury._
O the most violent Paradise of the furious grimace!
Not to be compared with your Fakirs and other theatrical buffooneries.
In improvised costumes like something out of a bad dream,
they enact heroic romances of brigands and of demigods,
more inspiriting than history or religions have ever been.
Chinese, Hottentots, gypsies, simpletons, hyenas, Molochs,
old dementias, sinister demons, they combine popular maternal
turns with bestial poses and caresses.
They would interpret new plays, 'romantic' songs.
Master jugglers, they transform place and persons
and have recourse to magnetic comedy.
Eyes flame, blood sings, bones swell, tears and red trickles flow,
Their clowning or their terror lasts a minute or entire months.
I alone have the key to this savage side show.
~ Arthur Rimbaud,
1366:1052
Toys
I can pass up the lure of a jewel to wear
With never the trace of a sigh,
The things on a shelf that I'd like for myself
I never regret I can't buy.
I can go through the town passing store after store
Showing things it would please me to own,
With never a trace of despair on my face,
But I can't let a toy shop alone.
I can throttle the love of fine raiment to death
And I don't know the craving for rum,
But I do know the joy that is born of a toy,
And the pleasure that comes with a drum
I can reckon the value of money at times,
And govern my purse strings with sense,
But I fall for a toy for my girl or my boy
And never regard the expense.
It's seldom I sigh for unlimited gold
Or the power of a rich man to buy;
My courage is stout when the doing without
Is only my duty, but I
Curse the shackles of thrift when I gaze at the toys
That my kiddies are eager to own,
And I'd buy everything that they wish for, by Jing!
If their mother would let me alone.
There isn't much fun spending coin on myself
For neckties and up-to-date lids,
But there's pleasure tenfold, in the silver and gold
I part with for things for the kids.
I can go through the town passing store after store
Showing things it would please me to own,
But to thrift I am lost; I won't reckon the cost
When I'm left in a toy shop alone.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1367:The Wall Street Pit
I SEE the hell of faces surge and whirl,
Like malestrom in the ocean--faces lean
And fleshless as the talons of a hawk-Hot faces like the faces of the wolves
That track the traveller fleeing through the night-Grim faces shrunken up and fallen in,
Deep-plowed like weather-eaten bark of oak-Drawn faces like the faces of the dead,
Grown suddenly old upon the brink of Earth.
Is this a whirl of madmen ravening,
And blowing bubbles in their merriment?
Is Babel come again with shrieking crew
To eat the dust and drink the roaring wind?
And all for what? A handful of bright sand
To buy a shroud with and a length of earth?
Oh, saner are the hearts on stiller ways!
Thrice happier they who, far from these wild hours
Grow softly as the apples on a bough.
Wiser the plowman with his scudding blade,
Turning a straight, fresh furrow down a field-Wiser the herdsman whistling to his heart,
In the long shadows at the break of day-Wiser the fisherman with quiet hand,
Slanting his sail against the evening wind.
The swallows sweep back south again,
The green of May is edging all the boughs,
The shy arbutus shimmers in the wood,
And yet this hell of faces in the town-This storm of tongues, this whirlpool roaring on,
Surrounded by the quiets of the hills;
The great calm stars forever overhead,
And, under all, the silence of the dead!
~ Edwin Markham,
1368:I was amused and somewhat astonished at a critic a few years back who wrote an article analyzing Dandelion Wine plus the more realistic works of Sinclair Lewis, wondering how I could have been born and raised in Waukegan, which I renamed Green Town for my novel, and not noticed how ugly the harbor was and how depressing the coal docks and railyards down below the town.

But, of course, I had noticed them and, genetic enchanter that I was, was fascinated by their beauty. Trains and boxcars and the smell of coal and fire are not ugly to children. Ugliness is a concept that we happen on later and become selfconscious about. Counting boxcars is a prime activity of boys. Their elders fret and fume and jeer at the train that holds them up, but boys happily count and cry the names of the cars as they pass from far places.

And again, that supposedly ugly railyard was where carnivals and circuses arrived with elephants who washed the brick pavements with mighty steaming acid waters at five in the dark morning.

As for the coal from the docks, I went down in my basement every autumn to await the arrival of the truck and its metal chute, which clanged down and released a ton of beauteous meteors that fell out of far space into my cellar and threatened to bury me beneath dark treasures.

In other words, if your boy is a poet, horse manure can only mean flowers to him; which is, of course, what horse manure has always been about. ~ Ray Bradbury,
1369:An 'Exhibit'
Goldenson hanged! Well, Heaven forbid
That I should smile above him:
Though truth to tell, I never did
Exactly love him.
It can't be wrong, though, to rejoice
That his unpleasing capers
Are ended. Silent is his voice
In all the papers.
No longer he's a show: no more,
Bear-like, his den he's walking.
No longer can he hold the floor
When I'd be talking.
The laws that govern jails are bad
If such displays are lawful.
The fate of the assassin's sad,
But ours is awful!
What! shall a wretch condemned to die
In shame upon the gibbet
Be set before the public eye
As an 'exhibit'?
His looks, his actions noted down,
His words if light or solemn,
And all this hawked about the town
So much a column?
The press, of course, will publish news
However it may get it;
But blast the sheriff who'll abuse
His powers to let it!
Nay, this is not ingratitude;
I'm no reporter, truly,
Nor yet an editor. I'm rude
Because unruly
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Because I burn with shame and rage
Beyond my power of telling
To see assassins in a cage
And keepers yelling.
'Walk up! Walk up!' the showman cries:
'Observe the lion's poses,
His stormy mane, his glooming eyes.
His-hold your noses!'
How long, O Lord, shall Law and Right
Be mocked for gain or glory,
And angels weep as they recite
The shameful story?
~ Ambrose Bierce,
1370:When I was a boy in the midwest I used to go out and look at the stars at night and wonder about them.

I guess every boy does that.

When I wasn't looking at the stars, I was running in the my old or my brand-new tennis shoes, on my way to swing in a tree, swim in a lake, or delve in the town library to read about dinosaurs or time machines.

I guess every boy has done that, too.

This is a book about those stars and those tennis shoes. Mainly about the stars, beacuse that is the way I grew up, getting more and more involved with rockets and space as I moved toward my twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth years.

Not that I have forgotten the tennis shoes and their powerful magic, as you will see in the last story here, which I have included not because it concerns the future, but because it gives you some sort of idea of the kind of boy I was when I was looking at the stars and thinking of the years ahead.

Nor have I forgetten the dinosaurs that all boys love; they are here, too, along with a machine that travels back in time to step on a butterfly.

This is a book then by a boy who grew up in a small illinois town and lived to see the space age arrive, as he hoped and dreamt it would.

I dedicate these stories to all boys who wonder about the past, run swiftly in the present, and have high hopes for our future.

The stars are yours, if you have the head, the hands, and the heart for them. ~ Ray Bradbury,
1371:Von Thünen’s abstract principles had strikingly concrete geographical consequences. A series of concentric agricultural zones would form around the town, each of which would support radically different farming activities. Nearest the town would be a zone producing crops so heavy, bulky, or perishable that no farmer living farther away could afford to ship them to market. Orchards, vegetable gardens, and dairies would dominate this first zone and raise the price of land—its “rent”—so high that less valuable crops would not be profitable there. Farther out, landowners in the second zone would devote themselves to intensive forestry, supplying the town with lumber and fuel. Beyond the forest, farmers would practice ever more extensive forms of agriculture, raising grain crops on lands where rents fell—along with labor and capital investment—the farther out from town one went. This was the zone of wheat farming. Finally, distance from the city would raise transport costs so high that no grain crop could pay for its movement to market. Beyond that point, landowners would use their property for raising cattle and other livestock, thereby creating a zone of even more extensive land use, with still lower inputs of labor and capital. Land rents would steadily fall as one moved out from the urban market until they theoretically reached zero, where no one would buy land for any price, because nothing it might produce could pay the prohibitive cost of getting to market. ~ William Cronon,
1372:I always wished a little that the church was not a church, set off as it was behind its barriers of doctrine and creed, so that all the people of the town and neighborhood might two or three times a week freely have come there and sat down together - though I knew perfectly well that, in the actual world, any gathering would exclude some, and some would not consent to be gathered, and some (like me) would be outside even when inside.

I liked the naturally occurring silences - the one, for instance, just before the service began and the other, the briefest imaginable, just after the last Amen. Occasionally a preacher would come who had a little bias toward silence, and then my attendance would become purposeful. At a certain point in the service the preacher would ask that we observe a moment of silence . . . And then the quiet that was almost the quiet of the empty church would come over us and unite us as we were not united even in singing, and the little sounds (maybe a bird's song) from the world outside would come in to us, and we would completely hear it.

But always too soon the preacher would become abashed (after all, he was being paid to talk) and start a prayer, and the beautiful moment would end. I would think again how I would like for us all just to go there from time to time and sit in silence. Maybe I am a Quaker of sorts, but I am told that the Quakers sometimes speak at their meetings. I would've preferred no talk, no noise at all. ~ Wendell Berry,
1373:Levin was almost of the same age as Oblonsky; their intimacy did not rest merely on champagne. Levin had been the friend and companion of his early youth. They were fond of one another in spite of the difference of their characters and tastes, as friends are fond of one another who have been together in early youth. But in spite of this, each of them—as is often the way with men who have selected careers of different kinds—though in discussion he would even justify the other's career, in his heart despised it. It seemed to each of them that the life he led himself was the only real life, and the life led by his friend was a mere phantasm. Oblonsky could not restrain a slight mocking smile at the sight of Levin. How often he had seen him come up to Moscow from the country where he was doing something, but what precisely Stepan Arkadyevitch could never quite make out, and indeed he took no interest in the matter. Levin arrived in Moscow always excited and in a hurry, rather ill at ease and irritated by his own want of ease, and for the most part with a perfectly new, unexpected view of things. Stepan Arkadyevitch laughed at this, and liked it. In the same way Levin in his heart despised the town mode of life of his friend, and his official duties, which he laughed at, and regarded as trifling. But the difference was that Oblonsky, as he was doing the same as every one did, laughed complacently and good-humoredly, while Levin laughed without complacency and sometimes angrily. ~ Leo Tolstoy,
1374:Cantiga De Escarnio:
O que foi passar a serra
e non quis servir a terra,
é ora, entrant' a guerra,
que faroneja?
Pois el agora tan muito erra,
maldito seja!
O que levou os dinheiros
e non troux' os cavaleiros,
é por non ir nos primeiros
que faroneja?
Pois que ven cõnos prestumeiros,
maldito seja!
O que filhou gran soldada
e nunca fez cavalgada,
é por non ir a Graada
que faroneja?
Se é rie' omen ou á mesnada,
maldito seja!
O que meteu na taleiga
pouc' aver e muita meiga,
é por non entrar na Veiga
que faroneja?
Pois chus mol[e] é que manteiga,
maldito seja!
English
He who passed over the mountains
And did not want to serve on the plain-Is he the one, when war was returned,
Who's now bragging?
Since he vacillates so much now,
Let him be damned!
He who doled out his money
Without attracting any good knights-Is it because he wasn't first in the fight
That he's bragging now?
Since he came at us with his rear,
Let him be damned!
He who raised a great soldiery
But never quite a good cavalry,
Since he didn't go to Granada, is he
The one who's bragging?
Whether he's rich or has a strong band,
Let him be damned!
He who loaded up his bags
With a little gold and a lot of guff,
And never quite entered the town of Vega,
Is he bragging now?
Since he's more like fat than butter,
Let him be damned!
~ Alfonso X El Sabio,
1375:The Hog, The Sheep, And Goat, Carrying To A Fair
Who does not wish, ever to judge aright,
And, in the Course of Life's Affairs,
To have a quick, and far extended Sight,
Tho' it too often multiplies his Cares?
And who has greater Sense, but greater Sorrow shares?
This felt the Swine, now carrying to the Knife;
And whilst the Lamb and silent Goat
In the same fatal Cart lay void of Strife,
He widely stretches his foreboding Throat,
Deaf'ning the easy Crew with his outragious Note.
The angry Driver chides th'unruly Beast,
And bids him all this Noise forbear;
Nor be more loud, nor clamorous than the rest,
Who with him travel'd to the neighb'ring Fair.
And quickly shou'd arrive, and be unfetter'd there.
This, quoth the Swine, I do believe, is true,
And see we're very near the Town;
Whilst these poor Fools of short, and bounded View,
Think 'twill be well, when you have set them down,
And eas'd One of her Milk, the Other of her Gown.
But all the dreadful Butchers in a Row,
To my far-searching Thoughts appear,
Who know indeed, we to the Shambles go,
Whilst I, whom none but Belzebub wou'd shear,
Nor but his Dam wou'd milk, must for my Carcase fear.
But tell me then, will it prevent thy Fate?
The rude unpitying Farmer cries;
If not, the Wretch who tastes his Suff'rings late,
Not He, who thro' th'unhappy Future prys,
Must of the Two be held most Fortunate and Wise.
~ Anne Kingsmill Finch,
1376:Extraits
The Man Closing Up,' from Night Light' (1967),
would make his bed,
If he could sleep on it.
He would make his bed with white sheets
And disappear into the white,
Like a man diving,
If he could be certain
That the light
Would not keep him awake,
The light that reaches
To the bottom.
dour vision of life's journey: from 'Sestina on Six Words by Weldon Kees'
There is no way to ease the burden.
The voyage leads on from harm to harm,
A land of others and of silence.
'The Miami of Other Days'
The winter streets an orchestra of horns
And gods slept under tabernacle tents
That sprang up overnight on circus grounds
Like giant toadstools yearning for respectability.
In a portrait of himself at age seven he writes :
sometimes he would squat among the foul weeds of the vacant lot,
Waiting for dusk and someone dear to come
And whip him down the street, but gently, home.
'Poem to Be Read at 3 A.M.'
Excepting the diner
On the outskirts
The town of Ladora
At 3 A.M.
Was dark but
17
For my headlights
And up in
One second story room
A single light.
A more recent poem on the Great Depression shows his cynical side:
Agriculture embraced Industry,
Mammothly, on public walls.
Meanwhile we camped out underneath
Great smiles on billboards fading.
How shall I speak of Doom, and ours in special,
But as of something altogether common ?
~ Donald Justice,
1377:Pont Saint Benezet.”
“What happened to it?” Luce asked.
Daniel glanced over his shoulder. “Remember how quiet Annabelle got when I mentioned we were coming here? She inspired the boy who built that bridge in the Middle Ages in the time when the popes lived here and not in Rome. He noticed her flying across the Rhone one day when she didn’t think anyone could see her. He built the bridge to follow her to the other side.”
“When did it collapse?”
“Slowly, over time, one arch would fall into the river. Then another. Arriane says the boy-his name was Benezet-had a vision for angels, but not for architecture. Annabelle loved him. She stayed in Avignon as his muse until he died. He never married, kept apart from the rest of Avignon society. The town thought he was crazy.”
Luce tried not to compare her relationship with Daniel to what Annabelle had had with Benezet, but it was hard not to. What kind of relationship could an angel and a mortal really have? Once all this was over, if they beat Lucifer…then what? Would she and Daniel go back to Georgia and be like any other couple, going out for ice cream on Fridays after a movie? Or would the whole town think she was crazy, like Benezet?
Was it all just hopeless? What would become of them in the end? Would their love vanish like a medieval bridge’s arches?
The idea of sharing a normal life with an angel was what was crazy. She sensed that in every moment Daniel flew her through the sky. And yet she loved him more each day. ~ Lauren Kate,
1378:On the 22nd of September, Jansi was passed at a considerable distance. This city is the most important military station in the Bundelkund, and the spirit of revolt is strong in the lower classes of its population. The town is comparatively modern, and has a great trade in Indian muslins, and blue cotton cloths. There are no ancient remains in this place, but it is interesting to visit its citadel, whose walls the English artillery and projectiles failed to destroy, also the Necropolis of the rajahs, which is remarkably picturesque.   This was the chief stronghold of the sepoy mutineers in Central India. There the intrepid Rance instigated the first rising, which speedily spread throughout the Bundelkund.   There Sir Hugh Rose maintained an engagement which lasted no less than six days, during which time he lost fifteen percent, of his force.   There, in spite of the obstinate resistance of a garrison of twelve thousand sepoys, and backed by an army of twenty thousand, Tantia Topi, Balao Rao (brother of the Nana), and last not least, the Ranee herself, were compelled to yield to the superiority of British arms.   It was there, at Jansi, that Colonel Munro had saved the life of his sergeant, McNeil, and given up to him his last drop of water. Yes! Jansi of all places must be avoided in a journey where the route was planned and marked out by Sir Edward’s warmest friends!   After passing Jansi, we were detained for several hours by an encounter with travellers of whom Kâlagani had previously spoken.   It ~ Jules Verne,
1379:Magnetism
By the impulse of my will,
By the red flame in my blood,
By me nerves' electric thrill,
By the passion of my mood,
My concentrated desire,
My undying, desperate love,
I ignore Fate, I defy her,
Iron-hearted Death I move.
When the town lies numb with sleep,
Here, round-eyed I sit; my breath
Quickly stirred, my flesh a-creep,
And I force the gates of death.
I nor move nor speak-you'd deem
From my quiet face and hands,
I were tranced-but in her dream,
SHE responds, she understands.
I have power on what is not,
Or on what has ceased to be,
From that deep, earth-hollowed spot,
I can lift her up to me.
And, or ere I am aware
Through the closed and curtained door,
Comes my lady white and fair,
And embraces me once more.
Though the clay clings to her gown,
Yet all heaven is in her eyes;
Cool, kind fingers press mine eyes,
To my soul her soul replies.
But when breaks the common dawn,
And the city wakes-behold!
My shy phantom is withdrawn,
And I shiver lone and cold.
And I know when she has left,
She is stronger far than I,
And more subtly spun her weft,
Than my human wizardry.
Though I force her to my will,
By the red flame in my blood,
By my nerves' electric thrill,
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By the passion of my mood,
Yet all day a ghost am I.
Nerves unstrung, spent will, dull brain.
I achieve, attain, but die,
And she claims me hers again.
~ Emma Lazarus,
1380:Now Justin stood in our reading room, leaning up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He was tall, with a wiry athletic build. Usually, he was Mr. Ultra-Casual, with sun-kissed blond hair that he kept out of his eyes by pushing his sunglasses up on his forehead. Today, that messy blond hair was clean-cut, and he’d traded his typical board shorts and loose T-shirt for a striped shirt and khakis. His father, the mayor of Eastport, was running for re-election. Since the campaign started last month, Justin had become the mayor’s sixteen-year-old sidekick. I’d heard he was spending the summer working for his dad down at the town hall, which would explain the nice clothes. What sucked for me was that the new style fit him. He looked even better, the jerk.
“I heard you and Tiffany got into a catfight over me at Yummy’s,” Justin announced with an overconfident grin that pissed me off.
I slammed the door behind me. “First off, I dumped a soda over her head. That was it.”
“Damn, a catfight sounded much hotter. I was picturing ripped shirts, exposed skin.”
I rolled my eyes. “And second, it wasn’t over you, egomaniac. You can date every girl in town as far as I’m concerned. I hate you. I pray every night that you’ll fall victim to some strange and unusual castration accident.” I pointed to the door. “So get the hell out.”
His lips twitched, fighting a smile.
Ugh. I was going for “crazy ex filled with hate” not “isn’t she cute when she’s mad?”
“Feel better after getting all that out? ~ Kim Harrington,
1381:Barbara Allen's Cruelty
IN Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin',
Made every youth cry Well-a-way!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man in to her then,
To the town where she was dwellin',
'O haste and come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.'
So slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtain by-'Young man, I think you're dyin'.'
'O it 's I am sick and very very sick,
And it 's all for Barbara Allen.'
'O the better for me ye'se never be,
Tho' your heart's blood were a-spillin'!
'O dinna ye mind, young man,' says she,
'When the red wine ye were fillin',
That ye made the healths go round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allen?'
He turn'd his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin':
'Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allen!'
As she was walking o'er the fields,
She heard the dead-bell knellin';
And every jow the dead-bell gave
Cried 'Woe to Barbara Allen.'
16
'O mother, mother, make my bed,
O make it saft and narrow:
My love has died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.
'Farewell,' she said, 'ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.'
~ Anonymous,
1382:The Hunchback In The Park
The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
That lets the trees and water enter
Until the Sunday sombre bell at dark
Eating bread from a newspaper
Drinking water from the chained cup
That the children filled with gravel
In the fountain basin where I sailed my ship
Slept at night in a dog kennel
But nobody chained him up.
Like the park birds he came early
Like the water he sat down
And Mister they called Hey mister
The truant boys from the town
Running when he had heard them clearly
On out of sound
Past lake and rockery
Laughing when he shook his paper
Hunchbacked in mockery
Through the loud zoo of the willow groves
Dodging the park keeper
With his stick that picked up leaves.
And the old dog sleeper
Alone between nurses and swans
While the boys among willows
Made the tigers jump out of their eyes
To roar on the rockery stones
And the groves were blue with sailors
Made all day until bell time
A woman figure without fault
Straight as a young elm
Straight and tall from his crooked bones
145
That she might stand in the night
After the locks and chains
All night in the unmade park
After the railings and shrubberies
The birds the grass the trees the lake
And the wild boys innocent as strawberries
Had followed the hunchback
To his kennel in the dark.
~ Dylan Thomas,
1383:Novel
I.
No one's serious at seventeen.
--On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade
And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need
--You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade.
Lindens smell fine on fine June nights!
Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes;
The wind brings sounds--the town is near-And carries scents of vineyards and beer. . .
II.
--Over there, framed by a branch
You can see a little patch of dark blue
Stung by a sinister star that fades
With faint quiverings, so small and white. . .
June nights! Seventeen!--Drink it in.
Sap is champagne, it goes to your head. . .
The mind wanders, you feel a kiss
On your lips, quivering like a living thing. . .
III.
The wild heart Crusoes through a thousand novels
--And when a young girl walks alluringly
Through a streetlamp's pale light, beneath the ominous shadow
Of her father's starched collar. . .
Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping,
She turns on a dime, eyes wide,
Finding you too sweet to resist. . .
--And cavatinas die on your lips.
IV.
You're in love. Off the market till August.
110
You're in love.--Your sonnets make Her laugh.
Your friends are gone, you're bad news.
--Then, one night, your beloved, writes. . .!
That night. . .you return to the blinding cafés;
You order beer or lemonade. . .
--No one's serious at seventeen
When lindens line the promenade.
~ Arthur Rimbaud,
1384:There was a town where everything was forbidden.

Now, since the only thing that wasn’t forbidden was the game tip-cat, the town’s subjects used to assemble on meadows behind the town and spend the day there playing tip-cat.

And as the laws forbidding things had been introduced one at a time and always with good reason, no one found any cause for complaint or had any trouble getting used to them.

Years passed. One day the constables saw that there was no longer any reason why everything should be forbidden and they sent messengers to inform their subjects that they could do whatever they wanted.

The messengers went to those places where the subjects were wont to assemble.

‘Hear ye, hear ye,’ they announced, ‘nothing is forbidden any more.’

The people went on playing tip-cat.

‘Understand?’ the messengers insisted. ‘You are free to do what you want.’

‘Good,’ replied the subjects. ‘We’re playing tip-cat.’

The messengers busily reminded them of the many wonderful and useful occupations they had once engaged in and could now engage in once again. But the subjects wouldn’t listen and just went on playing, stroke after stroke, without even stopping for a breather.

Seeing that their efforts were in vain, the messengers went to tell the constables.

‘Easy,’ the constables said. ‘Let’s forbid the game of tip-cat.’

That was when the people rebelled and killed the lot of them.

Then without wasting time, they got back to playing tip-cat. ~ Italo Calvino,
1385:I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am
as old as my father is.
  My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate
and your books."
  I shall tell him, " Do you not know I am as big as father? And
I must not have lessons any more."
  My master will wonder and say, "He can leave his books if he
likes, for he is grown up."
  I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is
thick.
  My uncle will come rushing up to me and say, "You will get
lost, my boy; let me carry you."
  I shall answer, "Can't you see, uncle, I am as big as father?
I must go to the fair alone."
  Uncle will say, "Yes, he can go wherever he likes, for he is
grown up."
  Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my
nurse, for I shall know how to open the box with my key.
  Mother will say, "What are you about, naughty child?"
  I shall tell her, "Mother, don't you know, I am as big as
father, and I must give silver to my nurse."
  Mother will say to herself, "He can give money to whom he
likes, for he is grown up."
  In the holiday time in October father will come home and,
thinking that I am still a baby, will bring for me from the town
little shoes and small silken frocks.
  I shall say, "Father, give them to my data, for I am as big
as you are."
  Father will think and say, "He can buy his own clothes if he
likes, for he is grown up."

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Little Big Man
,
1386:This twinned twinkle was delightful but not completely satisfying; or rather it only sharpened my appetite for other tidbits of light and shade, and I walked on in a state of raw awareness that seemed to transform the whole of my being into one big eyeball rolling in the world's socket.

Through peacocked lashes I saw the dazzling diamond reflection of the low sun on the round back of a parked automobile. To all kinds of things a vivid pictorial sense had been restored by the sponge of the thaw. Water in overlapping festoons flowed down one sloping street and turned gracefully into another. With ever so slight a note of meretricious appeal, narrow passages between buildings revealed treasures of brick and purple. I remarked for the first time the humble fluting - last echoes of grooves on the shafts of columns - ornamenting a garbage can, and I also saw the rippling upon its lid - circles diverging from a fantastically ancient center. Erect, dark-headed shapes of dead snow (left by the blades of a bulldozer last Friday) were lined up like rudimentary penguins along the curbs, above the brilliant vibration of live gutters.

I walked up, and I walked down, and I walked straight into a delicately dying sky, and finally the sequence of observed and observant things brought me, at my usual eating time, to a street so distant from my usual eating place that I decided to try a restaurant which stood on the fringe of the town. Night had fallen without sound or ceremony when I came out again. ("The Vane Sisters") ~ Vladimir Nabokov,
1387:The Hunchback in the Park

The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
That lets the trees and water enter
Until the Sunday sombre bell at dark

Eating bread from a newspaper
Drinking water from the chained cup
That the children filled with gravel
In the fountain basin where I sailed my ship
Slept at night in a dog kennel
But nobody chained him up.

Like the park birds he came early
Like the water he sat down
And Mister they called Hey mister
The truant boys from the town
Running when he had heard them clearly
On out of sound

Past lake and rockery
Laughing when he shook his paper
Hunchbacked in mockery
Through the loud zoo of the willow groves
Dodging the park keeper
With his stick that picked up leaves.

And the old dog sleeper
Alone between nurses and swans
While the boys among willows
Made the tigers jump out of their eyes
To roar on the rockery stones
And the groves were blue with sailors

Made all day until bell time
A woman figure without fault
Straight as a young elm
Straight and tall from his crooked bones
That she might stand in the night
After the locks and chains

All night in the unmade park
After the railings and shrubberies
The birds the grass the trees the lake
And the wild boys innocent as strawberries
Had followed the hunchback
To his kennel in the dark. ~ Dylan Thomas,
1388:In the annual Feast of Fools at Christmastime, every rite and article of the Church no matter how sacred was celebrated in mockery. A dominus festi, or lord of the revels, was elected from the inferior clergy—the curés, subdeacons, vicars, and choir clerks, mostly ill-educated, ill-paid, and ill-disciplined—whose day it was to turn everything topsy-turvy. They installed their lord as Pope or Bishop or Abbot of Fools in a ceremony of head-shaving accompanied by bawdy talk and lewd acts; dressed him in vestments turned inside out; played dice on the altar and ate black puddings and sausages while mass was celebrated in nonsensical gibberish; swung censers made of old shoes emitting “stinking smoke”; officiated in the various offices of the priest wearing beast masks and dressed as women or minstrels; sang obscene songs in the choir; howled and hooted and jangled bells while the “Pope” recited a doggerel benediction. At his call to follow him on pain of having their breeches split, all rush violently from the church to parade through the town, drawing the dominus in a cart from which he issues mock indulgences while his followers hiss, cackle, jeer, and gesticulate. They rouse the bystanders to laughter with “infamous performances” and parody preachers in scurrilous sermons. Naked men haul carts of manure which they throw at the populace. Drinking bouts and dances accompany the procession. The whole was a burlesque of the too-familiar, tedious, and often meaningless rituals; a release of “the natural lout beneath the cassock. ~ Barbara W Tuchman,
1389:The Graduation Dress
I'M not kicking on expenses, now the sewing time commences,
I will buy chiffon and laces till they say they've got enough;
Sure her dress for graduation shall excite the admiration
Of the masses who behold her; it shall be the finest stuff.
She shall even carry roses, when her high school training closes,
For she's worthy of the finest that there is in all the town;
But I sometimes sit and ponder of the days away off yonder
When her mother graduated in a simple gingham gown.
I have watched the fuss and bustle, and this ceaseless rush and hustle,
And I've listened to the planning of this graduation dress,
And I know when all is ended, she will make a picture splendid,
And I wouldn't be contented if she didn't, I confess.
But I still recall the other glorious picture of her mother,
With her cheeks as pink as peaches and her hair a golden brown,
As I gazed at her enraptured, and my heart, I know, she captured
On the day she graduated in her simple gingham gown.
I'd be laughed down if I said it, in such matters they don't credit
Me with knowing what is really very swell;
I can picture now their faces, if instead of silk and laces,
My preference for gingham, I should tell.
But with me it's grown a passion, and in spite of style and fashion,
And what women folks think needful, I insist and write it down,
I shall never see another quite so charming as her mother
On the day she graduated in her simple gingham gown.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1390:Under The Shadow Of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred;
Some of the rafters are standing still;
Now they are scattered and lost and dead,
Every one from the old nest fled,
Out of the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Better it is that they ne'er came back -Changes and chances are quickly rung;
Now the old homestead is gone to rack,
Green is the grass on the well-worn track
Down by the gate where the roses clung.
Gone is the garden they kept with care;
Left to decay at its own sweet will,
Fruit trees and flower-beds eaten bare,
Cattle and sheep where the roses were,
Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Where are the children that strove and grew
In the old homestead in days gone by?
One is away on the far Barcoo
Watching his cattle the long year through,
Watching them starve in the droughts and die.
One, in the town where all cares are rife,
Weary with troubles that cramp and kill,
Fain would be done with the restless strife,
Fain would go back to the old bush life,
Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
One is away on the roving quest,
Seeking his share of the golden spoil;
Out in the wastes of the trackless west,
Wandering ever he gives the best
Of his years and strength to the hopeless toil.
What of the parents? That unkempt mound
Shows where they slumber united still;
Rough is their grave, but they sleep as sound
514
Out on the range as in holy ground,
Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
~ Banjo Paterson,
1391:If California is the future of the United States, Los Angeles may offer a lesson. In 1960, it was 72 percent white, but in just ten years that figure dropped to 59 percent, and by 2000 the city was only 33 percent white. During the 1980s, while every other racial group was gaining in numbers, Los Angeles County lost 330,000 whites, and a startling 570,000 during the 1990s. Where did they go?
Beginning in the 1980s, California saw a major shift of whites from southern, immigrant-heavy regions to the white north. Many moved to Nevada County, which Mel Mouser, the police chief of the town of Grass Valley, called 'the largest concentration of Caucasians in the state of California.' In the 15 years ending in 1995, the county's population grew by no less than 65 percent and remained 93 percent white. The newcomers were looking for the kind of homogeneity they grew up with but had lost to immigrants. As Chief Mouser explained, the newcomers 'bring with them the common strain of thought: Don't let it be like where I came from.'
Although Americans have learned to give non-racial reasons like 'crime' or 'bad schools' for leaving cities, many ex-Los Angelenos were candid about what drove them away. As one 1990s transplant explained, 'People come here for a timeout, to go some place where racial problems don't exist. [...] And when they find it here, they're pathetically grateful. They want to protect it.' Another explained: 'I'd look at my daughter's classroom and see two blondes. [...] It seemed like there was more of everything else but whites. ~ Jared Taylor,
1392:The Man, the Boy, and the Donkey A Man and his son were once going with their Donkey to market. As they were walking along by its side a countryman passed them and said: "You fools, what is a Donkey for but to ride upon?" So the Man put the Boy on the Donkey and they went on their way. But soon they passed a group of men, one of whom said: "See that lazy youngster, he lets his father walk while he rides." So the Man ordered his Boy to get off, and got on himself. But they hadn't gone far when they passed two women, one of whom said to the other: "Shame on that lazy lout to let his poor little son trudge along." Well, the Man didn't know what to do, but at last he took his Boy up before him on the Donkey. By this time they had come to the town, and the passers-by began to jeer and point at them. The Man stopped and asked what they were scoffing at. The men said: "Aren't you ashamed of yourself for overloading that poor donkey of yours and your hulking son?" The Man and Boy got off and tried to think what to do. They thought and they thought, till at last they cut down a pole, tied the donkey's feet to it, and raised the pole and the donkey to their shoulders. They went along amid the laughter of all who met them till they came to Market Bridge, when the Donkey, getting one of his feet loose, kicked out and caused the Boy to drop his end of the pole. In the struggle the Donkey fell over the bridge, and his fore-feet being tied together he was drowned. "That will teach you," said an old man who had followed them: "Please all, and you will please none. ~ Aesop,
1393:Bottle 'O'
I ain't the kind of bloke as takes to any steady job;
I drives me bottle cart around the town;
A bloke what keeps 'is eyes about can always make a bob -I couldn't bear to graft for every brown.
There's lots of handy things about in everybody's yard,
There's cocks and hens a-runnin' to an' fro,
And little dogs what comes and barks -- we take 'em off their guard
And we puts 'em with the Empty Bottle-O!
Chorus -So it's any "Empty bottles! Any empty bottle-O!"
You can hear us round for half a mile or so
And you'll see the women rushing
To take in the Monday's washing
When they 'ear us crying, "Empty Bottle-O!"
I'm driving down by Wexford-street and up a winder goes,
A girl sticks out 'er 'ead and looks at me,
An all-right tart with ginger 'air, and freckles on 'er nose;
I stops the cart and walks across to see.
"There ain't no bottles 'ere," says she, "since father took the pledge,"
"No bottles 'ere," says I, "I'd like to know
What right 'ave you to stick your 'ead outside the winder ledge,
If you 'aven't got no Empty Bottle-O!"
I sometimes gives the 'orse a spell, and then the push and me
We takes a little trip to Chowder Bay.
Oh! ain't it nice the 'ole day long a-gazin' at the sea
And a-hidin' of the tanglefoot away.
But when the booze gits 'old of us, and fellows starts to "scrap",
There's some what likes blue-metal for to throw:
But as for me, I always says for layin' out a "trap"
There's nothing like an Empty Bottle-O!
~ Banjo Paterson,
1394:1120
When Mother's Sewing Buttons On
When mother's sewing buttons on
Their little garments, one by one,
I settle down contented there
And watch her in her rocking chair.
She's at the task she likes the best
Each little waist and undervest
She fondles in a mother's way,
And notes each sign of sturdy play
And shakes her head and says to me:
'I wonder how this came to be?'
There's something in her patient eyes,
As in and out her needle flies,
Which seems to tell the joy she takes
In every little stitch she makes.
An hour of peace has settled down;
Hushed is the clamor of the town;
And even I am different then,
For I forsake the ways of men
And see about the garments there
Bright visions of a happy pair.
Buttons are closely linked to joy.
Each little girl and little boy
Who dares to climb the garden fence
Buys that delight at their expense;
Buttons are childhood's tattle tales
Swifter than telegrams or mails
They fly to tell of moments glad
That little boys and girls have had;
And mother reads the stories there
From every vacant space and tear.
She sweetly smiles and says to me:
'How sturdy they have grown to be!
It keeps me busy to repair
The shirts and things they have to wear.'
I chuckle as I watch her sew,
For joy has set the room aglow,
1121
And in the picture I can see
The strength which means so much to me.
The scene is good to look upon
When mother's sewing buttons on.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1395:I’m going to invite you to contemplate a fictional scenario. Say that we are all citizens in a New England town with a traditional town meeting. As usual, a modest proportion of the citizens eligible to attend have actually turned out, let’s say four or five hundred. After calling the meeting to order, the moderator announces: “We have established the following rules for this evening’s discussion. After a motion has been properly made and seconded, in order to ensure free speech under rules fair to everyone here, each of you who wishes to do so will be allowed to speak on the motion. However, to enable as many as possible to speak, no one will be allowed to speak for more than two minutes.” Perfectly fair so far, you might say. But now our moderator goes on: “After everyone who wishes to speak for two minutes has had the floor, each and every one of you is free to speak further, but under one condition. Each additional minute will be auctioned off to the highest bidder.” The ensuing uproar from the assembled citizens would probably drive the moderator and the board of selectman away from the town hall—and perhaps out of town. Yet isn’t this in effect what the Supreme Court decided in the famous case of Buckley v. Valeo? In a seven-to-one vote, the court held that the First Amendment–guarantee of freedom of expression was impermissibly infringed by the limits placed by the Federal Election Campaign Act on the amounts that candidates for federal office or their supporters might spend to promote their election.3 Well, we’ve had time to see the appalling consequences. ~ Robert A Dahl,
1396:Taking His Place
He's doing double duty now;
Time's silver gleams upon his brow,
And there are lines upon his face
Which only passing years can trace.
And yet he's turned back many a page
Long written in the book of age,
For since their boy has marched away,
This kindly father, growing gray,
Is doing for the mother true
The many things the boy would do.
Just as the son came home each night
With youthful step and eyes alight,
So he returns, and with a shout
Of greeting puts her grief to rout.
He says that she shall never miss
The pleasure of that evening kiss,
And with strong arms and manner brave
He simulates the hug he gave,
And loves her, when the day is done,
Both as a husband and a son.
His laugh has caught a clearer ring;
His step has claimed the old-time swing,
And though his absence hurts him, too,
The bravest thing that he can do
Is just to try to take his place
And keep the smiles on mother's face.
So, merrily he jests at night—
Tells her with all a boy's delight
Of what has happened in the town,
And thus keeps melancholy down.
Her letters breathe of hope and cheer;
No note of gloom she sends from here,
And as her husband reads at night
The many messages she writes,
He chuckles o'er the closing line.
She's failed his secret to divine—
658
'When you get home,' she tells the lad,
'You'll scarcely know your doting dad;
Although his hair is turning gray,
He seems more like a boy each day.'
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1397:It was a gorgeous evening, with a breeze shimmering through the trees, people strolling hand in hand through the quaint streets and the plaza. The shops, bistros and restaurants were abuzz with patrons. She showed him where the farmer's market took place every Saturday, and pointed out her favorite spots- the town library, a tasting room co-op run by the area vintners, the Brew Ha-Ha and the Rose, a vintage community theater. On a night like this, she took a special pride in Archangel, with its cheerful spirit and colorful sights. She refused to let the Calvin sighting drag her down. He had ruined many things for her, but he was not going to ruin the way she felt about her hometown.
After some deliberation, she chose Andaluz, her favorite spot for Spanish-style wines and tapas. The bar spilled out onto the sidewalk, brightened by twinkling lights strung under the big canvas umbrellas. The tables were small, encouraging quiet intimacy and insuring that their knees would bump as they scooted their chairs close. She ordered a carafe of local Mataro, a deep, strong red from some of the oldest vines in the county, and a plancha of tapas- deviled dates, warm, marinated olives, a spicy seared tuna with smoked paprika. Across the way in the plaza garden, the musician strummed a few chords on his guitar.
The food was delicious, the wine even better, as elemental and earthy as the wild hills where the grapes grew. They finished with sips of chocolate-infused port and cinnamon churros. The guitar player was singing "The Keeper," his gentle voice seeming to float with the breeze. ~ Susan Wiggs,
1398:1036
To A Little Girl
Oh, little girl with eyes of brown
And smiles that fairly light the town,
I wonder if you really know
Just why it is we love you so,
And why- with all the little girls
With shining eyes and tangled curls
That throng and dance this big world throughOur hearts have room for only you.
Since other little girls are gay
And laugh and sing and romp in play,
And all are beautiful to see,
Why should you mean so much to me?
And why should Mother, day and night,
Make you her source of all delight,
And always find in your caress
Her greatest sum of happiness?
Oh, there's a reason good for this,
You laughing little bright-eyed miss!
In all this town, with all its girls
With shining eyes and sun-kissed curls,
If we should search it through and through
We'd find not one so fair as you;
And none, however fair of face,
Within our hearts could take your place.
For, one glad day not long ago,
God sent you down to us below,
And said that you were ours to keep,
To guard awake and watch asleep;
And ever since the day you came
No other child has seemed the same;
No other smiles are quite so fair
As those which happily you wear.
We seem to live from day to day
To hear the things you have to say;
And just because God gave us you,
1037
We prize the little things you do.
Though God has filled this world with flowers,
We like you best because you're oursIn you our greatest joys we know,
And that is why we love you so.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1399:Rationale
Youth, you say. What of it?
I could say I was as fair
and handsome as a hero.
But I was always plain. I hated
and loved much as a young man.
Once, I had a preference for women,
to hate and love them ceaselessly
rather than avoidable young men.
That came gradually with my riving.
But who’s to say the ungainly
pursuit of young ephebes
wasn’t as daft and ardent
as the chase after hetaerae.
Much time was wasted in the hunt,
much in bewailing its necessity,
the rest in eating, drinking and sleeping.
I never gave a hoot for what
they call the minds of either sex,
their messy cerebral selves
or mixed-up Chinese puzzles
of egregious emotions.
What else did I do to justify myself
and my existence to the neighbourhood?
(This was before I haunted the metropolis.)
I gathered their dung nightly and distributed it
over a field half as big as the town.
This made some of the more venturesome
girls and boys I fervently pursued
swear I stank constantly of merds.
The others tended to like my odour —
not I theirs, unfortunately.
Forever in nature one finds the clashing
of opposites. A truism throughout
the system; only Cathay had it
partly reconciled. India used it
as the basis of behaviour. But youth, youth,
I love its manifestations now in others
I must not touch. It refreshes me
As beef tea does an inutile vampire.
34
I come to terms with feeling
And play across a spectrum of
Responses in the ancient game of love.
~ Bruce Beaver,
1400:1030
Tied Down
'They tie you down,' a woman said,
Whose cheeks should have been flaming red
With shame to speak of children so.
'When babies come you cannot go
In search of pleasure with your friends,
And all your happy wandering ends.
The things you like you cannot do,
For babies make a slave of you.'
I looked at her and said: ''Tis true
That children make a slave of you,
And tie you down with many a knot,
But have you never thought to what
It is of happiness and pride
That little babies have you tied?
Do you not miss the greater joys
That come with little girls and boys?
'They tie you down to laughter rare,
To hours of smiles and hours of care,
To nights of watching and to fears;
Sometimes they tie you down to tears
And then repay you with a smile,
And make your trouble all worth while.
They tie you fast to chubby feet,
And cheeks of pink and kisses sweet.
'They fasten you with cords of love
To God divine, who reigns above.
They tie you, whereso'er you roam,
Unto the little place called home;
And over sea or railroad track
They tug at you to bring you back.
The happiest people in the town
Are those the babies have tied down.
'Oh, go your selfish way and free,
But hampered I would rather be,
Yes rather than a kingly crown
1031
I would be, what you term, tied down;
Tied down to dancing eyes and charms,
Held fast by chubby, dimpled arms,
The fettered slave of girl and boy,
And win from them earth's finest joy.'
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1401:In Middlemarch a wife could not long remain ignorant that the town held a bad opinion of her husband. No feminine intimate might carry her friendship so far as to make a plain statement to the wife of the unpleasant fact known or believed about her husband; but when a woman with her thoughts much at leisure got them suddenly employed on something grievously disadvantageous to her neighbors, various moral impulses were called into play which tended to stimulate utterance. Candor was one. To be candid, in Middlemarch phraseology, meant, to use an early opportunity of letting your friends know that you did not take a cheerful view of their capacity, their conduct, or their position; and a robust candor never waited to be asked for its opinion. Then, again, there was the love of truth--a wide phrase, but meaning in this relation, a lively objection to seeing a wife look happier than her husband's character warranted, or manifest too much satisfaction in her lot--the poor thing should have some hint given her that if she knew the truth she would have less complacency in her bonnet, and in light dishes for a supper-party. Stronger than all, there was the regard for a friend's moral improvement, sometimes called her soul, which was likely to be benefited by remarks tending to gloom, uttered with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the furniture and a manner implying that the speaker would not tell what was on her mind, from regard to the feelings of her hearer. On the whole, one might say that an ardent charity was at work setting the virtuous mind to make a neighbor unhappy for her good. ~ George Eliot,
1402:Chapter 1.
He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion...no, make that: he - he romanticized it all out of proportion. Yeah. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.'

Uh, no let me start this over.

'Chapter 1.
He was too romantic about Manhattan, as he was about everything else. He thrived on the hustle bustle of the crowds and the traffic. To him, New York meant beautiful women and street-smart guys who seemed to know all the angles...'.

Ah, corny, too corny for my taste. Can we ... can we try and make it more profound?

'Chapter 1.
He adored New York City. For him, it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. The same lack of individual integrity that caused so many people to take the easy way out was rapidly turning the town of his dreams in...'

No, that's going to be too preachy. I mean, you know, let's face it, I want to sell some books here.

'Chapter 1.
He adored New York City, although to him it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. How hard it was to exist in a society desensitized by drugs, loud music, television, crime, garbage...'

Too angry, I don't want to be angry.

'Chapter 1.
He was as tough and romantic as the city he loved. Behind his black-rimmed glasses was the coiled sexual power of a jungle cat.'

I love this.

'New York was his town, and it always would be. ~ Woody Allen,
1403:Sumptuary laws were passed by the Senate limiting expenditure on banquets and clothing, but as the senators ignored these regulations, no one bothered to observe them. “The citizens,” Cato mourned, “no longer listen to good advice, for the belly has no ears.”9 The individual became rebelliously conscious of himself as against the state, the son as against the father, the woman as against the man. Usually the power of woman rises with the wealth of a society, for when the stomach is satisfied hunger leaves the field to love. Prostitution flourished. Homosexualism was stimulated by contact with Greece and Asia; many rich men paid a talent ($3600) for a male favorite; Cato complained that a pretty boy cost more than a farm.10 But women did not yield the field to these Greek and Syrian invaders. They took eagerly to all those supports of beauty that wealth now put within their reach. Cosmetics became a necessity, and caustic soap imported from Gaul tinged graying hair into auburn locks.11 The rich bourgeois took pride in adorning his wife and daughter with costly clothing or jewelry and made them the town criers of his prosperity. Even in government the role of women grew. Cato cried out that “all other men rule over women; but we Romans, who rule all men, are ruled by our women.”12 In 195 B.C.. the free women of Rome swept into the Forum and demanded the repeal of the Oppian Law of 215, which had forbidden women to use gold ornaments, varicolored dresses, or chariots. Cato predicted the ruin of Rome if the law should be repealed. Livy puts into his mouth a speech that every generation has heard: ~ Will Durant,
1404:It's September
It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold,
And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold;
Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red
And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at us from their bed;
Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's little feet,
And the dog now does his snoozing on the bright side of the street.
It's September, and the cornstalks are as high as they will go,
And the red cheeks of the apples everywhere begin to show;
Now the supper's scarcely over ere the darkness settles down
And the moon looms big and yellow at the edges of the town;
Oh, it's good to see the children, when their little prayers are said,
Duck beneath the patchwork covers when they tumble into bed.
It's September, and a calmness and a sweetness seem to fall
Over everything that's living, just as though it hears the call
Of Old Winter, trudging slowly, with his pack of ice and snow,
In the distance over yonder, and it somehow seems as though
Every tiny little blossom wants to look its very best
When the frost shall bite its petals and it droops away to rest.
It's September! It's the fullness and the ripeness of the year;
All the work of earth is finished, or the final tasks are near,
But there is no doleful wailing; every living thing that grows,
For the end that is approaching wears the finest garb it knows.
And I pray that I may proudly hold my head up high and smile
When I come to my September in the golden afterwhile.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1405:Astrid felt a towering wave of disgust. She was furious with Sam. Furious with Little Pete. Mad at the whole world around her. Sickened by everyone and everything.
And mostly, she admitted, sick of herself.
So desperately sick of being Astrid the Genius.
“Some genius,” she muttered. The town council, headed by that blond girl, what was her name? Oh right: Astrid. Astrid the Genius. Head of the town council that had let half the town burn to the ground.
Down in the basement of town hall Dahra Baidoo handed out scarce ibuprofen and expired Tylenol to kids with burns, like that would pretty much fix anything, as they waited for Lana to go one by one, healing with her touch.
Astrid could hear the cries of pain. There were several floors between her and the makeshift hospital. Not enough floors.
Edilio staggered in. He was barely recognizable. He was black with soot, dirty, dusty, with ragged scratches and scrapes and clothing hanging in shreds.
“I think we got it,” he said, and lay straight down on the floor.
Astrid knelt by his head. “You have it contained?”
But Edilio was beyond answering. He was unconscious. Done in.
Howard appeared next, in only slightly better shape. Some time during the night and morning he’d lost his smirk. He glanced at Edilio, nodded like it made perfect sense, and sank heavily into a chair.
“I don’t know what you pay that boy, but it’s not enough,” Howard said, jerking his chin at Edilio.
“He doesn’t do it for pay,” Astrid said.
“Yeah, well, he’s the reason the whole town didn’t burn. Him and Dekka and Orc and Jack. And Ellen, it was her idea. ~ Michael Grant,
1406:Peggotty had a basket of refreshments on her knee, which would have lasted us out handsomely, if we had been going to London by the same conveyance. We ate a good deal, and slept a good deal. Peggotty always went to sleep with her chin upon the handle of the basket, her hold of which never relaxed; and I could not have believed unless I had heard her do it, that one defenceless woman could have snored so much. We made so many deviations up and down lanes, and were such a long time delivering a bedstead at a public-house, and calling at other places, that I was quite tired, and very glad, when we saw Yarmouth. It looked rather spongy and soppy, I thought, as I carried my eye over the great dull waste that lay across the river; and I could not help wondering, if the world were really as round as my geography book said, how any part of it came to be so flat. But I reflected that Yarmouth might be situated at one of the poles; which would account for it. As we drew a little nearer, and saw the whole adjacent prospect lying a straight low line under the sky, I hinted to Peggotty that a mound or so might have improved it; and also that if the land had been a little more separated from the sea, and the town and the tide had not been quite so much mixed up, like toast and water, it would have been nicer. But Peggotty said, with greater emphasis than usual, that we must take things as we found them, and that, for her part, she was proud to call herself a Yarmouth Bloater. When we got into the street (which was strange enough to me) and smelt the fish, and pitch, and oakum, and tar, and saw the sailors walking about, and the carts jingling ~ Charles Dickens,
1407:Tränen Des Vaterlandes
Wir sind doch nunmehr ganz, ja mehr denn ganz verheeret!
Der frecher Völker Schar, die rasende Posaun,
Das vom Blut fette Schwert, die donnernde Karthaun
Hat aller Schweiß und Fleiß und Vorrat aufgezehret.
Die Türme stehn in Glut, die Kirch ist umgekehret,
Das Rathaus liegt im Graus, die Starken sind zerhaun,
Die Jungfraun sind geschänd't, und wo wir hin nur schaun,
Ist Feuer, Pest und Tod, der Herz und Geist durchfähret.
Hier durch die Schanz und Stadt rinnt allzeit frisches Blut.
Dreimal sind's schon sechs Jahr, als unsrer Ströme Flut,
Von Leichen fast verstopft, sich langsam fortgedrungen.
Doch schweig' ich noch von dem, was ärger als der Tod,
Was grimmer denn die Pest und Glut und Hungersnot:
Daß auch der Seelen Schatz so vielen abgezwungen.
Tears of the Fatherland
Full now—yea, more than full--behold our devastation:
The frantic drum beat, and the brazen horde,
The thundering siege gun, and the blood-slick sword
Devour all diligence, and sweat, and careful preparation.
The church is overthrown; our mighty men are slain;
The town hall lies in dust; our towers burn;
Virgins are raped; and everywhere we turn
Are fire, plague, and death to pierce us—heart and brain.
Down walls and through the town runs always fresh-spilled blood
For eighteen summers now, our river's yearly flood
Near-choked with corpses, has pushed slowly, slowly on
But nothing will I say of one thing—worse, I know,
Than death, more grim than plague, or fire, or hunger's woe:
Those pillaged souls from whom even hope of heaven is gone.
~ Andreas Gryphius,
1408:Christmas Shopping In Cactus Center
Women's scarce in Cactus Center, and there ain't no bargain stores
Fer to start them Monday rushes that break down the stoutest doors;
But we had some Christmas shoppin' that the town ain't over yet,
Jest because of one small woman and a drug store toilet set.
She was Cactus Center's teacher, and she had n't left the stage
'Fore she had the boys plum locoed - and I don't bar youth nor age;
She was cute and smart and pretty, and she might 'a' been here yet
If it had n't been fer Dawson and his drug store toilet set.
It was old and scratched and speckled, for 't was in his case for years,
But ol' Dawson, sharp and clever, put a whisper in our ears'Lowed he'd sell that set at auction, and he says: 'Now, boys, you bet
This 'ill make a hit with Teacher - this here swell new toilet set.'
Well the biddin' stated lively, and it got to gettin' hot,
For every mind in Cactus on that single thing was sot;
Purty soon I'd staked my saddle, worth two hundred dollars net,
Jest to own fer one short second that blamed drug store toilet set.
It was then began the shootin' - no one seems to know jest how And 't was lack of ammunition that at last broke up the row;
And thirteen of us was hurted, but the worst blow that we met
Was in findin' that some bullets had gone through that toilet set.
But we plugged the punctures in it, and we plugged the wounded, too,
And agreed we'd arbitrate it, and the bunch 'd see it through;
So we sent a gift committee, but they came back sorer yet Fer the teacher'd fluttered Eastward - so we've got that that toilet set.
~ Arthur Chapman,
1409:The noise of the town some floors below was greatly muted. In a state of complete mental detachment, he went over the events, the circumstances and the stages of destruction in their lives. Seen in the frozen light of a restrictive past, everything seemed clear, conclusive and indisputable. Now it seemed unthinkable that a girl of seventeen shoudl be so naive; it was particularly unbelieveable that a girl of seventeen should set so much store by love. If the surveys in the magazines were to be believed, things had changed a great deal in the twenty-five years since Annabelle was a teenager. Young girls today were more sensible, more sophisticated. Nowadays they worried more about their exam results and did their best to ensure they would have a decent career. For them, going out with boys was simply a game, a distraction motivated as much by narcissism as by sexual pleasure. They later would try to make a good marriage, basing their decision on a range of social and professional criteria, as well as on shared interests and tastes. Of course, in doing this they cut themselves off from any possibility of happiness--a condition indissociable from the outdated, intensely close bonds so incompatible with the exercise of reason--but this was their attempt to escape the moral and emotional suffering which had so tortured their forebears. This hope was, unfortunately, rapidly disappointed; the passing of love's torments simply left the field clear for boredom, emptiness and an anguished wait for old age and death. The second part of Annabelle's life therefore had been much more dismal and sad than the first, of which, in the end, she had no memory at all. ~ Michel Houellebecq,
1410:Across the river he could see the burnt and crushed buildings of Fredericksburg, the debris piled along the streets, the scattered ruins of people's lives, lives that were changed forever. His men had done that. Not all of it, of course. The whole corps had seemed to go insane, had turned the town into some kind of violent party, a furious storm that blew out of control, and he could not stop it. The commanders had ordered the provost guards at the bridges to let no goods leave the town, nothing could be carried across the bridges, and so what the men could not keep, what they could not steal, they had just destroyed. And now, he thought, the people will return, trying to rescue some fragile piece of home, and they will find this...and they will learn something new about war, more than the quiet nightmare of leaving your home behind. They will learn that something happens to men, men who have felt no satisfaction, who have absorbed and digested defeat after bloody stupid defeat, men who up to now have done mostly what they were told to do. And when those men begin to understand that it is not anything in them, no great weakness or inferiority, but that it is the leaders, the generals and politicians who tell them what to do, that the fault is there, after a while they will stop listening. Then the beast, the collective anger, battered and bloodied, will strike out, will respond to the unending sights of horror, the deaths of friends and brothers, and it will not be fair or reasonable or just, since there is no intelligence in the beast. They will strike out at whatever presents itself, and here it was the harmless and innocent lives of the people of Fredericksburg. ~ Jeff Shaara,
1411:I was outside St. Cecelia's Rectory smoking a cigarette when a goat appeared beside me. It was mostly black and white, with a little reddish brown here and there. When I started to walk away, it followed. I was amused and delighted, but wondered what the laws were on this kind of thing. There's a leash law for dogs, but what about goats? People smiled at me and admired the goat. "It's not my goat," I explained. "It's the town's goat. I'm just taking my turn caring for it." "I didn't know we had a goat," one of them said. "I wonder when my turn is." "Soon," I said. "Be patient. Your time is coming." The goat stayed by my side. It stopped when I stopped. It looked up at me and I stared into its eyes. I felt he knew everything essential about me. We walked on. A police- man on his beat looked us over. "That's a mighty fine goat you got there," he said, stopping to admire. "It's the town's goat," I said. "His family goes back three-hundred years with us," I said, "from the beginning." The officer leaned forward to touch him, then stopped and looked up at me. "Mind if I pat him?" he asked. "Touching this goat will change your life," I said. "It's your decision." He thought real hard for a minute, and then stood up and said, "What's his name?" "He's called the Prince of Peace," I said. "God! This town is like a fairy tale. Everywhere you turn there's mystery and wonder. And I'm just a child playing cops and robbers forever. Please forgive me if I cry." "We forgive you, Officer," I said. "And we understand why you, more than anybody, should never touch the Prince." The goat and I walked on. It was getting dark and we were beginning to wonder where we would spend the night. ~ James Tate,
1412:Disobedience
James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he;
"You must never go down
to the end of the town,
if you don't go down with me."
James James
Morrison's Mother
Put on a golden gown.
James James Morrison's Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James Morrison's Mother
Said to herself, said she:
"I can get right down
to the end of the town
and be back in time for tea."
King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
TO THE END OF THE TOWN FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"
James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
12
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he:
"You must never go down to the end of the town
without consulting me."
James James
Morrison's mother
Hasn't been heard of since.
King John said he was sorry,
So did the Queen and Prince.
King John
(Somebody told me)
Said to a man he knew:
If people go down to the end of the town, well,
what can anyone do?"
(Now then, very softly)
J.J.
M.M.
P.
Took great
C/0 his M*****
Though he was only 3.
J.J. said to his M*****
"M*****," he said, said he:
"You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-townif-you-don't-go-down-with-ME!"
~ Alan Alexander Milne,
1413:From Early Dawn The Thirtieth Of April...
From early dawn the thirtieth of April
Is given up to children of the town,
And caught in trying on the festive necklace,
By dusk it only just is settling down.
Like heaps of squashy berries under muslin
The town emerges out of crimson gauze.
Along the streets the boulevards are dragging
Their twilight with them, like a rank of dwarves.
The evening world is always eve and blossom,
But this one with a sprouting of its own
From May-day anniversaries will flower
One day into a commune fully blown.
For long it will remain a day of shifting,
Pre-festive cleaning, fanciful decor,
As once it used to be with Whitsun birches
Or pan-Athenian fires long before.
Just so they will go on, conveying actors
To their assembly points; beat sand; just so
Pull up towards illuminated ledges
The plywood boards, the crimson calico.
Just so in threes the sailors briskly walking
Will skirt the grass in gardens and in parks,
The moon at nightfall sink into the pavements
Like a dead city or a burnt-out hearth.
But with each year more splendid and more spreading
The taut beginning of the rose will bloom,
More clearly grow in health and sense of honour,
Sincerity more visibly will loom.
The living folksongs, customs and traditions
Will ever spreading, many-petalled lay
Their scent on fields and industries and meadows
From early buddings on the first of May,
59
Until the full fermented risen spirit
Of ripened years will shoot up, like the smell
Of humid centifolia. It will have to
Reveal itself, it cannot help but tell.
~ Boris Pasternak,
1414:I long to go over there to the further bank of the river.
  Where those boats are tied to the bamboo poles in a line;
  Where men cross over in their boats in the morning with
ploughs on their shoulders to till their far-away fields;
  Where the cowherds make their lowing cattle swim across to the
riverside pasture;
  Whence they all come back home in the evening, leaving the
jackals to howl in the island overgrown with weeds.
  Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferry when I am grown up.
  They say there are strange pools hidden behind that high bank.
  Where flocks of wild ducks come when the rains are over, and
thick reeds grow round the margins where water-birds lay their
eggs;
  Where snipes with their dancing tails stamp their tiny
footprints upon the clean soft mud;
  Where in the evening the tall grasses crested with while
flowers invite the moonbeam to float upon their waves.
  Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
  I shall cross and cross back from bank to bank, and all the
boys and girls of the village will wonder at me while they are
bathing.
  When the sun climbs the mid sky and morning wears on to noon,
I shall come running to you, saying, "Mother, I am hungry."
  When the day is done and the shadows cower under the trees,
I shall come back in the dust.
  I shall never go away from you into the town to work like
father.
  Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Further Bank
,
1415:I arrived at the house, after walking through those silent and deserted streets, in which the few who stood seemed occupied on some dark official business, and in which party slogans and symbols disfigured every building. The staircase of the apartment building was also deserted. Everywhere the same expectant silence hung in the air, as when an air raid has been announced, and the town hides from its imminent destruction. Outside the apartment, however, I encountered two policemen, who seized me as I rang the bell and demanded my papers. Dr Tomin came out, and an altercation ensued, during which I was pushed down the stairs. But the argument continued and I was able to push my way up again, past the guards and into the apartment. I found a room full of people, and the same expectant silence. I realized that there really was going to be an air raid, and that the air raid was me. In that room was a battered remnant of Prague’s intelligentsia – old professors in their shabby waistcoats; long-haired poets; fresh-faced students who had been denied admission to university for their parents’ political ‘crimes’; priests and religious in plain clothes; novelists and theologians; a would-be rabbi; and even a psychoanalyst. And in all of them I saw the same marks of suffering, tempered by hope; and the same eager desire for the sign that someone cared enough to help them. They all belonged, I discovered, to the same profession: that of stoker. Some stoked boilers in hospitals; others in apartment blocks; one stoked at a railway station, another in a school. Some stoked where there were no boilers to stoke, and these imaginary boilers came to be, for me, a fitting symbol of the communist economy. ~ Roger Scruton,
1416:Dr. Pym,” Emma huffed, “what happened back there? What’s going on?” “I told you that we are here to see a man. What I did not say was that I have been searching for this individual for nearly a decade. Only recently did I finally track him to this village. You heard me asking the signora how to find his house.” “That’s it? That’s what made her drop the plate?” “Yes, it appears that he is regarded by the locals as something of a devil. Or perhaps the Devil. The signora was a bit flustered.” “Is he dangerous?” Michael asked. Then he added, “Because I’m the oldest now, and I’m responsible for Emma’s safety.” “Oh, please,” Emma groaned. “I wouldn’t say he’s dangerous,” the wizard said. “At least, not very.” They hiked on, following a narrow, twisting trail. They could hear goats bleating in the distance, the bells around their necks clanking dully in the still air. Stalks of dry grass scratched at the children’s ankles. The light was dying, and soon Michael could no longer see the town behind them. The trail ended at a badly maintained rock wall. Affixed to the wall was a piece of wood bearing a message scrawled in black paint. “What’s it say?” Emma asked. The wizard bent forward to translate. “It says, ‘Dear Moron’—oh my, what a beginning—‘you are about to enter private property. Trespassers will be shot, hanged, beaten with clubs, shot again; their eyeballs will be pecked out by crows, their livers roasted’—dear, this is disgusting, and it goes on for quite a while.…” He skipped to the bottom. “ ‘So turn around now, you blithering idiot. Sincerely, the Devil of Castel del Monte.’ ” Dr. Pym straightened up. “Not very inviting, is it? Well, come along.” And he climbed over the wall. Michael ~ John Stephens,
1417:This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real. Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief. But there’s a difference with this dream. Everything cruel and unconscious done in the illusion of the present world, all that does not fade away at the death-waking. It stays, and it must be interpreted. All the mean laughing, all the quick, sexual wanting, those torn coats of Joseph, they change into powerful wolves that you must face. The retaliation that sometimes comes now, the swift, payback hit, is just a boy’s game to what the other will be. You know about circumcision here. It’s full castration there! And this groggy time we live, this is what it’s like:      A man goes to sleep in the town where he has always lived, and he dreams he’s living in another town.      In the dream, he doesn’t remember the town he’s sleeping in his bed in. He believes the reality of the dream town. The world is that kind of sleep. The dust of many crumbled cities settles over us like a forgetful doze, but we are older than those cities.           We began as a mineral. We emerged into plant life and into the animal state, and then into being human, and always we have forgotten our former states, except in early spring when we slightly recall being green again.      That’s how a young person turns toward a teacher. That’s how a baby leans toward the breast, without knowing the secret of its desire, yet turning instinctively. Humankind is being led along an evolving course, through this migration of intelligences, and though we seem to be sleeping, there is an inner wakefulness that directs the dream, and that will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are. ~ Rumi,
1418:The Seed-At-Zero
The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the trodden womb,
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely stumbling
Over the manwaging line.
The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the manwaged tomb
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely leaping
Over the warbearing line.
Through the rampart of the sky
Shall the star-flanked seed be riddled,
Manna for the rumbling ground,
Quickening for the riddled sea;
Settled on a virgin stronghold
He shall grapple with the guard
And the keeper of the key.
May a humble village labour
And a continent deny?
A hemisphere may scold him
And a green inch be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a drunken shore
Have their thirsty sailors hide him.
May be a humble planet labour
And a continent deny?
A village green may scold him
And a high sphere be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a thirsty shore
Have their drunken sailors hide him.
147
Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the foreign fields of space,
Shall not thunder on the town
With a star-flanked garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-tomorrow
Range on the sky-scraping place.
Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the star-flanked fields of space,
Thunders on the foreign town
With a sand-bagged garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-to-morrow
Range from the grave-groping place.
~ Dylan Thomas,
1419:An elder sister came from the town to visit her younger sister in the country. This elder sister was married to a merchant and the younger to a peasant in the village. The two sisters sat down for a talk over a cup of tea and the elder started boasting about the superiority of town life, with all its comforts, the fine clothes her children wore, the exquisite food and drink, parties and visits to the theatre.
The younger sister resented this and in turn scoffed at the life of a merchant's wife and sang the praise of her own life as a peasant.
'I wouldn't care to change my life for yours,' she said. 'I admit mine is dull, but at least we have no worries. You live in grander style, but you must do a great deal of business or you'll be ruined. You know the proverb, "Loss is Gain's elder brother." One day you are rich and the next you might find yourself out in the street. Here in the country we don't have these ups and downs. A peasant's life may be poor, but it's long. Although we may never be rich, we'll always have enough to eat.'
Then the elder sister said her piece.
'Enough to eat but nothing but those filthy pigs and calves! What do you know about nice clothes and good manners! However hard your good husband slaves away you'll spend your lives in the muck and that's where you'll die. And the same goes for your children.'
'Well, what of it?' the younger answered. 'That's how it is here. But at least we know where we are. We don't have to crawl to anyone and we're afraid of no one. But you in town are surrounded by temptations. All may be well one day, the next the Devil comes along and tempts your husband with cards, women and drink. And then you're ruined. It does happen, doesn't it? ~ Leo Tolstoy,
1420:On The Steamer
The stir of leaves, the chilly morning air
Were like delirium; half awake
Jaws clamped; the dawn beyond the Kama glared
Blue, as the plumage of a drake.
There was
A yawning
And in the
Within the
a clattering of crockery,
steward taking stock,
depth, as high as candlesticks,
river, glow-worms flocked.
They hung from streets along the waterfront,
A scintillating string; it chimed
Three times; the steward with a napkin tried
To scratch away some candle grime.
Like a grey rumour, crawling from the past,
A mighty epic of the reeds,
With ripples in the beads of street lamps, fast
Towards Perm the Kama ran upon a breeze.
Choking on waves, and almost drowning, but
Still swimming on beyond the boat
A star kept diving and resurfacing
An icon's shining light afloat.
A smell of paint mixed with the galley smells,
And on the Kama all along,
The twilight drifted, secrets gathering,
With not a splash it drifted on…
A glass in hand, your pupils narrowing
You watched the slips of tongue perform
A whirling play on words, at suppertime,
But were not drawn into their swarm.
You called your partner to old happenings,
To waves of days before your day,
To plunge in them, a final residue
Of the last drop, and fade away.
107
The stir of leaves in chilly morning air
Was like delirium; half awake
One yawned; the east beyond the Kama glared
Blue, as the plumage of a drake.
And, like a bloodbath now the morning came,
A flaming flood of oil - to drown
The steamer's gaslights in the stateroom and
The waning street lamps of the town.
~ Boris Pasternak,
1421:All of a sudden, she was there, breaking away from the little group of women and running toward him. She raced across the space between them and threw her arms around his neck. The force of her body knocked him back a few steps as she wrapped around him like a trumpet vine on a cornstalk.
He regained his footing and snaked his arms around her, holding her close. His
exhaustion disappeared in a moment, erased by the incredible fact that Catherine was in his arms right here on the street in front of half the town, lifting her face to kiss him. He
couldn’t refuse her offer and bent his head to cover her soft lips with his. The heat and pressure of her mouth took away all the residual anxiety and fear still floating in him and filled him with wild elation instead.
After several long minutes of feasting on her mouth like a starving man, he pulled away and his eyes opened. Her tear-streaked face filled his vision. His stomach dropped.
Why was she crying? What had happened to her?
He was aware of the crowd of people around them. Glancing up, he saw many eyes focused on him and Catherine, mouths talking, expressions of surprise and shock. He let go of her and stepped back, although it was far too late to protect her reputation.
Catherine cupped his face, drawing his attention back to her, and her lips were
moving. “…don’t you? Never again!” She frowned and signed as she spoke. “Never!
Understand? I love you.” Her graceful hands made the love sign, which looked as though she was offering her heart to him.
At last Jim realized she was upset with him for putting himself in danger. If he’d doubted that she cared, those doubts evaporated under the force of her fury. He nodded and promised. ~ Bonnie Dee,
1422:THINGS I DON'T LIKE TO SEE. I'm a modest young man, I'd have you all know,
And I can't bear to hear or to see anything low;
From a child all my friends could not fail to detect,
That my notions were moral and strictly correct. Now some of you, doubtless, may think me an ass,
And declare my confession is naught for a farce;
Still, to what I have said I'll religiously stick,
And, to use a low phrase, stand my ground like a brick. Stop, a few minutes you are able to spare,
A bit of my mind I intend to lay bare;
Tho' with my way of thinking you'll p'raps not agree,
I'll tell you a few things I don't like to see. I don't like to see vulgar girls in the town
Pull their clothes up, and stand to be goosed for a crown;
Nor a man with light trousers, of decency shorn,
Stop and talk to young ladies while having the horn. I don't like to see women wear dirty smocks,
Nor a boy of fifteen laid' up with the pox;
And I don't like to see, it's a fact by my life—
A married man grinding another man's wife. Nor I don't like to see - you'll not doubt it, I beg,
A large linseed poultice slip down a man's leg;
Nor a gray-headed sinner that's fond of a find.
When a girl under twelve he is able to grind. In church, too, believe me, I don't like to see
A chap grope a girl while she sits on his knee;
Nor a lady whose visage is allover scabs,
Nor a young married lady troubled with crabs. Nor I don't like to see, through it's really a lark,
A clergyman poking a girl in the park;
Nor a young lady, wishing to be thought discreet,
Looking in print-shops in Holywell Street. I don't like to see, coming out of Cremorne,
A girl with her muslin much crumpled and torn; ~ Anonymous,
1423:ALL day the waves assailed the rock,
I heard no church-bell chime;
The sea-beat scorns the minster clock
And breaks the glass of Time.
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
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Ode
O tenderly the haughty day
Fills his blue urn with fire;
One morn is in the mighty heaven,
And one in our desire.

The cannon booms from town to town,
Our pulses are not less,
The joy-bells chime their tidings down,
Which children's voices bless.

For He that flung the broad blue fold
O'er-mantling land and sea,
One third part of the sky unrolled
For the banner of the free.

The men are ripe of Saxon kind
To build an equal state,--
To take the statute from the mind,
And make of duty fate.

United States! the ages plead,--
Present and Past in under-song,--
Go put your creed into your deed,
Nor speak with double tongue.

For sea and land don't understand,
Nor skies without a frown
See rights for which the one hand fights
By the other cloven down.

Be just at home; then write your scroll
Of honour o'er the sea,
And bid the broad Atlantic roll,
A ferry of the free.

And, henceforth, there shall be no chain,
Save underneath the sea
The wires shall murmur through the main
Sweet songs of LIBERTY.

The conscious stars accord above,
The waters wild below,
And under, through the cable wove,
Her fiery errands go.

For He that worketh high and wise,
Nor pauses in his plan,
Will take the sun out of the skies
Ere freedom out of man.
Ode Sung In The Town Hall 1857 by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Waves
,
1424:Benedetta Ramus
Mysterious Benedetta! who
That Reynolds or that Romney drew
Was ever half so fair as you,
Or is so well forgot?
These eyes of melancholy brown,
These woven locks, a shadowy crown,
Must surely have bewitched the town;
Yet you're remembered not.
Through all that prattle of your age,
Through lore of fribble and of sage
I've read, and chiefly Walpole's page,
Wherein are beauties famous;
I've haunted ball, and rout, and sale;
I've heard of Devonshire and Thrale,
And all the Gunnings' wondrous tale,
But nothing of Miss Ramus.
And yet on many a lattice pane
'Fair Benedetta,' scrawled in vain
By lovers' diamonds, must remain
To tell us you were cruel.
But who, of all that sighed and swore Wits, poets, courtiers by the score Did win and on his bosom wore
This hard and lovely jewel?
Why, dilettante records say
An Alderman, who came that way,
Woo'd you and made you Lady Day;
You crowned his civic flame.
It suits a melancholy song
To think your heart had suffered wrong,
And that you lived not very long
To be a City dame!
Perchance you were a Mourning Bride,
And conscious of a heart that died
With one who fell by Rodney's side
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In blood-stained Spanish bays.
Perchance 'twas no such thing, and you
Dwelt happy with your knight and true,
And, like Aurora, watched a crew
Of rosy little Days!
Oh, lovely face and innocent!
Whatever way your fortunes went,
And if to earth your life was lent
For little space or long,
In your kind eyes we seem to see
What Woman at her best may be,
And offer to your memory
An unavailing song!
~ Andrew Lang,
1425:THE DEPOT at Nochecita had smooth stuccoed apricot walls, trimmed in a somehow luminous shade of gray—around the railhead and its freight sheds and electrical and machine shops, the town had grown, houses and businesses painted vermilion, sage, and fawn, and towering at the end of the main street, a giant sporting establishment whose turquoise and crimson electric lamps were kept lit all night and daytime, too, for the place never closed. There was an icehouse and a billiard parlor, a wine room, a lunch and eating counter, gambling saloons and taquerías. In the part of town across the tracks from all that, Estrella Briggs, whom everybody called Stray, was living upstairs in what had been once the domestic palace of a mine owner from the days of the first great ore strikes around here, now a dimly illicit refuge for secret lives, dark and in places unrepainted wood rearing against a sky which since this morning had been threatening storm. Walkways in from the street were covered with corrugated snow-shed roofing. The restaurant and bar on the ground-floor corner had been there since the boom times, offering two-bit all-you-can-eat specials, sawdust on the floor, heavy-duty crockery, smells of steaks, chops, venison chili, coffee and beer and so on worked into the wood of the wall paneling, old trestle tables, bar and barstools. At all hours the place’d be racketing with gambling-hall workers on their breaks, big-hearted winners and bad losers, detectives, drummers, adventuresses, pigeons, and sharpers. A sunken chamber almost like a natatorium at some hot-springs resort, so cool and dim that you forgot after a while about the desert waiting out there to resume for you soon as you stepped back into it. . . . ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1426:I built, of blocks, a town three hundred thousand strong, whose avenues were paved with a wine-colored rug and decorated by large leaves outlined inappropriately in orange, and on this leafage I'd often park my Tootsie Toy trucks, as if on pads of camouflage, waiting their deployment against catastrophes which included alien invasions, internal treachery, and world war. It was always my intention, and my conceit, to use up, in the town's construction, every toy I possessed: my electronic train, of course, the Lincoln Logs, old kindergarten blocks—their deeply incised letters always a problem—the Erector set, every lead soldier that would stand (broken ones were sent to the hospital), my impressive array of cars, motorcycles, tanks, and trucks—some with trailers, some transporting gas, some tows, some dumps—and my squadrons of planes, my fleet of ships, my big and little guns, an undersized group of parachute people (looking as if one should always imagine them high in the sky, hanging from threads), my silversided submarines, along with assorted RR signs, poles bearing flags, prefab houses with faces pasted in their windows, small boxes of a dozen variously useful kinds, strips of blue cloth for streams and rivers, and glass jars for town water towers, or, in a pinch, jails. In time, the armies, the citizens, even the streets would divide: loyalties, friendships, certainties, would be undermined, the city would be shaken by strife; and marbles would rain down from formerly friendly planes, steeples would topple onto cars, and shellfire would soon throw aggie holes through homes, soldiers would die accompanied by my groans, and ragged bands of refugees would flee toward mountain caves and other chairs and tables. ~ William H Gass,
1427:To look at Montmorency you would imagine that he was an angel sent upon the earth, for some reason withheld from mankind, in the shape of a small fox-terrier. There is a sort of Oh-what-a-wicked-world-this-is-and-how-I-wish-I-could-do-something-to-make-it-better-and-nobler expression about Montmorency that has been known to bring the tears into the eyes of pious old ladies and gentlemen. When first he came to live at my expense, I never thought I should be able to get him to stop long. I used to sit down and look at him, as he sat on the rug and looked up at me, and think: “Oh, that dog will never live. He will be snatched up to the bright skies in a chariot, that is what will happen to him.” But, when I had paid for about a dozen chickens that he had killed; and had dragged him, growling and kicking, by the scruff of his neck, out of a hundred and fourteen street fights; and had had a dead cat brought round for my inspection by an irate female, who called me a murderer; and had been summoned by the man next door but one for having a ferocious dog at large, that had kept him pinned up in his own tool-shed, afraid to venture his nose outside the door for over two hours on a cold night; and had learned that the gardener, unknown to myself, had won thirty shillings by backing him to kill rats against time, then I began to think that maybe they’d let him remain on earth for a bit longer, after all. To hang about a stable, and collect a gang of the most disreputable dogs to be found in the town, and lead them out to march round the slums to fight other disreputable dogs, is Montmorency’s idea of “life;” and so, as I before observed, he gave to the suggestion of inns, and pubs., and hotels his most emphatic approbation. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
1428:Astr
Himself it was who wrote
His rank, and quartered his own coat.
There is no king nor sovereign state
That can fix a hero's rate;
Each to all is venerable,
Cap-a-pie invulnerable,
Until he write, where all eyes rest,
Slave or master on his breast.

I saw men go up and down
In the country and the town,
With this prayer upon their neck,
"Judgment and a judge we seek."
Not to monarchs they repair,
Nor to learned jurist's chair,
But they hurry to their peers,
To their kinsfolk and their dears,
Louder than with speech they pray,
What am I? companion; say.
And the friend not hesitates
To assign just place and mates,
Answers not in word or letter,
Yet is understood the better;
Is to his friend a looking-glass,
Reflects his figure that doth pass.
Every wayfarer he meets
What himself declared, repeats;
What himself confessed, records;
Sentences him in his words,
The form is his own corporal form,
And his thought the penal worm.

Yet shine for ever virgin minds,
Loved by stars and purest winds,
Which, o'er passion throned sedate,
Have not hazarded their state,
Disconcert the searching spy,
Rendering to a curious eye
The durance of a granite ledge
To those who gaze from the sea's edge.
It is there for benefit,
It is there for purging light,
There for purifying storms,
And its depths reflect all forms;
It cannot parley with the mean,
Pure by impure is not seen.
For there's no sequestered grot,
Lone mountain tam, or isle forgot,
But justice journeying in the sphere
Daily stoops to harbor there.
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Astrae
,
1429:She groaned again as a knock sounded at the door, and she stumbled over to answer it.
“Roo said you’d forget,” Etienne greeted her.
“I didn’t forget.” Conscious of her thin nightgown, Miranda stepped behind the door.
“And Roo said even if you didn’t forget, you still wouldn’t be there on time.”
His hair was damp, as though he’d just washed it. His black jeans fit casually over his narrow hips, and his black T-shirt had BOUCHER SWAMP TOURS stamped across the front in faded red letters.
“You should be feeling proud of yourself,” he added offhandedly. “So far she hasn’t told me one word about boiling you in oil. Not many people can pass the Roo test.”
“Is that supposed to thrill me?”
“It thrills me. You sure don’t want Roo putting a gris-gris on you. Very bad luck, cher.
“I have to get dressed,” Miranda grumbled.
“I’ll wait.”
“I don’t need you to wait for me.”
“You might get lost.”
“It’s only a fifteen-minute walk to the inn, right? How lost could I get?”
She felt his eyes rake over her. She doubted if those eyes ever missed much.
“Bad night?” he asked her.
Miranda hesitated. Was he trying to be funny? Self-righteous? But the expression on his face wasn’t joking or smug, and she didn’t feel like answering any questions right now.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Your grand-père? Miss Teeta says he’s better,” Etienne said. “Just in case you were wondering.”
“Great. Maybe today he’ll do something else for the whole town to talk about.”
“The town, it won’t talk if it doesn’t know.” Etienne’s voice hardened. “I don’t think you give your friends enough credit.”
“What friends?” But she shut the door before he had a chance to respond. ~ Richie Tankersley Cusick,
1430:Eros Turannos
She fears him, and will always ask
What fated her to choose him;
She meets in his engaging mask
All reason to refuse him.
But what she meets and what she fears
Are less than are the downward years,
Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs
Of age, were she to lose him.
Between a blurred sagacity
That once had power to sound him,
And Love, that will not let him be
The Judas that she found him,
Her pride assuages her almost
As if it were alone the cost-He sees that he will not be lost,
And waits, and looks around him.
A sense of ocean and old trees
Envelops and allures him;
Tradition, touching all he sees,
Beguiles and reassures him.
And all her doubts of what he says
Are dimmed by what she knows of days,
Till even Prejudice delays
And fades, and she secures him.
The falling leaf inaugurates
The reign of her confusion;
The pounding wave reverberates
The dirge of her illusion.
And Home, where passion lived and died,
Becomes a place where she can hide,
While all the town and harbor side
Vibrate with her seclusion.
We tell you, tapping on our brows,
The story as it should be,
As if the story of a house
107
Were told, or ever could be.
We'll have no kindly veil between
Her visions and those we have seen-As if we guessed what hers have been,
Or what they are or would be.
Meanwhile we do no harm, for they
That with a god have striven,
Not hearing much of what we say,
Take what the god has given.
Though like waves breaking it may be,
Or like a changed familiar tree,
Or like a stairway to the sea,
Where down the blind are driven.
~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,
1431:Just after a krampus that people had spotted in the area.” That got my attention. “A krampus? You’re sure?” Petra nodded. “I saw it walking down the road, swinging its chains around. Those fucking horrific bell things were making noise. You can’t really mistake a krampus for anything else.” In mythology, a krampus was a sort of anti-Santa. It would spirit away the naughty boys and girls to its lair. What it did with them is open to interpretation; some say it drowned the children and ate them, while some suggested it just kept them until they behaved and then brought them back. In most instances the truth is quite far removed from reality, but in the case of the krampus, truth and reality weren’t all that dissimilar. Krampus don’t care one way or the other about the behavior of the children they steal. They take children back to their lairs and feast on their souls, tossing the corpse of the child into a nearby stream or river when they finish. Unlike animals that need to hibernate during the winter, krampus only feed during the coldest months of the year, before vanishing once spring arrives. Before the tenth century, there were hundreds of the bastards running around, although nearly all of them were killed after it was made illegal to create them. Like most of the truly horrific creations in the world, krampus were made using dark blood magic. At one point, they’d been human, although once the magic had finished with them, any glimmer of humanity had been extinguished. They were considered a crime against magic, and their creation was punishable by death. Apparently, someone was unconcerned about the possibility of such things, if he or she had taken the time and effort to make a krampus and unleash it on the town of Mittenwald. ~ Steve McHugh,
1432:72 1 For Solomon. God, grant Your judgments to the king and Your righteousness to the king’s son. 2 May he judge Your people righteously and Your lowly ones in justice. 3 May the mountains bear peace to the people, and the hills righteousness. 4 May he bring justice to the lowly of the people, may he rescue the sons of the needy and crush the oppressor. May they fear you as long as the sun 5 and as long as the moon, generations untold. May he come down like rain on new-mown grass, 6 like showers that moisten the earth. May the just man flourish in his days—7 and abundant peace till the moon is no more. And may he hold sway from sea to sea, 8 from the River to the ends of the earth. Before him may the desert-folk kneel, 9 and his enemies lick the dust. May kings of Tarshish and the islands 10 bring tribute, may kings of Sheba and Siba offer vassal-gifts. And may all kings bow to him, 11 all nations serve him. For he saves the needy man pleading, 12 and the lowly who has none to help him. 13 He pities the poor and the needy, and the lives of the needy he rescues, 14 from scheming and outrage redeems them, and their blood is dear in his sight. 15 Long may he live, and the gold of Sheba be given him. May he be prayed for always, all day long be blessed. 16 May there be abundance of grain in the land, on the mountaintops. May his fruit rustle like Lebanon, and may they sprout from the town like grass of the land. May his name be forever. 17 As long as the sun may his name bear seed. And may all nations be blessed through him, call him happy. Blessed is the LORD God, Israel’s God, performing wonders alone. 18 And blessed is His glory forever, and may His glory fill all the earth. 19 Amen and amen. The prayers of David son of Jesse are ended. 20 ~ Robert Alter,
1433:Viii: Song: To Sicknesse
Why, Disease, dost thou molest
Ladies? and of them the best?
Do not men, ynow of rites
To thy altars, by their nights
Spent in surfets: and their dayes,
And nights too, in worser wayes?
Take heed, Sicknesse, what you do,
I shall feare, you'll surfet too.
Live not we, as, all thy stals,
Spittles, pest-house, hospitals,
Scarce will take our present store?
And this age will build no more:
'Pray thee, feed contented, then,
Sicknesse; only on us men.
Or if needs thy lust will taste
Woman-kind; devoure the waste
Livers, round about the town.
But forgive me, with thy crown
They maintaine the truest trade,
And have more diseases made.
What should, yet, thy pallat please?
Daintinesse, and softer ease,
Sleeked lims, and finest blood?
If thy leannesse love such food,
There are those, that, for thy sake,
Do enough; and who would take
Any paines; yea, think it price,
To become thy sacrifice.
That distill their husbands land
In decoctions; and are mann'd
With ten Emp'ricks, in their chamber,
Lying for the spirit of amber.
That for the oyle of Talck, dare spend
More than citizens dare lend
Them, and all their officers.
That to make all pleasure theirs,
Will by coach, and water go,
Every stew in towne to know;
Date entayle their loves on any,
151
Bald, or blind, or nere so many:
And, for thee at common game,
Play away, health, wealth, and fame.
These, disease, will thee deserve:
And will, long ere thou should'st starve,
On their bed most prostitute,
Move it, as their humblest sute,
In thy justice to molest
None but them, and leave the rest.
~ Ben Jonson,
1434:My name is Kvothe, pronounced nearly the same as “Quothe.” Names are important as they tell you a great deal about a person. I’ve had more names than anyone has a right to. The Adem call me Maedre. Which, depending on how it’s spoken, can mean “The Flame,” “The Thunder,” or “The Broken Tree.” “The Flame” is obvious if you’ve ever seen me. I have red hair, bright. If I had been born a couple hundred years ago I would probably have been burned as a demon. I keep it short but it’s unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes me look as if I have been set afire. “The Thunder” I attribute to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age. I’ve never thought of “The Broken Tree” as very significant. Although in retrospect I suppose it could be considered at least partially prophetic. My first mentor called me E’lir because I was clever and I knew it. My first real lover called me Dulator because she liked the sound of it. I have been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them. But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant “to know.” I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned. I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep. You may have heard of me. ~ Patrick Rothfuss,
1435:on some fundamental level we find it difficult to understand that other people are human beings in the same way that we are? We idealize them as gods or dismiss them as animals.”

“True. Consciousness makes for poor windows, too. I don’t think I’d ever thought about it quite that way.”

I was sitting back. I was listening. And I was hearing something about her and about windows and mirrors. Chuck Parson was a person. Like me. Margo Roth Spiegelman was a person, too. And I had never quite thought of her that way, not really; it was a failure of all my previous imaginings. All along—not only since she left, but for a decade before—I had been imagining her without listening, without knowing that she made as poor a window as I did. And so I could not imagine her as a person who could feel fear, who could feel isolated in a roomful of people, who could be shy about her record collection because it was too personal to share. Someone who might read travel books to escape having to live in the town that so many people escape to. Someone who—because no one thought she was a person—had no one to really talk to.

And all at once I knew how Margo Roth Spiegelman felt when she wasn’t being Margo Roth Spiegelman: she felt empty. She felt the unscaleable wall surrounding her. I thought of her asleep on the carpet with only that jagged sliver of sky above her. Maybe Margo felt comfortable there because Margo the person lived like that all the time: in an abandoned room with blocked-out windows, the only light pouring in through holes in the roof. Yes. The fundamental mistake I had always made—and that she had, in fairness, always led me to make—was this: Margo was not a miracle. She was not an adventure. She was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl. ~ John Green,
1436:Gogol flips through the book. A single picture at the front, on smoother paper than the rest of the pages, shows a pencil drawing of the author, sporting a velvet jacket, a billowy white shirt and cravat. The face is foxlike, with small, dark eyes, a thin, neat mustache, an extremely large pointy nose. Dark hair slants steeply across his forehead and is plastered to either side of his head, and there is a disturbing, vaguely supercilious smile set into long, narrow lips. Gogol Ganguli is relieved to see no resemblance. True, his nose is long but not so long, his hair dark but surely not so dark, his skin pale but certainly not so pale. The style of his own hair is altogether different—thick Beatle-like bangs that conceal his brows. Gogol Ganguli wears a Harvard sweatshirt and gray Levi’s corduroys. He has worn a tie once in his life, to attend a friend’s bar mitzvah. No, he concludes confidently, there is no resemblance at all. For by now, he’s come to hate questions pertaining to his name, hates having constantly to explain. He hates having to tell people that it doesn’t mean anything “in Indian.” He hates having to wear a nametag on his sweater at Model United Nations Day at school. He even hates signing his name at the bottom of his drawings in art class. He hates that his name is both absurd and obscure, that it has nothing to do with who he is, that it is neither Indian nor American but of all things Russian. He hates having to live with it, with a pet name turned good name, day after day, second after second. He hates seeing it on the brown paper sleeve of the National Geographic subscription his parents got him for his birthday the year before and perpetually listed in the honor roll printed in the town’s newspaper. At times his name, an entity shapeless and ~ Anonymous,
1437:The Weird Lady
The swevens came up round Harold the Earl,
Like motes in the sunnes beam;
And over him stood the Weird Lady,
In her charmed castle over the sea,
Sang 'Lie thou still and dream.'
'Thy steed is dead in his stall, Earl Harold,
Since thou hast been with me;
The rust has eaten thy harness bright,
And the rats have eaten thy greyhound light,
That was so fair and free.'
Mary Mother she stooped from heaven;
She wakened Earl Harold out of his sweven,
To don his harness on;
And over the land and over the sea
He wended abroad to his own countrie,
A weary way to gon.
Oh but his beard was white with eld,
Oh but his hair was gray;
He stumbled on by stock and stone,
And as he journeyed he made his moan
Along that weary way.
Earl Harold came to his castle wall;
The gate was burnt with fire;
Roof and rafter were fallen down,
The folk were strangers all in the town,
And strangers all in the shire.
Earl Harold came to a house of nuns,
And he heard the dead-bell toll;
He saw the sexton stand by a grave;
'Now Christ have mercy, who did us save,
Upon yon fair nun's soul.'
The nuns they came from the convent gate
By one, by two, by three;
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They sang for the soul of a lady bright
Who died for the love of a traitor knight:
It was his own lady.
He stayed the corpse beside the grave;
'A sign, a sign!' quod he.
'Mary Mother who rulest heaven,
Send me a sign if I be forgiven
By the woman who so loved me.'
A white dove out of the coffin flew;
Earl Harold's mouth it kist;
He fell on his face, wherever he stood;
And the white dove carried his soul to God
Or ever the bearers wist.
Durham, 1840.
~ Charles Kingsley,
1438:“shouting” For A Camel
It was over at Coolgardie that a mining speculator,
Who was going down the township just to make a bit o' chink,
Went off to hire a camel from a camel propagator,
And the Afghan said he'd lend it if he'd stand the beast a drink.
Yes, the only price he asked him was to stand the beast a drink.
He was cheap, very cheap, as the dromedaries go.
So the mining speculator made the bargain, proudly thinking
He had bested old Mahomet, he had done him in the eye.
Then he clambered on the camel, and the while the beast was drinking
He explained with satisfaction to the miners standing by
That 'twas cheap, very cheap, as the dromedaries go.
But the camel kept on drinking and he filled his hold with water,
And the more he had inside him yet the more he seemed to need;
For he drank it by the gallon, and his girths grew taut and tauter,
And the miners muttered softly, 'Yes he's very dry indeed!
But he's cheap, very cheap, as dromedaries go.'
So he drank up twenty buckets -- it was weird to watch him suck it,
(And the market price for water was per bucket half-a-crown)
Till the speculator stopped him, saying, 'Not another bucket -If I give him any more there'll be a famine in the town.
Take him back to old Mahomet, and I'll tramp it through the town.'
He was cheap, very cheap, as the speculators go.
There's a moral to this story -- in your hat you ought to paste it -Be careful whom you shout for when a camel is about,
And there's plenty human camels who, before they'll see you waste it,
Will drink up all you pay for if you're fool enough to shout;
If you chance to strike a camel when you're fool enough to shout,
You'll be cheap, very cheap, as the speculators go.
~ Banjo Paterson,
1439:'Shouting' For A Camel
It was over at Coolgardie that a mining speculator,
Who was going down the township just to make a bit o' chink,
Went off to hire a camel from a camel propagator,
And the Afghan said he'd lend it if he'd stand the beast a drink.
Yes, the only price he asked him was to stand the beast a drink.
He was cheap, very cheap, as the dromedaries go.
So the mining speculator made the bargain, proudly thinking
He had bested old Mahomet, he had done him in the eye.
Then he clambered on the camel, and the while the beast was drinking
He explained with satisfaction to the miners standing by
That 'twas cheap, very cheap, as the dromedaries go.
But the camel kept on drinking and he filled his hold with water,
And the more he had inside him yet the more he seemed to need;
For he drank it by the gallon, and his girths grew taut and tauter,
And the miners muttered softly, 'Yes he's very dry indeed!
But he's cheap, very cheap, as dromedaries go.'
So he drank up twenty buckets, it was weird to watch him suck it,
(And the market price for water was per bucket half-a-crown)
Till the speculator stopped him, saying, 'Not another busket,
If I give him any more there'll be a famine in the town.
Take him back to old Mahomet, and I'll tramp it through the town.'
He was cheap, very cheap, as the speculators go.
There's a moral to this story, in your hat you ought to paste it,
Be careful whom you shout for when a camel is about,
And there's plenty human camels who, before they'll see you waste it,
Will drink up all you pay for if you're fool enough to shout;
If you chance to strike a camel when you're fool enough to shout,
You'll be cheap, very cheap, as the speculators go.
~ Banjo Paterson,
1440:T.Y.S.O.N.
Across the Queensland border line
The mobs of cattle go;
They travel down in sun and shine
On dusty stage, and slow.
The drovers, riding slowly on
To let the cattle spread,
Will say: "Here's one old landmark gone,
For old man Tyson's dead."
What tales there'll be in every camp
By men that Tyson knew!
The swagmen, meeting on the tramp,
Will yarn the long day through,
And tell of how he passed as "Brown",
And fooled the local men:
"But not for me -- I struck the town,
And passed the message further down;
That's T.Y.S.O.N.!"
There stands a little country town
Beyond the border line,
Where dusty roads go up and down,
And banks with pubs combine.
A stranger came to cash a cheque -Few were the words he said -A handkerchief about his neck,
An old hat on his head.
A long grey stranger, eagle-eyed -"Know me? Of course you do?"
"It's not my work," the boss replied,
"To know such tramps as you."
"Well, look here, Mister, don't be flash,"
Replied the stranger then,
"I never care to make a splash,
I'm simple, but I've got the cash;
I'm T.Y.S.O.N."
But in that last great drafting-yard,
Where Peter keeps the gate,
291
And souls of sinners find it barred,
And go to meet their fate,
There's one who ought to enter in
For good deeds done on earth,
One who from Peter's self must win
That meed of sterling worth.
Not to the strait and narrow gate
Reserved for wealthy men,
But to the big gate, opened wide,
The grizzled figure, eagle-eyed,
Will saunter up -- and then
Old Peter'll say: "Let's pass him through;
There's many a thing he used to do,
Good-hearted things that no one knew;
That's T.Y.S.O.N."
~ Banjo Paterson,
1441:The Bonnie Earl Moray
A.
Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands
Oh where have you been?
They have slain the Earl of Murray,
And they layd him on the green.
'Now wae be to thee, Huntly!
And wherefore did you sae?
I bade you bring him wi you,
But forbade you him to slay.'
He was a braw gallant,
And he rid at the ring;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh he might have been a King!
He was a braw gallant,
And he playd at the ba;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Was the flower amang them a'.
He was a braw gallant,
And he playd at the glove;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh he was the Queen's love!
Oh lang will his lady
Look oer the castle Down,
Eer she see the Earl of Murray
Come sounding thro the town!
Eer she, etc.
B.
'Open the gates
and let him come in;
He is my brother Huntly,
he'll do him nae harm.'
199
The gates they were opent,
they let him come in,
But fause traitor Huntly,
he did him great harm.
He's ben and ben,
and ben to his bed,
And with a sharp rapier
he stabbed him dead.
The lady came down the stair,
wringing her hands:
'He has slain the Earl o Murray,
the flower o Scotland.'
But Huntly lap on his horse,
rade to the King:
'Ye're welcome hame, Huntly,
and whare hae ye been?
'Where hae ye been?
and how hae ye sped?'
'I've killed the Earl o Murray
dead in his bed.'
'Foul fa you, Huntly!
and why did ye so?
You might have taen the Earl o Murray,
and saved his life too.'
'Her bread it's to bake,
her yill is to brew;
My sister's a widow,
and sair do I rue.
'Her corn grows ripe,
her meadows grow green,
But in bonnie Dinnibristle
I darena be seen.'
200
~ Andrew Lang,
1442:Ascent To The Sierras

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Ascent To The Sierras



Beyond the great valley an odd instinctive rising
Begins to possess the ground, the flatness gathers
to little humps and
barrows, low aimless ridges,
A sudden violence of rock crowns them. The crowded
orchards end, they
have come to a stone knife;
The farms are finished; the sudden foot of the
slerra. Hill over hill,
snow-ridge beyond mountain gather
The blue air of their height about them.

Here at the foot of the pass
The fierce clans of the mountain you'd think for
thousands of years,
Men with harsh mouths and eyes like the eagles' hunger,
Have gathered among these rocks at the dead hour
Of the morning star and the stars waning
To raid the plain and at moonrise returning driven
Their scared booty to the highlands, the tossing horns
And glazed eyes in the light of torches. The men have
looked back
Standing above these rock-heads to bark laughter
At the burning granaries and the farms and the town
That sow the dark flat land with terrible rubies...
lighting the dead...
It is not true: from this land
The curse was lifted; the highlands have kept peace
with the valleys; no
blood in the sod; there is no old sword
Keeping grim rust, no primal sorrow. The people are
all one people, their
homes never knew harrying;
The tribes before them were acorn-eaters, harmless
as deer. Oh, fortunate
earth; you must find someone
To make you bitter music; how else will you take bonds
of the future,
against the wolf in men's hearts? ~ Robinson Jeffers,
1443:So, you’re in love with the Smith girl?” Ben stumbled at his father’s question that was really more of a statement. “No. Not at all.” He forced a short laugh. “Of course I’m not in love with Susanna Smith.” “Well, you certainly fooled me tonight.” “I cannot deny I’m attracted to Susanna,” he admitted. “Who wouldn’t be? She’s intelligent, witty, and interesting.” “She sounds like the perfect match for you.” He wanted to agree. Susanna was everything Hannah was not. He thought about her more than he should. And even in her grandfather’s study earlier, he’d felt a pull toward her that was unbearably strong and difficult to resist. He knew he needed to control himself better around Susanna. Surely he would have less trouble with his attraction once he was finally engaged to Hannah. “I’m in the process of trying to propose marriage to Hannah Quincy.” His father plodded forward without missing a step. “Then you love Miss Quincy?” Did he love Hannah? Ben shook his head. “Sometimes there are factors more important than love.” “Then you are in love with her wealth rather than her person?” Ben wanted to rebut his father’s words—similar to those of Parson Wibird from earlier in the day—but something about his father’s bluntness kept him from doing so. “Hannah Quincy will give me what I currently lack, namely the status and approval of my peers.” His father was silent for a long moment, the steady scraping of their boots against the dirt road reminding Ben of the steadiness of the man by his side. He was a deacon of the church and had been the selectman of the town for years. There was not a nobler or more respected man among the community. “There’s more than one way to earn the approval of your peers.” His father spoke slowly as if weighing his words carefully. “And often the best way is through strength of character. ~ Jody Hedlund,
1444:His house was certainly peculiar, and since this was the first thing that Fenchurch and Arthur had encountered it would help to know what it was like.

It was like this:

It was inside out.

Actually inside out, to the extent that they had had to park on the carpet.

All along what one would normally call the outer wall, which was decorated in a tasteful interior-designed pink, were bookshelves, also a couple of those odd three-legged tables with semicircular tops which stand in such a way as to suggest that someone just dropped the wall straight through them, and pictures which were clearly designed to soothe.

Where it got really odd was the roof.

It folded back on itself like something that M. C. Escher, had he been given to hard nights on the town, which it is no part of this narrative’s purpose to suggest was the case, though it is sometimes hard, looking at his pictures, particularly the one with all the awkward steps, not to wonder, might have dreamed up after having been on one, for the little chandeliers which should have been hanging inside were on the outside pointing up.

Confusing.

The sign above the front door said “Come Outside,” and so, nervously, they had.

Inside, of course, was where the Outside was. Rough brickwork, nicely done pointing, guttering in good repair, a garden path, a couple of small trees, some rooms leading off.

And the inner walls stretched down, folded curiously, and opened at the end as if, by an optical illusion which would have had M. C. Escher frowning and wondering how it was done, to enclose the Pacific Ocean itself.

“Hello,” said John Watson, Wonko the Sane.

Good, they thought to themselves, “hello” is something we can cope with.

“Hello,” they said, and all, surprisingly, was smiles. ~ Douglas Adams,
1445:My name is Kvothe, pronounced nearly the same as "quothe." Names are important as they tell you a great deal about a person. I've had more names than anyone has a right to. The Adem call me Maedre. Which, depending on how it's spoken, can mean The Flame, The Thunder, or The Broken Tree.

"The Flame" is obvious if you've ever seen me. I have red hair, bright. If I had been born a couple of hundred years ago I would probably have been burned as a demon. I keep it short but it's unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes me look as if I have been set afire.

"The Thunder" I attribute to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age.

I've never thought of "The Broken Tree" as very significant. Although in retrospect, I suppose it could be considered at least partially prophetic.

My first mentor called me E'lir because I was clever and I knew it. My first real lover called me Dulator because she liked the sound of it. I have been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them.

But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant "to know."

I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.

I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.

You may have heard of me. ~ Patrick Rothfuss,
1446:Out Of Khaki
I slung me khaki suit to-day.
Civilian now front heel to chin
I 'op round on a single shin;
At home in peace I'm bound to stay.
'N' so they've took me duds away.
It 'urt like strippin' off me skin!
I put it on three years ago,
The ole brown rig. There wasn't then
A prouder chicken in the pen.
Jist twenty turned, me nibs you'd know
For how I give me chest a throw,
A man among the best of men.
Me little no the touch I give,
Me chin's ez solid ez a rock,
'N' level with the Town 'All clock,
A five-inch grin across me chiv.
“Lor' love us, this is how to live,”
Sez I, 'n' felt I owned the Block.
Glad eyes was ever on the lurk,
'N' little 'earts was thumpin' warm
For nippers trainin' with the swarm
To swat ole Kaiser Bill, or work
A toe-hold on the heathen Turk.
Fair dink, I loved the uniform!
I soused mine in the brine that day
When Tophet spilt, 'n' in the roar
Of shells that split the sea 'n' tore
Our boats to chips, we broke any
Up through the pelt of leaden spray,
'N' got our first real taste of war.
They shot me tunic all to rags;
Then in the perpendic'lar spree
Me trousers wore off to the knee.
The right-abouts of many bags
83
Was ground off in the dust 'n' crags
A-sittin' in Gallipoli.
I wore the khaki on the SommeMost time 'twas jist a coat of mud;
I once come through the battle scud
Stripped mother-naked by a bomb;
'N' once it' took its color from
Me own 'n' one good cobber's blood.
They cheered the khaki through the street
When we come home with pipers gay,
But now I'm jist a bloke in grey.
Harf-lost, lob-sided, incomplete,
It's nothin' but me spook you'll meet,
Ghost-walkin' in the light o' day.
~ Edward George Dyson,
1447:From the woods that surrounded the burgh came a mass of men. Some rode, others ran. All carried weapons, mainly axes or spears. A few wore mail shirts and cloaks, but most just leather aketons. Among them were a handful of men clad in the short tunics favoured by Highlanders. These men were bare from
thigh to foot, an alarming sight to Ormesby, who had only heard rumour of these wild men of the north. As
they came, they roared a multitude of battle cries. Ormesby caught one name in the din, issuing from a group of mailed riders who followed a burly man on a finely caparisoned horse.
‘For Douglas!’ they howled. ‘For Douglas!’
Below, the townsfolk were scattering. The English soldiers had formed a tight knot outside the hall, blades drawn, but even as Ormesby watched, the forlorn group of beggars he had seen threw off their ragged skins and furs, revealing thickly muscled warriors. They fell upon the soldiers with savage cries,
daggers thrusting.
Footsteps sounded on the hall stairs. The door burst open and two soldiers appeared. ‘We must go, sir!’
The clerks and officials were already hastening across the chamber. Donald was running with them.
Ormesby remained rooted. ‘Who are they?’ he demanded, his voice high as he turned back to the window, seeing the horde rushing into the town. His eyes fixed on a giant of a man running, almost loping
in the front lines. Taller than all those around him, agile in the stride, he wore a simple dark blue tunic
and wide-brimmed kettle hat. The other men seemed to be running in unruly formation around him. But it was the blade in the man’s hands that Ormesby’s eyes were drawn to. He had never seen such a sword, so broad and long the giant had to grasp it in both hands as he came. Another name now became audible in the roar of the mob.
‘Wallace! Wallace! ~ Robyn Young,
1448:The Gift Of God
Blessed with a joy that only she
Of all alive shall ever know,
She wears a proud humility
For what it was that willed it so That her degree should be so great
Among the favoured of the Lord
That she may scarcely bear the weight
Of her bewildering reward.
As one apart, immune, alone,
Or featured for the shining ones,
And like to none that she has known
Of other women's other sons The firm fruition of her need,
He shines anointed; and he blurs
Her vision, till it seems indeed
A sacrilege to call him hers.
She fears a little for so much
Of what is best, and hardly dares
To think of him as one to touch
With aches, indignities, and cares;
She sees him rather at the goal,
Still shining; and her dream foretells
The proper shining of a soul
Where nothing ordinary dwells.
Perchance a canvass of the town
Would find him far from flags and shouts,
And leave him only the renown
Of many smiles and many doubts;
Perchance the crude and common tongue
Would havoc strangely with his worth;
But she, with innocence unwrung,
Would read his name around the earth.
And others, knowing how this youth
Would shine, if love could make him great,
When caught and tortured for the truth
310
Would only writhe and hesitate;
While she, arranging for his days
What centuries could not fulfil,
Transmutes him with her faith and praise,
And has him shining where she will.
She crowns him with her gratefulness,
And says again that life is good;
And should the gift of God be less
In him than in her motherhood,
His fame, though vague, will not be small
As upward through her dream he fares,
Half clouded with a crimson fall
Of roses thrown on marble stairs.
~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,
1449:The first true men had tools and weapons only a little better than those of their ancestors a million years earlier, but they could use them with far greater skill. And somewhere in the shadowy centuries that had gone before they had invented the most essential tool of all, though it could be neither seen nor touched. They had learned to speak, and so had won their first great victory over Time. Now the knowledge of one generation could be handed on to the next, so that each age could profit from those that had gone before.

Unlike the animals, who knew only the present, Man had acquired a past; and he was beginning to grope toward a future.

He was also learning to harness the force of nature; with the taming of fire, he had laid the foundations of technology and left his animal origins far behind. Stone gave way to bronze, and then to iron. Hunting was succeeded by agriculture. The tribe grew into the village, the village into the town. Speech became eternal, thanks to certain marks on stone and clay and papyrus. Presently he invented philosophy, and religion. And he peopled the sky, not altogether inaccurately, with gods.

As his body became more and more defenseless, so his means of offense became steadily more frightful. With stone and bronze and iron and steel he had run the gamut of everything that could pierce and slash, and quite early in time he had learned how to strike down his victims from a distance. The spear, the bow the gun and finally the guided missile had given him weapons of infinite range and all but infinite power.

Without those weapons, often though he had used them against himself, Man would never have conquered his world. Into them he had put his heart and soul, and for ages they had served him well.

But now, as long as they existed, he was living on borrowed time. ~ Arthur C Clarke,
1450:But everything changes when you tell about life; it's a change no one notices: the proof is that people talk about true stories. As if there could possibly be true stories; things happen one way and we tell about them in the opposite sense. You seem to start at the beginning: "It was a fine autumn evening in 1922. I was a notary's clerk in Marommes." And in reality you have started at the end. It was there, invisible and present, it is the one which gives to words the pomp and value of a beginning. "I was out walking, I had left the town without realizing it, I was thinking about my money troubles." This sentence, taken simply for what it is, means that the man was absorbed, morose, a hundred leagues from an adventure, exactly in the mood to let things happen without noticing them. But the end is there, transforming everything. For us, the man is already the hero of the story. His moroseness, his money troubles are much more precious than ours, they are all gilded by the light of future passions. And the story goes on in the reverse: instants have stopped piling themselves in lighthearted way one on top of the other, they are snapped up by the end of the story which draws them and each of them in turn, draws out the preceding instant. "it was night, the street was deserted." The phrase is cast out negligently, it seems superfluous; but we do not let ourselves be caught and we put it aside: this a piece of information whose value we shall subsequently appreciate. And we feel that the hero has lived all the details of this night like annunciations, promises, or even that he lived only those that were promises, blind and deaf to all that did not herald adventure. We forget that the future was not yet there; the man was walking in a night without forethought, a night which offered him a choice of due rich prizes, and he did not make his choice. ~ Jean Paul Sartre,
1451:A little later, strolling about the town, I, stopped into a shop near the museum, where they sold souvenirs and post-cards. I looked over the cards leisurely; the ones I liked best were soiled and wrinkled. The man, who spoke French fluently, offered to make the cards presentable. He asked me to wait a few minutes while he ran over to the house and cleaned and ironed them. He said he would make them look like new. I was so dumbfounded that before I could say anything he had disappeared, leaving me in charge of the shop. After a few minutes his wife came in. I thought she looked strange for a Greek woman. After a few words had passed I realized that she was French and she, when she learned that I hailed from Paris, was overjoyed to speak with me. We got along beautifully until she began talking about Greece. She hated Crete, she said. It was too dry, too dusty, too hot, too bare. She missed the beautiful trees of Normandy, the gardens with the high walls, the orchards, and so on. Didn't I agree with her? I said NO, flatly. "Monsieur!" she said, rising up in her pride and dignity, as if I had slapped her in the face.

"I don't miss anything," I said, pressing the point home. "I think this is marvellous. I don't like your gardens with their high walls, I don't like your pretty little orchards and your well-cultivated-fields. I like this …" and I pointed outdobrs to the dusty road on which a sorely-laden donkey was plodding along dejectedly. "But it's not civilized," she said, in a sharp, shrill voice which reminded me of the miserly tobacconiste in the Rue de la Tombe-Issoire.

"Je m'en fous da la civilisation européenne!" I blurted out.

"Monsieur!" she said again, her feathers ruffled and her nose turning blue with malice.
Fortunately her husband reappeared at this point with the post-cards which he had given a dry-cleaning. ~ Henry Miller,
1452:An Epistle From A Gentleman To Madam Deshouliers
URANIA, whom the Town admires,
Whose Wit and Beauty share our Praise;
This fair URANIA who inspires
A thousand Joys a thousand ways,
She, who cou'd with a Glance convey
Favours, that had my Hopes outdone,
Has lent me Money on that Day,
Which our Acquaintance first begun.
Nor with the Happiness I taste,
Let any jealous Doubts contend:
Her Friendship is secure to last,
Beginning where all others end.
And thou, known Cheat! upheld by Law,
Thou Disappointer of the craving Mind,
BASSETTE, who thy Original dost draw
From Venice (by uncertain Seas confin'd);
Author of Murmurs, and of Care,
Of pleasing Hopes, concluding in Despair:
To thee my strange Felicity I owe,
From thy Oppression did this Succour flow.
Less had I gained, had'st thou propitious been,
Who better by my Loss hast taught me how to Win.
Yet tell me, my transported Brain!
(whose Pride this Benefit awakes)
Know'st thou, what on this Chance depends?
And are we not exalted thus in vain,
Whilst we observe the Money which she lends,
But not, alas! the Heart she takes,
The fond Engagements, and the Ties
Her fatal Bounty does impose,
Who makes Reprisals, with her Eyes,
For what her gen'rous Hand bestows?
And tho' I quickly can return
Those useful Pieces, which she gave;
Can I again, or wou'd I have
That which her Charms have from me borne?
48
Yet let us quit th' obliging Score;
And whilst we borrow'd Gold restore,
Whilst readily we own the Debt,
And Gratitude before her set
In its approved and fairest Light;
Let her effectually be taught
By that instructive, harmless Slight,
That also in her turn she ought
(Repaying ev'ry tender Thought)
Kindness with Kindness to requite.
~ Anne Kingsmill Finch,
1453:By The Alma River
WILLIE, fold your little hands;
Let it drop, that 'soldier' toy:
Look where father's picture stands,-Father, who here kissed his boy
Not two months since,--father kind,
Who this night may--Never mind
Mother's sob, my Willie dear,
Call aloud that He may hear
Who is God of battles, say,
'O, keep father safe this day
By the Alma river.'
Ask no more, child. Never heed
Either Russ, or Frank, or Turk,
Right of nations or of creed,
Chance-poised victory's bloody work:
Any flag i' the wind may roll
On thy heights, Sebastopol;
Willie, all to you and me
Is that spot, where'er it be,
Where he stands--no other word!
Stands--God sure the child's prayer heard-By the Alma river.
Willie, listen to the bells
Ringing through the town to-day.
That's for victory. Ah, no knells
For the many swept away,-Hundreds--thousands! Let us weep,
We who need not,--just to keep
Reason steady in my brain
Till the morning comes again,
Till the third dread morning tell
Who they were that fought and fell
By the Alma river.
Come, we'll lay us down, my child,
Poor the bed is, poor and hard;
Yet thy father, far exiled,
67
Sleeps upon the open sward,
Dreaming of us two at home:
Or beneath the starry dome
Digs out trenches in the dark,
Where he buries--Willie, mark-Where he buries those who died
Fighting bravely at his side
By the Alma river.
Willie, Willie, go to sleep,
God will keep us, O my boy;
He will make the dull hours creep
Faster, and send news of joy,
When I need not shrink to meet
Those dread placards in the street,
Which for weeks will ghastly stare
In some eyes--Child, sy thy prayer
Once again; a different one:
Say, 'O God, Thy will be done
By the Alma river.'
~ Dinah Maria Mulock Craik,
1454:It had taken Cyrus a while to come out of his shell. One of those “aw shucks, ma’am” kind of cowboys, he was so darned shy she thought she was going to have to throw herself on the floor at his boots for him to notice her. But once he had opened up a little, they’d started talking, joking around, getting to know each other. Before he left, they’d gone for a horseback ride through the snowy foothills up into the towering pines of the forest. It had been Cyrus’s idea. They’d ridden up into one of the four mountain ranges that surrounded the town of Gilt Edge – and the Cahill Ranch.
It was when they’d stopped to admire the view from the mountaintop that overlooked the small western town that AJ had hoped Cyrus would kiss her. He sure looked as if he’d wanted to as they’d walked their horses to the edge of the overlook.
The sun warming them while the breeze whispered through the boughs of the nearby snow-laden pines, it was one of those priceless Montana January days between snowstorms. That’s why Cyrus had said they should take advantage of the beautiful day before he left for Denver.
Standing on a bared-off spot on the edge of the mountain, he’d reached over and taken her hand in his. “Beautiful,” he’d said. For a moment she thought he was talking about the view, but when she met his gaze she’d seen that he’d meant her.
Her heart had begun to pound. This was it. This was what she’d been hoping for. He drew her closer. His mouth was just a breath away from hers – when his mare nudged him with her nose.
She could laugh about it now. But if she hadn’t grabbed Cyrus he would have fallen down the mountainside.
“She’s just jealous,” Cyrus had said of his horse as he’d rubbed the beast’s neck after getting his footing under himself again.
But the moment had been lost. They’d saddled up and ridden back to Cahill Ranch. AJ still wanted that kiss more than anything. ~ B J Daniels,
1455:It could be said that Borluut was in love with the town.

But we only have one heart for all our loves, consequently his love was somewhat like the affection one feels for a woman, the devotion one entertains for a work of art, for a religion. He loved Bruges for its beauty and, like a lover, he would have loved it the more, the more beautiful it was. His passion had nothing to do with the local patriotism which unites those living in a town through habits, shared tastes, alliances, parochial pride. On the contrary, Borluut was almost solitary, kept himself apart, mingled little with the slow-witted inhabitants. Even out in the streets he scarcely saw the passers-by. As a solitary wanderer, he began to favour the canals, the weeping trees, the tunnel bridges, the bells he could sense in the air, the old walls of the old districts. Instead of living beings, his interest focused on things. The town took on a personality, became almost human. He loved It, wished to embellish it, to adorn its beauty, a beauty mysterious in its sadness. And, above all, so unostentatious. Other towns are showy, amassing palaces, terraced gardens, fine geometrical monuments. Here everything was muted, nuanced. Storiated architecture, facades like reliquaries, stepped gables, trefoil doors and windows, ridges crowned with finials, mouldings, gargoyles, bas-reliefs - incessant surprises making the town into a kind of complex landscape of stone.

It was a mixture of Gothic and Renaissance, that sinuous transition which suddenly draws out forms that are too rigid and too bare in supple, flowing lines. It was if an unexpected spring had sprouted on the walls, as if they had been transubstantiated by a dream - all at once there were faces and bunches of flowers on them.

This blossoming on the facades had lasted until the present, blackened by the ravages of time, abiding but already blurred. ~ Georges Rodenbach,
1456:God Will Save Me

A terrible storm came into a town and local officials sent out an emergency warning that the riverbanks would soon overflow and flood the nearby homes. They ordered everyone in the town to evacuate immediately.

A faithful Christian man heard the warning and decided to stay, saying to himself, “I will trust God and if I am in danger, then God will send a divine miracle to save me.”

The neighbors came by his house and said to him, “We’re leaving and there is room for you in our car, please come with us!” But the man declined. “I have faith that God will save me.”

As the man stood on his porch watching the water rise up the steps, a man in a canoe paddled by and called to him, “Hurry and come into my canoe, the waters are rising quickly!” But the man again said, “No thanks, God will save me.”

The floodwaters rose higher pouring water into his living room and the man had to retreat to the second floor. A police motorboat came by and saw him at the window. “We will come up and rescue you!” they shouted. But the man refused, waving them off saying, “Use your time to save someone else! I have faith that God will save me!”

The flood waters rose higher and higher and the man had to climb up to his rooftop.

A helicopter spotted him and dropped a rope ladder. A rescue officer came down the ladder and pleaded with the man, "Grab my hand and I will pull you up!" But the man STILL refused, folding his arms tightly to his body. “No thank you! God will save me!”

Shortly after, the house broke up and the floodwaters swept the man away and he drowned.

When in Heaven, the man stood before God and asked, “I put all of my faith in You. Why didn’t You come and save me?”

And God said, “Son, I sent you a warning. I sent you a car. I sent you a canoe. I sent you a motorboat. I sent you a helicopter. What more were you looking for? ~ Anonymous,
1457:The Yellow-Covered Almanac
I left the farm when mother died and changed my place of dwelling
To daughter Susie’s stylish house right on the city street:
And there was them before I came that sort of scared me, telling
How I would find the town folks’ ways so difficult to meet;
They said I’d have no comfort in the rustling, fixed-up throng,
And I’d have to wear stiff collars every weekday, right along.
I find I take to city ways just like a duck to water;
I like the racket and the noise and never tire of shows;
And there’s no end of comfort in the mansion of my daughter,
And everything is right at hand and money freely flows;
And hired help is all about, just listenin’ to my call –
But I miss the yellow almanac off my old kitchen wall.
The house is full of calendars from the attic to the cellar,
They’re painted in all colours and are fancy like to see,
But in this one in particular I’m not a modern feller,
And the yellow-covered almanac is good enough for me.
I’m used to it, I’ve seen it round from boyhood to old age,
And I rather like the jokin’ at the bottom of the page.
I like the way its ‘S’ stood out to show the week’s beginning,
(In these new-fangled calendars the days seem sort of mixed) ,
And the man upon the cover, though he wa’n’t exactly winnin’,
With lungs and liver all exposed, still showed how we are fixed;
And the letters and credentials hat was writ to Mr. Ayer
I’ve often on a rainy day found readin’ pretty fair.
I tried to buy one recently; there wa’n’t none in the city!
They toted out great calendars, in every shape and style.
I looked at them in cold disdain, and answered ‘em in pity –
‘I’d rather have my almanac than all that costly pile.’
And though I take to city life, I’m lonesome after all
For that old yellow almanac upon my kitchen wall.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
1458:THE DREAM THAT MUST BE INTERPRETED

This place is a dream.
Only a sleeper considers it real.

Then death comes like dawn,
and you wake up laughing
at what you thought was your grief.

But there's a difference with this dream.
Everything cruel and unconscious
done in the illusion of the present world,
all that does not fade away at the death-waking.

It stays,
and it must be interpreted.

All the mean laughing,
all the quick, sexual wanting,
those torn coats of Joseph,
they change into powerful wolves
that you must face.

The retaliation that sometimes comes now,
the swift, payback hit,
is just a boy's game
to what the other will be.

You know about circumcision here.
It's full castration there!

And this groggy time we live,
this is what it's like:

A man goes to sleep in the town
where he has always lived, and he dreams he's living
in another town.

In the dream, he doesn't remember
the town he's sleeping in his bed in. He believes
the reality of the dream town.

The world is that kind of sleep.

The dust of many crumbled cities
settles over us like a forgetful doze,
but we are older than those cities.

We began
as a mineral. We emerged into plant life
and into animal state, and then into being human,
and always we have forgotten our former states,
except in early spring when we slightly recall
being green again.
That's how a young person turns
toward a teacher. That's how a baby leans
toward the breast, without knowing the secret
of its desire, yet turning instinctively.

Humankind is being led along an evolving course,
through this migration of intelligences,
and though we seem to be sleeping,
there is an inner wakefulness
that directs the dream,

and that will eventually startle us back
to the truth of who we are. ~ Rumi,
1459:1032
Tinkerin' At Home
Some folks there be who seem to need excitement fast and furious,
An' reckon all the joys that have no thrill in 'em are spurious.
Some think that pleasure's only found down where the lights are shining,
An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks are dining.
Still others seek it at their play, while some there are who roam,
But I am happiest when I am tinkerin' 'round the home.
I like to wear my oldest clothes, an' fuss around the yard,
An' dig a flower bed now an' then, and pensively regard
The mornin' glories climbin' all along the wooden fence,
An' do the little odds an' ends that aren't of consequence.
I like to trim the hedges, an' touch up the paint a bit,
An' sort of take a homely pride in keepin' all things fit.
An' I don't envy rich folks who are sailin' o'er the foam
When I can spend a day or two in tinkerin' 'round the home.
If I were fixed with money, as some other people are,
I'd take things mighty easy; I'd not travel very far.
I'd jes' wear my oldest trousers an' my flannel shirt, an' stay
An' guard my vine an' fig tree in an old man's tender way.
I'd bathe my soul in sunshine every mornin', and I'd bend
My back to pick the roses; Oh, I'd be a watchful friend
To everything around the place, an' in the twilight gloam
I'd thank the Lord for lettin' me jes' tinker 'round the home.
But since I've got to hustle in the turmoil of the town,
An' don't expect I'll ever be allowed to settle down
An' live among the roses an' the tulips an' the phlox,
Or spend my time in carin' for the noddin' hollyhocks,
I've come to the conclusion that perhaps in Heaven I may
Get a chance to know the pleasures that I'm yearnin' for to-day;
An' I'm goin' to ask the good Lord, when I've climbed the golden stair,
If he'll kindly let me tinker 'round the home we've got up there.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1460:The Bush Rangers
Four horseman rode out from the heart of the range,
Four horseman with aspects forbidding and strange.
They were booted and spurred, they were armed to the teeth,
And they frowned as they looked at the valley beneath,
As forward they rode through the rocks and the fern Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.
Ned Kelly drew rein and he shaded his eyes 'The town's at our mercy! See yonder it lies!
To hell with the troopers!' - he shook his clenched fist 'We will shoot them like dogs if they dare to resist!'
And all of them nodded, grim-visaged and stern Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.
Through the gullies and creeks they rode silently down;
They stuck-up the station and raided the town;
They opened the safe and they looted the bank;
They laughed and were merry, they ate and they drank.
Then off to the ranges they went with their gold Oh! never were bandits more reckless and bold.
But time brings its punishment, time travels fast And the outlaws were trapped in Glenrowan at last,
Where three of them died in the smoke and the flame,
And Ned Kelly came back - to the last he was game.
But the Law shot him down (he was fated to hang),
And that was the end of the bushranging gang.
Whatever their faults and whatever their crimes,
Their deeds lend romance to those faraway times.
They have gone from the gullies they haunted of old,
And nobody knows where they buried their gold.
To the ranges they loved they will never return Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.
But at times when I pass through that sleepy old town
Where the far-distant peaks of Strathbogie look down
I think of the days when those grim ranges rang
To the galloping hooves of the bushranging gang.
Though the years bring oblivion, time brings a change,
The ghosts of the Kellys still ride from the range.
~ Edward Harrington,
1461:The same year that the third great Viking ship found in Norway was excavated, at Oseberg, the town of Ålesund burned. At that time the Viking ships were displayed in makeshift exhibition halls, and the great Ålesund fire hastened the process of building a separate museum for them. The architect Fritz Holland proposed building an enormous crypt for them beneath the royal palace in Oslo. It was to be 63 metres long and 15 metres wide, with a niche for each ship. The walls were to be covered with reliefs of Viking motifs. Drawings exist of this underground hall. It is full of arches and vaults, and everything is made of stone. The ships stand in a kind of depression in the floor. More than anything it resembles a burial chamber, and that is fitting, one might think, both because the three ships were originally graves and because placed in a subterranean crypt beneath the palace gardens they would appear as what they represented: an embodiment of a national myth, in reality relics of a bygone era, alive only in the symbolic realm. The crypt was never built, and the power of history over the construction of national identity has since faded away almost entirely. There is another unrealised drawing of Oslo, from the 1920s, with tall brick buildings like skyscrapers along the main thoroughfare, Karl Johans Gate, and Zeppelins sailing above the city. When I look at these drawings, of a reality that was never realised, and feel the enormous pull they exert, which I am unable to explain, I know that the people living in Kristiania in 1904, as Oslo was called then, would have stared open-mouthed at nearly everything that surrounds us today and which we hardly notice, unable to believe their eyes. What is a stone crypt compared to a telephone that shows living pictures? What is the writing down of Draumkvedet (The Dream Poem), a late-medieval Norwegian visionary ballad, compared to a robot lawnmower that cuts the grass automatically? ~ Karl Ove Knausg rd,
1462:How yet resolves the governor of the town?
This is the latest parle we will admit;
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves;
Or like to men proud of destruction
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants.
What is it then to me, if impious war,
Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends,
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation?
What rein can hold licentious wickedness
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil
As send precepts to the leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town and of your people,
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of heady murder, spoil and villany.
If not, why, in a moment look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls,
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid,
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? ~ William Shakespeare,
1463:The City In The Sea
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters he.
No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silentlyGleams up the pinnacles far and freeUp domes- up spires- up kingly hallsUp fanes- up Babylon-like wallsUp shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowersUp many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eyeNot the gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass-
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No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier seaNo heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave- there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tideAs if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glowThe hours are breathing faint and lowAnd when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.
~ Edgar Allan Poe,
1464:Our Town's Comforter
IT touches the heart of “Our Mother”
with happiness queerly regretful
To muse on all they who instinctively
bring her their innermost grief,
For reasons she never can fathom
they come, as if wholly forgetful
Of fear to repose their confessions
with Our Town’s fount of relief.
What crucified faces of maidens
despairing in love’s desolation
Have streamed with the weeping they’ve hidden
from all, except Mother alone!
What stormy-heart fighters came wildly
lamenting their souls’ tribulation
At hearing the weaklings they’d vanquished
from terrible silences groan!
What saints who had failed of the halo,
because their stiff features retarded
The flow of affection from children
they loved, though with signals confused,
Would open, for Mother’s eyes only,
mysterious portals that guarded
Their yearning for all the caresses
their hickory manners refused.
When parents, grown aged, and basking
long years in the Town’s veneration,
Shrank bitter and dumb, at the blow of
an archangel son in disgrace,
How he knelt in despair with Our Mother,
and rose with the transfiguration
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Of that which is God, or just mother,
that shines in her triumphant face.
Yet Mother is given to blaming
her nature for cold-hearted dealing;—
“Dear souls, how they pour out their troubles
to me, whose responses are wood!
Though I strive to console them, my sayings
seem void, to myself, of all feeling,
For I never can find an expression
to make my heart half understood.”
“And I never can love them enough
in their sadness, however I’m trying
To soften the life in my heart
till it break with their anguishing tears,
For it’s flooded with gladness to feel them
so helped by the balm of the crying,—
And, oh, what a shame I’m made happy
through sorrows they’ll carry for years.”
~ Edward William Thomson,
1465:With Mine Own Petard
Time was the local poets sang their songs
Beneath their breath in terror of the thongs
I snapped about their shins. Though mild the stroke
Bards, like the conies, are 'a feeble folk,'
Fearing all noises but the one they make
Themselves-at which all other mortals quake.
Now from their cracked and disobedient throats,
Like rats from sewers scampering, their notes
Pour forth to move, where'er the season serves,
If not our legs to dance, at least our nerves;
As once a ram's-horn solo maddened all
The sober-minded stones in Jerich's wall.
A year's exemption from the critic's curse
Mends the bard's courage but impairs his verse.
Thus poolside frogs, when croaking in the night,
Are frayed to silence by a meteor's flight,
Or by the sudden plashing of a stone
From some adjacent cottage garden thrown,
But straight renew the song with double din
Whene'er the light goes out or man goes in.
Shall I with arms unbraced (my casque unlatched,
My falchion pawned, my buckler, too, attached)
Resume the cuishes and the broad cuirass,
Accomplishing my body all in brass,
And arm in battle royal to oppose
A village poet singing through the nose,
Or strolling troubadour his lyre who strums
With clumsy hand whose fingers all are thumbs?
No, let them rhyme; I fought them once before
And stilled their songs-but, Satan! how they swore!
Cuffed them upon the mouth whene'er their throats
They cleared for action with their sweetest notes;
Twisted their ears (they'd oft tormented mine)
And damned them roundly all along the line;
Clubbed the whole crew from the Parnassian slopes,
A wreck of broken heads and broken hopes!
What gained I so? I feathered every curse
Launched at the village bards with lilting verse.
The town approved and christened me (to show its
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High admiration) Chief of Local Poets!
~ Ambrose Bierce,
1466:Scholar Karen Randolph Joines adds more to the Egyptian origin of this motif, by explaining that the usage of serpent images to defend against snakes was also an exclusively Egyptian notion without evidence in Canaan or Mesopotamia.[32] And Moses came out of Egypt. But the important element of these snakes being flying serpents or even dragons with mythical background is reaffirmed in highly respected lexicons such as the Brown, Driver, Briggs Hebrew Lexicon.[33] The final clause in Isaiah 30:7 likening Egypt’s punishment to the sea dragon Rahab lying dead in the desert is a further mythical serpentine connection.[34] But the Bible and Egypt are not the only places where we read of flying serpents in the desert. Hans Wildberger points out Assyrian king Esarhaddon’s description of flying serpents in his tenth campaign to Egypt in the seventh century B.C.   “A distance of 4 double-hours I marched over a territory… (there were) two-headed serpents [whose attack] (spelled) death—but I trampled (upon them) and marched on. A distance of 4 double-hours in a journey of 2 days (there were) green [animals] [Tr.: Borger: “serpents”] whose wings were batting.”[35]   The Greek historian Herodotus wrote of “sacred” winged serpents and their connection to Egypt in his Histories:   There is a place in Arabia not far from the town of Buto where I went to learn about the winged serpents. When I arrived there, I saw innumerable bones and backbones of serpents... This place… adjoins the plain of Egypt. Winged serpents are said to fly from Arabia at the beginning of spring, making for Egypt... The serpents are like water-snakes. Their wings are not feathered but very like the wings of a bat. I have now said enough concerning creatures that are sacred.[36]   The notion of flying serpents as mythical versus real creatures appearing in the Bible is certainly debated among scholars, but this debate gives certain warrant to the imaginative usage of winged flying serpents appearing in Chronicles of the Nephilim.[37] ~ Brian Godawa,
1467:My hands, which for some reason keep ending up on his waist lately, curl into fists. Beta Sinta grabs one and holds on.

“Let go,” I demand.

“No.”

My eyebrows snap together. “Why not?”

“Because your gut reaction is always to punch, and I don’t like being tickled.”

Tickled? Tickled! Indignation swamps me. I’ll show him a tickle.

Before I can move, he drops the reins and captures my other hand, easily maneuvering both my hands into one of his. He picks the reins back up with the other. As usual, he gains the upper hand with disgustingly little effort, and I end up with both arms around him, my face buried in his back.

Beta Sinta’s crisp, masculine scent of citrus and sunshine fills my nose. Hard muscle ripples under my cheek. I’m frighteningly aware of all the places his broad, powerful body touches mine, and I shiver despite the heat.

“Let. Me. Go,” I grind out.

“I. Said. No.”

I open my mouth, teeth bared.

“If you bite me, I swear to the Gods I’ll dumpyou off this horse and make you walk.”

I close my mouth. The town is still miles away. “I won’t bite.”

“Or punch.”

I grit my teeth. “You’re asking a lot.”

“Am I?” he drawls, tightening his grip on my wrists until I hiss.

“Ow! Fine. Or punch.”

His fingers loosen. “Is that your binding word?”

My eyes widen. Beta Sinta says he needs me for information, but he already knows more about the ways of magic than is good for me.

“Fine. It’s my binding word.” It’s like pulling my own teeth, but I’m desperate to stop hugging him. He’s too hot and…and…something.

“Ever,” he stipulates.

Something between a laugh and a snort explodes from me. “Don’t push your luck.”

“A day, then. Starting now.”

“Fine. A day,” I agree, fuming.

He lets go of my wrists. I sit up so fast I almost tumble off the back of the horse. Beta Sinta’s chuckle is almost as irritating as the jolt of magic that seals the deal. ~ Amanda Bouchet,
1468:People In Church
Penned between oaken pews,
in corners of the church which their breath stinkingly warms,
all their eyes on the chancel dripping with gold,
and the choir with its twenty pairs of jaws bawling pious hymns;
Sniffing the odour of wax if it were the odour of bread,
happy, ad humbled like beaten dogs,
the Poor offer up to God, the Lord and Master,
their ridiculous stubborn oremuses.
For the women it is very pleasant to wear the benches smooth;
after the six black days on which God has made them suffer.
They nurse, swaddled in strange-looking shawls,
creatures like children who weep as if they would die.
Their unwashed breasts hanging out, these eaters of soup,
with a prayer in their eyes, but never praying,
watch a group of hoydens wickedly
showing off with hats all out of shape.
Outside is the cold, and hunger - and a man on the booze.
All right. There's another hour to go; afterwards, nameless ills! Meanwhile all around an assortment of old
dewlapped women whimpers, snuffles, and whispers:
These are distracted persons and the epileptics from whom,
yesterday, you turned away at street crossings;
there too are the blind who are led by a dog into courtyards,
poring their noses into old-fashioned missals. And all of them, dribbling a stupid groveling faith,
recite their unending complaint to Jesus who is dreaming up there,
yellow from the livid stained glass window,
far above thin rascals and wicked potbellies,
far from the smell of meat and mouldy fabric,
and the exhausted somber farce of repulsive gestures and as the prayer flowers in choice expressions,
and the mysteries take on more emphatic tones, from the aisles,
where the sun is dying, trite folds of silk and green smiles,
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the ladies of the better quarters of the town - oh Jesus! the sufferers from complaints of the liver,
make their long yellow fingers kiss the holy water in the stoups.
~ Arthur Rimbaud,
1469:Close your eyes, Maxon."
"What?"
"Close your eyes.
Somewhere in this palace, there is a woman who will be your wife. This girl? Imagine that she depends on you. She needs you to cherish her and make her feel like the Selection didn't even happen. Like if you were dropped in your own out in the middle of the country to wander around door to door, she's still the one you would have found. She was always the one you would have picked. She needs you to provide for her and protect her. And if it came to a point where there was absolutely nothing to eat, and you couldn't even fall asleep at night because the sound of her stomach growling kept you awake—"
"Stop it!"
"Sorry."
"Is that really what it's like? Out there... does that happen? Are people hungry like that a lot?"
"Maxon, I..."
"Tell me the truth."
"Yes. That happens. I know of families where people give up their share for their children or siblings. I know of a boy who was whipped in the town square for stealing food. Sometimes you do crazy things when you are desperate."
"A boy? How old?"
"Nine."
"Have you ever been like that? Starving?...How bad?"
"Maxon, it will only upset you more."
"Probably, but I'm only starting to realize how much I don't know about my own country. Please."
"We've been pretty bad. Most time if it gets to where we have to choose, we keep the food and lose electricity. The worst was when it happened near Christmas one year. May didn't understand why we couldn't exchange gifts. As a general rule, there are never any leftovers at my house. Someone always wants more. I know the checks we've gotten over the last few weeks have really helped, and my family is really smart about money. I'm sure they have already tucked it away so it will stretch out for a long time. You've done so much for us, Maxon."
"Good God. When you said that you were only here for the food, you weren't kidding, were you?"
"Really, Maxon, we've been doing pretty well lately. I—"
"I'll see you at dinner. ~ Kiera Cass,
1470:The Cautious Lovers
Silvia, let's from the Crowd retire;
For, What to you and me
(Who but each other do desire)
Is all that here we see?
Apart we'll live, tho' not alone;
For, who alone can call
Those, who in Desarts live with One,
If in that One they've All?
The World a vast Meander is,
Where Hearts confus'dly stray;
Where Few do hit, whilst Thousands miss
The happy mutual Way:
Where Hands are by stern Parents ty'd,
Who oft, in Cupid's Scorn,
Do for the widow'd State provide,
Before that Love is born:
Where some too soon themselves misplace;
Then in Another find
The only Temper, Wit, or Face,
That cou'd affect their Mind.
Others (but oh! avert that Fate!)
A well-chose Object change:
Fly, Silvia, fly, ere 'tis too late;
Fall'n Nature's prone to range.
And, tho' in heat of Love we swear
More than perform we can;
No Goddess, You, but Woman are,
And I no more than Man.
Th' impatient Silvia heard thus long;
Then with a Smile reply'd;
Those Bands cou'd ne'er be very strong,
Which Accidents divide.
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Who e'er was mov'd yet to go down,
By such o'er-cautious Fear;
Or for one Lover left the Town,
Who might have Numbers here?
Your Heart, 'tis true, is worth them all,
And still preferr'd the first;
But since confess'd so apt to fall,
'Tis good to fear the worst.
In ancient History we meet
A flying Nymph betray'd;
Who, had she kept in fruitful Crete,
New Conquest might have made.
And sure, as on the Beach she stood,
To view the parting Sails;
She curs'd her self, more than the Flood,
Or the conspiring Gales.
False Theseus, since thy Vows are broke,
May following Nymphs beware:
Methinks I hear how thus she spoke,
And will not trust too far.
In Love, in Play, in Trade, in War
They best themselves acquit,
Who, tho' their Int'rests shipwreckt are,
Keep unreprov'd their Wit.
~ Anne Kingsmill Finch,
1471:The City Of Sin
LO! Death hath rear'd himself a throne
In a strange city, all alone,
Far down within the dim west —
Where the good, and the bad, and the worst, and the best,
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines, and palaces, and towers
Are — not like any thing of ours —
Oh no! — O no! — ours never loom
To heaven with that ungodly gloom!
Time-eaten towers that tremble not!
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No holy rays from heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town,
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently —
Up thrones — up long-forgotten bowers
Of scultur'd ivy and stone flowers —
Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls —
Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls —
Up many a melancholy shrine
Whose entablatures intertwine
The mask — the viol — and the vine.
There open temples — open graves
Are on a level with the waves —
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye,
Not the gaily-jewell'd dead
Tempt the waters from their bed:
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass —
No swellings hint that winds may be
Upon a far-off happier sea:
So blend the turrets and shadows there
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That all seem pendulous in air,
While from the high towers of the town
Death looks gigantically down.
But lo! a stir is in the air!
The wave — there is a ripple there!
As if the towers had thrown aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide —
As if the turret-tops had given
A vacuum in the filmy heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow —
The very hours are breathing low —
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down, that town shall settle hence,
All Hades, from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence,
And Death to some more happy clime
Shall give his undivided time.
~ Edgar Allan Poe,
1472:The Man From Goondiwindi, Q.
This is the sunburnt bushman who
Came down from Goondiwindi, Q.
II
This is the Push from Waterloo
That spotted the sunburnt bushman who
Came down from Goondiwindi, Q.
III
These are the wealthy uncles -- two,
Part of the Push from Waterloo
That spotted the sunburnt bushman who
Came down from Goondiwindi, Q.
IV
This is the game, by no means new,
Played by the wealthy uncles -- two,
Part of the Push from Waterloo
That spotted the sunburnt bushman who
Came down from Goondiwindi, Q.
This is the trooper dressed in blue,
Who busted the game by no means new,
Played by the wealthy uncles -- two,
Part of the Push from Waterloo
That spotted the sunburnt bushman who
Came down from Goondiwindi, Q.
VI
This is the magistrate who knew
Not only the trooper dressed in blue,
383
But also the game by no means new,
And likewise the wealthy uncles -- two,
And ditto the Push from Waterloo
That spotted the sunburnt bushman who
Came down from Goondiwindi, Q.
VII
This is the tale that has oft gone through
On western plains where the skies are blue,
Till the native bear and the kangaroo
Have heard of the magistrate who knew
Not only the trooper dressed in blue,
But also the game by no means new,
And likewise the wealthy uncles -- two,
And ditto the Push from Waterloo
That spotted the sunburnt bushman who
Came down from Goondiwindi, Q.
The Evening News, 17 Dec 1904
(This verse was published, copiously illustrated by Lionel Lindsay. Each stanza
had its own illustration.)
The pronounciation of many Australian place-names can be quite unexpected.
Goondiwindi is a case in point. The town is situated on the border of Queensland
and New south Wales, on the banks of the Macintyre River, and its name is
pronounced "gun-da-windy", with the main stress on the third syllable, a
secondary stress on the first.
~ Banjo Paterson,
1473:The boy was gripping a lantern in his right hand. Perhaps he had taken it from the butler’s office. He might have looked awkward, but he moved like a cat. Cristian didn’t even sense him approach.
The boy raised the lantern high above his head. Cristian fumbled with the lock on the door, his shaking left hand trying to work the mechanism while his right arm held the dagger to Flora’s throat.
The boy took a step.
Then another.
He was almost within reach.
The door swung open. Cristian started to turn.
“Now!” Cass screamed.
The boy slammed the lantern hard against Cristian’s skull, and Cass heard the same crunching sound she’d heard when she’d hit him with the fireplace poker. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. The dagger fell to the floor with a clatter. Flora landed on her hands and knees, shaking and sobbing.
Luca thundered down the servants’ stairs, skidding to a stop as he witnessed the chaos. Bortolo and Narissa were right behind him. “Cass, what happened?” Luca asked.
The servants were weeping. The boy who had knocked out Cristian looked a bit dazed himself. The lantern hung limply from his right hand.
“He saved us.” Cass gestured at the boy.
Luca only then recognized the crumpled form on the floor. “Cristian,” he said. Turning to Narissa, he added, “Send for the Town Guard immediately.”
Narissa hurried toward the front of the house. Cristian groaned, his eyelids fluttering. Flora stumbled back from him, one hand clutching her throat.
Luca placed the sole of his boot on Cristian’s neck. “Someone get some rope,” he barked. Turning to the sandy-haired boy, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Matteo Querini.” The boy set the lantern on the kitchen counter and frowned at Cristian. “Where I come from, a man does not hold a blade to a lady’s throat.” He turned to Cass. “Signorina Caravello, I presume? I’m here to assume control of the estate. Sorry. I was a bit delayed in my arrival.”
“On the contrary.” Cass dipped into a shallow curtsy. “I’d say you arrived just in time. ~ Fiona Paul,
1474:Hay And Hell And Booligal
"You come and see me, boys," he said;
"You'll find a welcome and a bed
And whisky any time you call;
Although our township hasn't got
The name of quite a lively spot -You see, I live in Booligal.
"And people have an awful down
Upon the district and the town -Which worse than hell itself the call;
In fact, the saying far and wide
Along the Riverina side
Is 'Hay and Hell and Booligal'.
"No doubt it suits 'em very well
To say its worse than Hay or Hell,
But don't you heed their talk at all;
Of course, there's heat -- no one denies -And sand and dust and stacks of flies,
And rabbits, too, at Booligal.
"But such a pleasant, quiet place -You never see a stranger's face;
They hardly ever care to call;
The drovers mostly pass it by -They reckon that they'd rather die
Than spend the night in Booligal.
"The big mosquitoes frighten some -You'll lie awake to hear 'em hum -And snakes about the township crawl;
But shearers, when they get their cheque,
They never come along and wreck
The blessed town of Booligal.
"But down to Hay the shearers come
And fill themselves with fighting-rum,
And chase blue devils up the wall,
And fight the snaggers every day,
Until there is the deuce to pay --
130
There's none of that in Booligal.
"Of course, there isn't much to see -The billiard-table used to be
The great attraction for us all,
Until some careless, drunken curs
Got sleeping on it in their spurs,
And ruined it, in Booligal.
"Just now there is a howling drought
That pretty near has starved us out -It never seems to rain at all;
But, if there should come any rain,
You couldn't cross the black-soil plain -You'd have to stop in Booligal."
"We'd have to stop!" With bated breath
We prayed that both in life and death
Our fate in other lines might fall;
"Oh, send us to our just reward
In Hay or Hell, but, gracious Lord,
Deliver us from Booligal!"
~ Banjo Paterson,
1475:Less is not known as a teacher, in the same way Melville was not known as a customs inspector. And yet both held the respective positions. Though he was once an endowed chair at Robert’s university, he has no formal training except the drunken, cigarette-filled evenings of his youth, when Robert’s friends gathered and yelled, taunted, and played games with words. As a result, Less feels uncomfortable lecturing. Instead, he re-creates those lost days with his students. Remembering those middle-aged men sitting with a bottle of whiskey, a Norton book of poetry, and scissors, he cuts up a paragraph of Lolita and has the young doctoral students reassemble the text as they desire. In these collages, Humbert Humbert becomes an addled old man rather than a diabolical one, mixing up cocktail ingredients and, instead of confronting the betrayed Charlotte Haze, going back for more ice. He gives them a page of Joyce and a bottle of Wite-Out—and Molly Bloom merely says “Yes.” A game to write a persuasive opening sentence for a book they have never read (this is difficult, as these diligent students have read everything) leads to a chilling start to Woolf’s The Waves: I was too far out in the ocean to hear the lifeguard shouting, “Shark! Shark!” Though the course features, curiously, neither vampires nor Frankenstein monsters, the students adore it. No one has given them scissors and glue sticks since they were in kindergarten. No one has ever asked them to translate a sentence from Carson McCullers (In the town there were two mutes, and they were always together) into German (In der Stadt gab es zwei Stumme, und sie waren immer zusammen) and pass it around the room, retranslating as they go, until it comes out as playground gibberish: In the bar there were two potatoes together, and they were trouble. What a relief for their hardworking lives. Do they learn anything about literature? Doubtful. But they learn to love language again, something that has faded like sex in a long marriage. Because of this, they learn to love their teacher. ~ Andrew Sean Greer,
1476:Balloon Faces
The Balloons hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their
faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, “What shall we
eat?”—and the waiters, “Have you ordered?” they are sixty balloon faces sifting
white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing “educated
jackasses,” here they put crabs into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson
faces, lobsters out of Saragossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, “Where were you last night? What do
you do with all your money? Who’s buying your shoes now, anyhow?”
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God’s night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play
their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of
marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the
eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of
the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their
shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for,
let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin
women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town—these two, the halfmoon and the wind—this will be about all, this will be about all.
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it’s a knockout, a classy
knockout—and payday always comes.
~ Carl Sandburg,
1477:In Hospital
They stood, almost blocking the pavement,
As though at a window display;
The stretcher was pushed in position,
The ambulance started away.
Past porches and pavements and people
It plunged with its powerful light
Through streets in nocturnal confusion
Deep into the blackness of night.
The headlights picked out single faces,
Militiamen, stretches of street.
The nurse with a smelling-salts phial
Was rocked to and fro on her seat.
A drain gurgled drearily. Cold rain
Was falling. The hospital-clerk
Took out a fresh form of admission
And filled it in, mark upon mark.
They gave him a bed by the entrance;
No room in the ward could be found.
Strong iodine vapour pervaded
The draught from the windows around.
His window framed part of the garden,
And with it a bit of the sky.
The newcomer studied the floorboards,
The ward and the objects nearby,
When, watching the nurse's expression
Of doubt, in her questioning drive,
He suddenly knew this adventure
Would hardly release him alive.
Then, grateful, he turned to the window
Behind which the wall, further down,
Was breathing like smouldering tinder,
Lit up by the glare of the town.
76
There, far off the city was glowing
All crimson-aflame; in its swell
A maple-branch, ragged, was bowing
To bid him a silent farewell.
'0 Lord,' he was thinking, 'how perfect
Thy works are, how perfect and right;
The walls and the beds and the people,
This death-night, the city at night!
'I drink up a sedative potion,
And weeping, my handkerchief trace.
0 Father, the tears of emotion
Prevent me from seeing Thy face.
'Dim light scarcely touches my bedstead.
It gives me such comfort to drift
And feel that my life and my lot are
Thy priceless and wonderful gift.
'While dying in fading surroundings
I feel how Thy hands are ablaze,
The hands that have made me and hold me
And hide like a ring in a case.'
~ Boris Pasternak,
1478:The Ballad Of Ben Hall's Gang
Come all ye wild colonials And listen to my tale;
A story of bushrangers' deeds I will to you unveil.
'Tis of those gallant heroes, Game fighters one and all;
And we'll sit and sing, Long Live the King,
Dunn,Gilbert, and Ben Hall.
Ben Hall he was a squatter bloke Who owned a thousand head;
A peaceful man he was until Arrested by Sir Fred.
His home burned down, his wife cleared out,
His cattle perished all;
"They'll not take me a second time,'
Says valiant Ben Hall.
John Gilbert was a flash cove, And John O'Meally too;
With Ben and Bourke and Johnny Vane
They all were comrades true.
They rode into Canowindra And gave a public ball.
'Roll up, roll up, and have a spree,'
Says Gilbert and Ben Hall.
They took possession of the town, Including the public-houses,
And treated all the cockatoos And shouted for their spouses.
They danced with all the pretty girls And held a carnival.
'We don't hurt them who don't hurt us,'
Says Gilbert and Ben Hall.
They made a raid on Bathurst, The pace was getting hot;
But Johnny Vane surrendered After Micky Burke was shot,
O'Meally at Goimbla Did like a hero fall;
'The game is getting lively,'
Says John Gilbert and Ben Hall.
Then Gilbert took a holiday, Ben Hall got new recruits;
The Old Man and Dunleavy Shared in the plunder's fruits.
Dunleavy he surrendered And they jagged the Old Man tall So Johnny Gilbert came again
To help his mate Ben Hall.
John Dunn he was a jockey bloke, A-riding all the winners,
22
Until he joined Hall's gang to rob The publicans and sinners;
And many a time the Royal Mail Bailed up at John Dunn's call.
A thousand pounds is on their heads Dunn, Gilbert, and Ben Hall.
'Next week we'll visit Goulburn And clean the banks out there;
So if you see the troopers, Just tell them to beware;
Some day to Sydney city We mean to pay a call,
And we'll take the whole damn country,'
Says Dunn, Gilbert, and Ben Hall.
~ Anonymous Oceania,
1479:Carbonara: The union of al dente noodles (traditionally spaghetti, but in this case rigatoni), crispy pork, and a cloak of lightly cooked egg and cheese is arguably the second most famous pasta in Italy, after Bologna's tagliatelle al ragù. The key to an excellent carbonara lies in the strategic incorporation of the egg, which is added raw to the hot pasta just before serving: add it when the pasta is too hot, and it will scramble and clump around the noodles; add it too late, and you'll have a viscous tide of raw egg dragging down your pasta.
Cacio e pepe: Said to have originated as a means of sustenance for shepherds on the road, who could bear to carry dried pasta, a hunk of cheese, and black pepper but little else. Cacio e pepe is the most magical and befuddling of all Italian dishes, something that reads like arithmetic on paper but plays out like calculus in the pan. With nothing more than these three ingredients (and perhaps a bit of oil or butter, depending on who's cooking), plus a splash of water and a lot of movement in the pan to emulsify the fat from the cheese with the H2O, you end up with a sauce that clings to the noodles and to your taste memories in equal measure.
Amatriciana: The only red pasta of the bunch. It doesn't come from Rome at all but from the town of Amatrice on the border of Lazio and Abruzzo (the influence of neighboring Abruzzo on Roman cuisine, especially in the pasta department, cannot be overstated). It's made predominantly with bucatini- thick, tubular spaghetti- dressed in tomato sauce revved up with crispy guanciale and a touch of chili. It's funky and sweet, with a mild bite- a rare study of opposing flavors in a cuisine that doesn't typically go for contrasts.
Gricia: The least known of the four kings, especially outside Rome, but according to Andrea, gricia is the bridge between them all: the rendered pork fat that gooses a carbonara or amatriciana, the funky cheese and pepper punch at the heart of cacio e pepe. "It all starts with gricia. ~ Matt Goulding,
1480:Marco Cirrini had been skiing on the north face of Bald Slope Mountain since he was a boy, using the old skis his father brought with him from Italy. The Cirrinis had shown up out of nowhere, walking into town in the middle of winter, their hair shining like black coal in the snow. They never really fit in. Marco tried, though. He tried by leading groups of local boys up the mountain in the winter, showing them how to make their own skis and how to use them. He charged them pennies and jars of bean chutney and spiced red cabbage they would sneak out of their mothers' sparse pantries. When he was nineteen, he decided he could take this one step further. He could make great things happen in the winter in Bald Slope. Cocky, not afraid of hard work and handsome in that mysterious Mediterranean way that excluded him from mountain society, he gathered investors from as far away as Asheville and Charlotte to buy the land. He started construction on the lodge himself while the residents of the town scoffed. They were the sweet cream and potatoes and long-forgotten ballads of their English and Irish and Scottish ancestors, who settled the southern Appalachians. They didn't want change. It took fifteen years, but the Bald Slope Ski Resort was finally completed and, much to everyone's surprise, it was an immediate success.
Change was good!
Stores didn't shut down for the winter anymore. Bed-and-breakfasts and sports shops and restaurants sprouted up. Instead of closing up their houses for the winter, summer residents began to rent them out to skiers. Some summer residents even decided to move to Bald Slope permanently, moving into their vacation homes with their sleeping porches and shade trees, thus forming the high society in Bald Slope that existed today. Marco himself was welcomed into this year-round society. He was essentially responsible for its formation in the first place, after all. Finally it didn't matter where he came from. What mattered was that he saved Bald Slope by giving it a winter economy, and he could do no wrong.
This town was finally his. ~ Sarah Addison Allen,
1481:John Gilbert (Bushranger)
John Gilbert was a bushranger of terrible renown,
For sticking lots of people up and shooting others down.
John Gilbert said unto his pals, "Although they make a bobbery
About our tricks we have never done a tip-top thing in robbery.
"We have all of us a fancy for experiments in pillage,
Yet never have we seized a town, or even sacked a village."
John Gilbert said unto his mates—"Though partners we have been
In all rascality, yet we no festal day have seen."
John Gilbert said he thought he saw no obstacle to hinder a
Piratical descent upon the town of Canowindra.
So into Canowindra town rode Gilbert and his men,
And all the Canowindra folk subsided there and then.
The Canowindra populace cried, "Here's a lot of strangers!!!"
But immediately recovered when they found they were bushrangers.
And Johnny Gilbert said to them, "You need not be afraid.
We are only old companions whom bushrangers you have made."
And Johnny Gilbert said, said he, "We'll never hurt a hair
Of men who bravely recognise that we are just all there."
The New South Welshmen said at once, not making any fuss,
That Johnny Gilbert, after all, was "Just but one of us."
So Johnny Gilbert took the town (including public houses),
And treated all the "cockatoos" and shouted for their spouses.
And Miss O'Flanagan performed in manner quite gintailly
Upon the grand planner for the bushranger O'Meally.
And every stranger passing by they took, and when they got him
They robbed him of his money and occasionally shot him.
And Johnny's enigmatic feat admits of this solution,
That bushranging in New South Wales is a favoured institution.
So Johnny Gilbert ne'er allows an anxious thought to fetch him,
For well he knows the Government don't really want to ketch him.
And if such practices should be to New South Welshmen dear,
With not the least demurring word ought we to interfere.
161
~ Banjo Paterson,
1482:History is a delicate matter in a diverse country. Shortly after the fall of the Alamo—likewise in 1836—Mexican troops defeated the Texans at the Battle of Coleto Creek near Goliad, Texas. The Texans surrendered, believing they would be treated as prisoners of war. Instead, the Mexicans marched the 300 or so survivors to Goliad and shot them in what became known as the Goliad Massacre. Mexicans resent the term “massacre.” With the city of Goliad now half Hispanic, they insist on “execution.” Many Anglos, said Benny Martinez of the Goliad chapter of the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), “still hate Mexicans and using ‘massacre’ is a subtle way for them to express it.”
Watertown, Massachusetts, had a different disagreement about history. In 2007, the town’s more than 8,000 Armenian-Americans were so angry at the Anti-Defamation League’s refusal to recognize the World War I Turkish massacres of Armenians as genocide that they persuaded the city council to cut ties with the ADL’s “No Place For Hate” program designed to fight discrimination. Other towns with a strong Armenian presence—Newton, Belmont, Somerville, and Arlington—were considering breaking with the ADL.
Filmmaker Ken Burns has learned that diversity complicates history. When he made a documentary on the Second World War, Latino groups complained it did not include enough Hispanics—even though none had seen it. Mr. Burns bristled at the idea of changing his film, but Hispanics put enough pressure on the Public Broadcasting Service to force him to.
Even prehistory is divisive. In 1996, two men walking along the Columbia River in Washington State discovered a skeleton that was found to be 9,200 years old. “Kennewick Man,” as the bones came to be called, was one of the oldest nearly complete human skeletons ever uncovered in North America and was of great interest to scientists because his features were more Caucasian than American Indian. Local Indians claimed he was an ancestor and insisted on reburying him. It took more than eight years of legal battles before scientists got full access to the remains. ~ Jared Taylor,
1483:Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, by use all gently, for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. For anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature, to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve, the censure of the which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly (not to speak profanely), that neither having th' accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. Reform it altogether! And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them, for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the mean time some necessary question of the play be then to be considered. That's villainous and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready. ~ William Shakespeare,
1484:I knew a young fellow once, who was studying to play the bagpipes, and you would be surprised at the amount of opposition he had to contend with. Why, not even from the members of his own family did he receive what you could call active encouragement. His father was dead against the business from the beginning, and spoke quite unfeelingly on the subject.

My friend used to get up early in the morning to practise, but he had to give that plan up, because of his sister. She was somewhat religiously inclined, and she said it seemed such an awful thing to begin the day like that.

So he sat up at night instead, and played after the family had gone to bed, but that did not do, as it got the house such a bad name. People, going home late, would stop outside to listen, and then put it about all over the town, the next morning, that a fearful murder had been committed at Mr. Jefferson's the night before; and would describe how they had heard the victim's shrieks and the brutal oaths and curses of the murderer, followed by the prayer for mercy, and the last dying gurgle of the corpse.

So they let him practise in the day-time, in the back-kitchen with all the doors shut; but his more successful passages could generally be heard in the sitting-room, in spite of these precautions, and would affect his mother almost to tears.

She said it put her in mind of her poor father (he had been swallowed by a shark, poor man, while bathing off the coast of New Guinea - where the connection came in, she could not explain).

Then they knocked up a little place for him at the bottom of the garden, about quarter of a mile from the house, and made him take the machine down there when he wanted to work it; and sometimes a visitor would come to the house who knew nothing of the matter, and they would forget to tell him all about it, and caution him, and he would go out for a stroll round the garden and suddenly get within earshot of those bagpipes, without being prepared for it, or knowing what it was. If he were a man of strong mind, it only gave him fits; but a person of mere average intellect it usually sent mad. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
1485:Jack’s eyes glinted with humor. “Do we have to start with that?”
“What else would we start with?”
“Couldn’t you ask me something like, ‘How did your morning go?’ or ‘What’s your idea of the perfect day?’”
“I already know what your idea of the perfect day is.”
He arched a brow as if that surprised him. “You do? Let’s hear it.”
I was going to say something flip and funny. But as I stared at him, I considered the question seriously. “Hmmn. I think you’d be at a cottage at the beach . . .”
“My perfect day includes a woman,” he volunteered.
“Okay. There’s a girlfriend. Very low-maintenance.”
“I don’t know any low-maintenance women.”
“That’s why you like this one so much. And the cottage is rustic, by the way. No cable, no wireless, and you’ve both turned off your cell phones. The two of you take a morning walk along the beach, maybe go for a swim. And you pick up a few pieces of seaglass to put in a jar. Later, you both ride bikes into the town, and you head for the outfitters shop to buy some fishing stuff . . . some kind of bait—”
“Flies, not bait,” Jack said, his gaze not moving from mine. “Lefty’s Deceivers.”
“For what kind of fish?”
“Redfish.”
“Great. So then you go fishing—”
“The girlfriend, too?” he asked.
“No, she stays behind and reads.”
“She doesn’t like to fish?”
“No, but she thinks it’s fine that you do, and she says it’s healthy for you to have separate interests.” I paused. “She packed a really big sandwich and a couple of beers for you.”
“I like this woman.”
“You go out in your boat, and you bring home a nice catch and throw it on the grill. You and the woman have dinner. You sit with your feet up, and you talk. Sometimes you stop to listen to the sounds of the tide coming in. After that, the two of you go on the beach with a bottle of wine, and sit on a blanket to watch the sunset.” I finished and looked at him expectantly. “How was that?”
I had thought Jack would be amused, but he stared at me with disconcerting seriousness. “Great.”
And then he was quiet, staring at me as if he were trying to figure out some sleight-of-hand trick. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
1486:Two Years Ago
The light of other days burns dim,
And in the shade is cast,
You'll own I'm right, if you will just
Look back upon the past;
It's glories all are faded,
And each of you must know
That times ain't what they used to be
About two years ago.
Bendigo, you know, my lads,
Was just then in its prime,
And those who happened to be here
Had a most glorious time;
But now its sadly altered,
And things are precious slow,
And times ain't what they used to be
About two years ago.
They opened Golden Gully then,
And we had many a lob,
To see the place so cut up now,
It really makes me sob:
When'eer I pass the fav'rite spot
It fills me full of woe,
Ah! times ain't what they used to was
About two years ago.
Just now look at the difference,
Ah! here's the dreadful rub,
They're washing for two pennyweights
To every blessed tub;
At such a paltry sum as that,
Why, all of us you know
Would have laughed and turned our noses up
About two years ago.
Two years ago, my lads, we used
To take our nuggets down,
Sell the lot, and go and have
10
A spree in Melbourne town;
We rode about in two-horse cabs,
And made the champagne flow,
And ate bank notes in sandwiches
About two years ago.
A sweetheart, then, on either arm
About the town we'd range,
And buy the dear things cashmere shawls,
And refuse to take the change;
Then to dancers at the theatre
Our nuggest we did throw,
Those were the glorious times, no flies,
About two years ago.
And when we'd quite run out of cash
We'd tramp back every mile,
And go to work again and get
Another tidy pile;
I ask you, can we do it now?
But, echo answers no;
Ah! times ai'nt what they used to was
About two years ago.
But after all, my lads, what use
Is there in vain regret,
No doubt some stunning golden piece
Of ground may turn up yet,
Then keep up all your peckers,
And let your spirits flow,
The good time yet may come again,
Just like two years ago.
~ Charles Thatcher,
1487:You were right, you know—coming here was completely crazy. It was irrational. To think I’d choose to go to a town where there’s no mall, much less a day spa, and one restaurant that doesn’t have a menu? Please. No medical technology, ambulance service or local police—how is it I thought that would be easier, less stressful? I almost slid off the mountain on my way into town!” “Ah… Mel…” “We don’t even have cable, no cell phone signal most of the time. And there’s not a single person here who can admire my Cole Haan boots which, by the way, are starting to look like crap from traipsing around forests and farms. Did you know that any critical illness or injury has to be airlifted out of here? A person would be crazy to find this relaxing. Renewing.” She laughed. “The state I was in, when I was leaving L.A., I thought I absolutely had to escape all the challenges. It never occurred to me that challenge would be good for me. A completely new challenge.” “Mel…” “When I told Jack I was pregnant, after promising him I had the birth control taken care of, he should have said, ‘I’m outta here, babe.’ But you know what he said? He said, ‘I have to have you and the baby in my life, and if you can’t stay here, I’ll go anywhere.’” She sniffed a little and a tear rolled down her cheek. “When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is check to see if there are deer in the yard. Then I wonder what Preacher’s in the mood to fix for dinner. Jack’s usually already gone back to town—he likes splitting logs in the early morning—half the town wakes up to the sound of his ax striking wood. I see him five or ten times through the day and he always looks at me like we’ve been apart for a year. If I have a patient in labor, he stays up all night, just in case I need something. And when there are no patients at night, when he holds me before I fall asleep, bad TV reception is the last thing on my mind. “Am I staying here? I came here because I believed I’d lost everything that mattered, and ended up finding everything I’ve ever wanted in the world. Yeah, Joey. I’m staying. Jack’s here. Besides, I belong here now. I belong to them. They belong to me.” * ~ Robyn Carr,
1488:Pasa Thalassa Thalassa
“The sea is everywhere the sea.”
Gone—faded out of the story, the sea-faring friend I remember?
Gone for a decade, they say: never a word or a sign.
Gone with his hard red face that only his laughter could wrinkle,
Down where men go to be still, by the old way of the sea.
Never again will he come, with rings in his ears like a pirate,
Back to be living and seen, here with his roses and vines;
Here where the tenants are shadows and echoes of years uneventful,
Memory meets the event, told from afar by the sea.
Smoke that floated and rolled in the twilight away from the chimney
Floats and rolls no more. Wheeling and falling, instead,
Down with a twittering flash go the smooth and inscrutable swallows,
Down to the place made theirs by the cold work of the sea.
Roses have had their day, and the dusk is on yarrow and wormwood—
Dusk that is over the grass, drenched with memorial dew;
Trellises lie like bones in a ruin that once was a garden,
Swallows have lingered and ceased, shadows and echoes are all.
II
Where is he lying to-night, as I turn away down to the valley,
Down where the lamps of men tell me the streets are alive?
Where shall I ask, and of whom, in the town or on land or on water,
News of a time and a place buried alike and with him?
Few now remain who may care, nor may they be wiser for caring,
Where or what manner the doom, whether by day or by night;
Whether in Indian deeps or on flood-laden fields of Atlantis,
Or by the roaring Horn, shrouded in silence he lies.
Few now remain who return by the weed-weary path to his cottage,
229
Drawn by the scene as it was—met by the chill and the change;
Few are alive who report, and few are alive who remember,
More of him now than a name carved somewhere on the sea.
“Where is he lying?” I ask, and the lights in the valley are nearer;
Down to the streets I go, down to the murmur of men.
Down to the roar of the sea in a ship may be well for another—
Down where he lies to-night, silent, and under the storms.
~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,
1489:The New Vestments
There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess,
Who invented a purely original dress;
And when it was perfectly made and complete,
He opened the door, and walked into the street.
By way of a hat, he'd a loaf of Brown Bread,
In the middle of which he inserted his head;-His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice,
The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;-His Drawers were of Rabit-skins, -- but it is not known whose;-His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;-His Buttons were Jujubes, and Chocolate Drops;-His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border,
And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order;
And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather,
A Cloak of green Cabbage-leaves stitched all together.
He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise,
Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings, and Boys;-And from every long street and dark lane in the town
Beasts, Birdles, and Boys in a tumult rushed down.
Two Cows and a half ate his Cabbage-leaf Cloak;-Four Apes seized his Girdle, which vanished like smoke;-Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,-And the tails were devour'd by an ancient He Goat;-An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore up his
Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;-And while they were growling, and mumbling the Chops,
Ten boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.-He tried to run back to his house, but in vain,
Four Scores of fat Pigs came again and again;-They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,-They tore off his stockings, his shoes, and his drawers;-And now from the housetops with screechings descend,
Striped, spotted, white, black, and gray Cats without end,
They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,-When Crows, Ducks, and Hens made a mincemeat of that;-They speedily flew at his sleeves in trice,
And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;--
176
They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,-Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all.
And he said to himself as he bolted the door,
'I will not wear a similar dress any more,
'Any more, any more, any morre, never more!'
~ Edward Lear,
1490:The Gravedigger
OH, the shambling sea is a sexton old,
And well his work is done.
With an equal grave for lord and knave,
He buries them every one.
Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip,
He makes for the nearest shore;
And God, who sent him a thousand ship,
Will send him a thousand more;
But some he'll save for a bleaching grave,
And shoulder them in to shore,—
Shoulder them in, shoulder them in,
Shoulder them in to shore.
Oh, the ships of Greece and the ships of Tyre
Went out, and where are they?
In the port they made, they are delayed
With the ships of yesterday.
He followed the ships of England far,
As the ships of long ago;
And the ships of France they led him a dance,
But he laid them all arow.
Oh, a loafing, idle lubber to him
Is the sexton of the town;
For sure and swift, with a guiding lift,
He shovels the dead men down.
But though he delves so fierce and grim,
His honest graves are wide,
As well they know who sleep below
The dredge of the deepest tide.
Oh, he works with a rollicking stave at lip,
And loud is the chorus skirled;
With the burly rote of his rumbling throat
He batters it down the world.
168
He learned it once in his father's house,
Where the ballads of eld were sung;
And merry enough is the burden rough,
But no man knows the tongue.
Oh, fair, they say, was his bride to see,
And wilful she must have been,
That she could bide at his gruesome side
When the first red dawn came in.
And sweet, they say, is her kiss to those
She greets to his border home;
And softer than sleep her hand's first sweep
That beckons, and they come.
Oh, crooked is he, but strong enough
To handle the tallest mast;
From the royal barque to the slaver dark,
He buries them all at last.
Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip,
He makes for the nearest shore;
And God, who sent him a thousand ship,
Will send him a thousand more;
But some he'll save for a bleaching grave,
And shoulder them in to shore,—
Shoulder them in, shoulder them in,
Shoulder them in to shore
~ Bliss William Carman,
1491:The House Of Dust: Part 02: 11: Snow Falls. The Sky
Is Grey, And Sullenly Glares
Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares
With purple lights in the canyoned street.
The fiery sign on the dark tower wreathes and flares...
The trodden grass in the park is covered with white,
The streets grow silent beneath our feet...
The city dreams, it forgets its past to-night.
And one, from his high bright window looking down
Over the enchanted whiteness of the town,
Seeing through whirls of white the vague grey towers,
Desires like this to forget what will not pass,
The littered papers, the dust, the tarnished grass,
Grey death, stale ugliness, and sodden hours.
Deep in his heart old bells are beaten again,
Slurred bells of grief and pain,
Dull echoes of hideous times and poisonous places.
He desires to drown in a cold white peace of snow.
He desires to forget a million faces...
In one room breathes a woman who dies of hunger.
The clock ticks slowly and stops. And no one winds it.
In one room fade grey violets in a vase.
Snow flakes faintly hiss and melt on the window.
In one room, minute by minute, the flutist plays
The lamplit page of music, the tireless scales.
His hands are trembling, his short breath fails.
In one room, silently, lover looks upon lover,
And thinks the air is fire.
The drunkard swears and touches the harlot's heartstrings
With the sudden hand of desire.
And
And
And
And
one goes late in the streets, and thinks of murder;
one lies staring, and thinks of death.
one, who has suffered, clenches her hands despairing,
holds her breath...
242
Who are all these, who flow in the veins of the city,
Coil and revolve and dream,
Vanish or gleam?
Some mount up to the brain and flower in fire.
Some are destroyed; some die; some slowly stream.
And
And
And
And
And
the new are born who desire to destroy the old;
fires are kindled and quenched; and dreams are broken,
walls flung down...
the slow night whirls in snow over towers of dreamers,
whiteness hushes the town.
~ Conrad Potter Aiken,
1492:The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,
The clouds, the trees, the rounded hills all seem,
Though beautiful, cold- strange- as in a dream
I dreamed long ago, now new begun.
The short-liv'd, paly summer is but won
From winter's ague for one hour's gleam;
Through sapphire warm their stars do never beam:
All is cold Beauty; pain is never done.
For who has mind to relish, Minos-wise,
The real of Beauty, free from that dead hue
  Sickly imagination and sick pride
Cast wan upon it? Burns! with honour due
  I oft have honour'd thee. Great shadow, hide
Thy face; I sin against thy native skies.
'This sonnet, with which the poems of the Scotch tour with Brown begins, was not a very "prosperous opening." It seems to have been written on the 2nd of July 1818, and was first given by Lord Houghton in the Life, Letters &c. in 1848 as part of a letter to Tom Keats, wherein the poet sufficiently explains the comparative poverty of the production, thus: --

"You will see by this sonnet that I am at Dumfries. We have dined in Scotland. Burns's tomb is in the church-yard corner, not very much to my taste, though on a scale large enough to show they wanted to honour him. Mrs. Burns lives in this place; most likely we shall see her to-morrow. This sonnet I have written in a strange mood, half-asleep. I know not how it is, the clouds, the sky, the houses, all seem anti-Grecian and anti-Charlemagnish. I will endeavour to get rid of my prejudices and tell you fairly about the Scotch."

It is well to say at once that the precise dates assigned to this series of poems are not absolutely certain; for Keats himself was notoriously inexact about dates, and, according to his own confession, "never knew." Thus the next published letter, containing the Meg Merrilies poem, is dated "Auchtercairn, 3rd July;" and in it we read "yesterday was passed in Kirkcudbright," without any fresh date, though probably this statement belongs to the day on which Keats was at Newton Stewart.'
~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ John Keats, On Visiting The Tomb Of Burns
,
1493:The Lost Embassy
THE lilies lean to the white, white rose,
The sweet limes send to the blossomed trees,
Soft kisses borne by the golden bees-And all the world is alive, awake,
And glad to the heart for the summer's sake.
From her tower window the Princess leant,
Where the white light butterflies came and went;
She dropped soft kisses by twos and threes:
'White butterflies mine, will you carry these
To my Prince in prison? for they, who knows,
May break the spell that has held him close
And wake him and win him to stand up free
And laugh--in the sun--with me!'
White lilies, gold in the golden sun,
White Princess, gold in your golden gown-Far off lies the sad, enchanted town!
Bright wings, light wings, white wings that tire,
Though they carry the flower of the heart's desire-Will you trust to these, too white, too slight
To bring back the fruit of heart's delight?
All round and about the spell-bound town
The ways are dusty, the woods are brown;
There are no green coverts, no welcoming flowers
For little weary butterfly wings,
No dew, no lilies, no glad live things.
'Neath the sky of steel and the brazen sun
White wings, kiss-laden, dropped one by one:
By twos and threes they dropped by the way,
And only one reached the grim, gray tower
Where, witched from his kingdom, the poor Prince lay-One poor tired butterfly, smirched and gray
With the dust of the town and the weary way,
And it lit on the Prince's hand and died.
325
'Bright wings, light wings, white wings,' he cried
'You, only you, might have lived and borne
My prayer to my love in her tower forlorn,
And brought back the kiss that could set me free-She might have broken the spell that lies
On my foolish heart and my foolish eyes-But no live butterflies come my way!'
The winds are cold and the skies are gray,
And all the lilies died yesterday;
The Princess leans from her steel-wrought tower
To watch for her butterflies hour by hour.
Poor little Princess, you watch in vain!
Butterflies die where the green wood browns,
And kisses sent to enchanted towns
Never come home again.
~ Edith Nesbit,
1494:Jalal-ud-Din Rumi used to tell a story about a far distant country, somewhere to the north of Afghanistan. In this country there was a city inhabited entirely by the blind. One day the news came that an elephant was passing outside the walls of this city. ‘The citizens called a meeting and decided to send a delegation of three men outside the gates so that they could report back what an elephant was. In due course, the three men left the town and stumbled forwards until they eventually found the elephant. The three reached out, felt the animal with their hands, then they all headed back to the town as quickly as they could to report what they had felt. ‘The first man said: “An elephant is a marvellous creature! It is like a vast snake, but it can stand vertically upright in the air!” The second man was indignant at hearing this: “What nonsense!” he said. “This man is misleading you. I felt the elephant and what it most resembles is a pillar. It is firm and solid and however hard you push against it you could never knock it over.” The third man shook his head and said: “Both these men are liars! I felt the elephant and it resembles a broad pankah. It is wide and flat and leathery and when you shake it it wobbles around like the sail of a dhow.” All three men stuck by their stories and for the rest of their lives they refused to speak to each other. Each professed that they and only they knew the whole truth. ‘Now of course all three of the blind men had a measure of insight. The first man felt the trunk of the elephant, the second the leg, the third the ear. All had part of the truth, but not one of them had even begun to grasp the totality or the greatness of the beast they had encountered. If only they had listened to one another and meditated on the different facets of the elephant, they might have realized the true nature of the beast. But they were too proud and instead they preferred to keep to their own half-truths. ‘So it is with us. We see Allah one way, the Hindus have a different conception, and the Christians have a third. To us, all our different visions seem incompatible and irreconcilable. But what we forget is that before God we are like blind men stumbling around in total blackness ... ~ Anonymous,
1495:Famine's Realm
To him in whom the love of Nature has
Imperfectly supplanted the desire
And dread necessity of food, your shore,
Fair Oakland, is a terror. Over all
Your sunny level, from Tamaletown
To where the Pestuary's fragrant slime,
With dead dogs studded, bears its ailing fleet,
Broods the still menace of starvation. Bones
Of men and women bleach along the ways
And pampered vultures sleep upon the trees.
It is a land of death, and Famine there
Holds sovereignty; though some there be her sway
Who challenge, and intrenched in larders live,
Drawing their sustentation from abroad.
But woe to him, the stranger! He shall die
As die the early righteous in the bud
And promise of their prime. He, venturesome
To penetrate the wilds rectangular
Of grass-grown ways luxuriant of blooms,
Frequented of the bee and of the blithe,
Bold squirrel, strays with heedless feet afar
From human habitation and is lost
In mid-Broadway. There hunger seizes him,
And (careless man! deeming God's providence
Extends so far) he has not wherewithal
To bate its urgency. Then, lo! appears
A mealery-a restaurant-a place
Where poison battles famine, and the two,
Like fish-hawks warring in the upper sky
For that which one has taken from the deep,
Manage between them to dispatch the prey.
He enters and leaves hope behind. There ends
His history. Anon his bones, clean-picked
By buzzards (with the bones himself had picked,
Incautious) line the highway. O, my friends,
Of all felonious and deadlywise
Devices of the Enemy of Souls,
Planted along the ways of life to snare
Man's mortal and immortal part alike,
261
The Oakland restaurant is chief. It lives
That man may die. It flourishes that life
May wither. Its foundation stones repose
On human hearts and hopes. I've seen in it
Crabs stewed in milk and salad offered up
With dressing so unholily compound
That it included flour and sugar! Yea,
I've eaten dog there!-dog, as I'm a man,
Dog seethed in sewage of the town! No more
Thy hand, Dyspepsia, assumes the pen
And scrawls a tortured 'Finis' on the page.
~ Ambrose Bierce,
1496:Every conspiracy is a story of people. The protagonists of this one are two of the most distinctly unique personalities of their time, Nick Denton and Peter Thiel. Two characters who, not unlike the cowboys in your cliché western, found that the town—whether it was Silicon Valley or New York City or the world’s stage—was not big enough for them to coexist. The gravitational pull of the two figures would bring dozens of other people into their orbit over their ten-year cold war along with the FBI, the First and Fourth Amendments, and soon enough, the president of the United States. It somehow dragged me in, too. In 2016, I would find myself the recipient of unsolicited emails from both Peter Thiel and Nick Denton. Both wanted to talk, both were intrigued to hear I had spoken to the other. Both gave me questions to ask the other. And so for more than a year, I spent hundreds of hours researching, writing about, and speaking to nearly everyone involved. I would read more than twenty thousand pages of legal documents and pore through the history of media, of feuds, of warfare, and of strategy not only to make sense of what happened here, but to make something more than just some work of contemporary long-form journalism or some chronological retelling of events by a disinterested observer (which I am not). The result is a different kind of book from my other work, but given this extraordinary story, I had little choice. What follows then are both the facts and the lessons from this conflict—an extended meditation on what it means to successfully conspire, on the one hand, and how to be caught defenseless against a conspiracy and be its victim, on the other. So that we can see what power and conviction look like in real terms, as well as the costs of hubris, and recklessness. And because winning is typically preferable to losing, this book is about how one man came to experience what Genghis Khan supposedly called the greatest of life’s pleasures: to overcome your enemies, to drive them before you, to see their friends and allies bathed in tears, to take their possessions as your own. The question of justice is beside the point; every conqueror believes their cause just and righteous—a thought that makes the fruits taste sweeter. ~ Ryan Holiday,
1497:As Sam came to a panting stop, a jet of orange flame burst from a high window.
Several dozen kids were standing, watching. A crowd that struck Sam as very strange, until he realized why it was strange: there were no adults, just kids.
“Is anyone in there?” Astrid called out. No one answered.
“It could spread,” Sam said.
“There’s no 911,” someone pointed out.
“If it spreads, it could burn down half the town.”
“You see a fireman anywhere?” A helpless shrug.
The day care shared a wall with the hardware store, and both were only a narrow alley away from the burning building. Sam figured they had time to get the kids out of the day care if they acted fast, but the hardware store was something they could not afford to lose.
There had to be forty kids just standing there gawking. No one seemed about to start doing anything.
“Great,” Sam said. He grabbed two kids he sort of knew. “You guys, go to the day care. Tell them to get the littles out of there.”
The kids stared at him without moving.
“Now. Go. Do it!” he said, and they took off running.
Sam pointed at two other kids. “You and you. Go into the hardware store, get the longest hose you can find. Get a spray nozzle, too. I think there’s a spigot in that alley. Start spraying water on the side of the hardware store and up on the roof.”
These two also stared blankly. “Dudes: Not tomorrow. Now. Now. Go! Quinn? You better go with them. We want to wet down the hardware—that’s where the wind will take the fire next.”
Quinn hesitated.
People were not getting this. How could they not see that they had to do something, not just stand around?
Sam pushed to the front of the crowd and in a loud voice said, “Hey, listen up, this isn’t the Disney Channel. We can’t just watch this happen. There are no adults. There’s no fire department. We are the fire department.”
Edilio was there. He said, “Sam’s right. What do you need, Sam? I’m with you.”
“Okay. Quinn? The hoses from the hardware store. Edilio? Let’s get the big hoses from the fire station, hook ’em up to the hydrant.”
“They’ll be heavy. I’ll need some strong guys.”
“You, you, you, you.” Sam grabbed each person’s shoulder, shaking each one, pushing them into motion. “Come on. You. You. Let’s go! ~ Michael Grant,
1498:Someone touches his shoulder. He has to brace himself against the sloping wall to avoid falling over. Marie-Laure stands behind him in her nightdress. The violins spiral down, then back up. Etienne takes Marie-Laure’s hand and together, beneath the low, sloping roof—the record spinning, the transmitter sending it over the ramparts, right through the bodies of the Germans and out to sea—they dance. He spins her; her fingers flicker through the air. In the candlelight, she looks of another world, her face all freckles, and in the center of the freckles those two eyes hang unmoving like the egg cases of spiders. They do not track him, but they do not unnerve him, either; they seem almost to see into a separate, deeper place, a world that consists only of music. Graceful. Lean. Coordinated as she whirls, though how she knows what dancing is, he could never guess. The song plays on. He lets it go too long. The antenna is still up, probably dimly visible against the sky; the whole attic might as well shine like a beacon. But in the candlelight, in the sweet rush of the concerto, Marie-Laure bites her lower lip, and her face gives off a secondary glow, reminding him of the marshes beyond the town walls, in those winter dusks when the sun has set but isn’t fully swallowed, and big patches of reeds catch red pools of light and burn—places he used to go with his brother, in what seems like lifetimes ago. This, he thinks, is what the numbers mean. The concerto ends. A wasp goes tap tap tap along the ceiling. The transmitter remains on, the microphone tucked into the bell of the electrophone as the needle traces the outermost groove. Marie-Laure breathes heavily, smiling.
After she has gone back to sleep, after Etienne has blown out his candle, he kneels for a long time beside his bed. The bony figure of Death rides the streets below, stopping his mount now and then to peer into windows. Horns of fire on his head and smoke leaking from his nostrils and, in his skeletal hand, a list newly charged with addresses. Gazing first at the crew of officers unloading from their limousines into the chateau.
Then at the glowing rooms of the perfumer Claude Levitte.
Then at the dark tall house of Etienne LeBlanc.
Pass us by, Horseman. Pass this house by. ~ Anthony Doerr,
1499:I have heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie bearen flat.

All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.

On their own feet they came, or On shipboard,'
Camel-back; horse-back, ****-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.

Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instrument.

Every discoloration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
For Harry Clifton
~ William Butler Yeats, Lapis Lazuli
,
1500:Christian peace comes not from thinking less but from thinking more, and more intensely, about the big issues of life. Paul gives a specific example of this in Romans 8:18, where he uses the same word, logizdomai, and speaks directly to sufferers. He says, “I reckon that our present sufferings are not worth comparing to the glory that shall be revealed in us.” To “reckon” is to count up accurately, not to whistle in the dark. It is not to get peace by jogging or shopping. It means “Think it out! Think about the glory coming until the joy begins to break in on you.” Someone reading this might say, “You are talking about doctrine but what I really need is comfort.” But think! Is Jesus really the Son of God? Did he really come to earth, die for you, rise again, and pass through the heavens to the right hand of God? Did he endure infinite suffering for you, so that someday he could take you to himself and wipe away every tear from your eyes? If so, then there is all the comfort in the world. If not—if none of these things are true—then we may be stuck here living for seventy or eighty years until we perish, and the only happiness we will ever know is in this life. And if some trouble or suffering takes that happiness away, you have lost it forever. Either Jesus is on the throne ruling all things for you or this is as good as it gets. See what Paul is doing? He is saying that if you are a Christian today and you have little or no peace, it may be because you are not thinking. Peace comes from a disciplined thinking out of the implications of what you believe. It comes from an intentional occupation of a vantage point. There is nothing more thrilling than climbing up to some high point on a mountain and then turning around and viewing from there all the terrain you have just traversed. Suddenly, you see the relationships—you see the creek you crossed, the foothills, the town from which you have journeyed. Your high vantage point gives you perspective, clarity, and a sense of beauty. Now this is what Paul is calling us to do. Think big and high. Realize who God is, what he has done, who you are in Christ, where history is going. Put your troubles in perspective by remembering Christ’s troubles on your behalf, and all his promises to you, and what he is accomplishing. Let ~ Timothy J Keller,

IN CHAPTERS [220/220]



   77 Poetry
   38 Fiction
   33 Integral Yoga
   28 Occultism
   11 Philosophy
   11 Mysticism
   8 Christianity
   7 Islam
   6 Mythology
   5 Philsophy
   4 Psychology
   1 Yoga
   1 Theosophy
   1 Baha i Faith
   1 Alchemy


   34 H P Lovecraft
   24 James George Frazer
   17 The Mother
   11 Robert Browning
   9 Satprem
   9 Nolini Kanta Gupta
   8 Sri Aurobindo
   7 William Wordsworth
   7 William Butler Yeats
   7 Muhammad
   6 Ovid
   6 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
   5 Ralph Waldo Emerson
   5 Percy Bysshe Shelley
   5 Henry David Thoreau
   5 Friedrich Schiller
   5 Friedrich Nietzsche
   4 Sri Ramana Maharshi
   4 Rabindranath Tagore
   4 Nirodbaran
   3 Jordan Peterson
   3 John Keats
   2 Saint Augustine of Hippo
   2 Rudolf Steiner
   2 Lucretius
   2 Li Bai
   2 Jorge Luis Borges
   2 Edgar Allan Poe
   2 Baha u llah
   2 Aleister Crowley
   2 A B Purani


   34 Lovecraft - Poems
   24 The Golden Bough
   11 Browning - Poems
   7 Yeats - Poems
   7 Wordsworth - Poems
   7 Quran
   6 Thus Spoke Zarathustra
   6 Metamorphoses
   5 Walden
   5 The Bible
   5 Talks
   5 Shelley - Poems
   5 Schiller - Poems
   5 Emerson - Poems
   5 Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07
   4 Words Of Long Ago
   4 Twelve Years With Sri Aurobindo
   4 Tagore - Poems
   4 Faust
   3 Maps of Meaning
   3 Keats - Poems
   2 Poe - Poems
   2 Of The Nature Of Things
   2 Magick Without Tears
   2 Li Bai - Poems
   2 Goethe - Poems
   2 Evening Talks With Sri Aurobindo
   2 Collected Poems
   2 City of God
   2 Agenda Vol 10
   2 Agenda Vol 05
   2 Agenda Vol 04
   2 5.1.01 - Ilion


0.01 - Letters from the Mother to Her Son, #Some Answers From The Mother, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  is vast and the Town is very small: a five minute drive and you are
  out of it; and, at the centre of it all, the Ashram is a condensation

0 1960-12-31, #Agenda Vol 01, #unset, #Zen
   This lasted the whole time I was crossing the Town. Then I came to a border, right at the beginning of another part where I was to take my packages; there, just a little below me, I saw a house under construction the house belonging to the person to whom I had to deliver these presents (the symbolism in all this, of course, is quite clear).
   As I approached the house, but still from some distance, I suddenly saw some men busy at work. Then instantly instantly this road which was so vast, sunlit and smoothso smooth to the feet oh, it became the top level of a scaffolding. And what is more, this scaffolding was not very well made, and the closer I came the more complicated it gotthere were planks jutting out, beams off balance. In short, you had to watch every single step to keep from breaking your neck. I began getting annoyed. Moreover, my packages were heavy. They were heavy and they so saddled my arms that I was unable to hold onto anything and had constantly to do a balancing act. Then I began thinking, My God, how complicated this world is! And just at that moment, I saw a young person coming along, like a young girl dressed in European clothes, with a hat on her head all black! This young person had white skin, but her clothes were black, and she wore black shoes on her small white feet. She was dressed all in blackblack, all in black. Like complete unconsciousness. She also came carrying packages (many more than me), and she came hopping along the whole length of the scaffolding, putting her feet just anywhere! My God, I said to myself, shes going to break her neck!But not at all! She was totally unconscious; she wasnt even aware that it was dangerous or complicateda total unconsciousness. But her unconsciousness is what allowed her to go on like that! I watched it all. Well, sometimes its good to be unconscious! Then she disappeared; she had only come to give me a demonstration (she neither saw me nor looked at me). And looking down at the workers, I saw that everything was getting more and more complicated, more and more, more and more and there wasnt even any ladder by which to get down. In other words, it was getting unbearable. Then something in me rebelled: Ah, no! Ive had enough of all thisits too stupid!

0 1963-03-09, #Agenda Vol 04, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Also when I was eleven or twelve, my mother rented a cottage at the edge of a forest: we didnt have to go through the Town. I used to go and sit in the forest all alone. I would sit lost in reverie. One day (it happened often), one day some squirrels had come, several birds, and also (Mother opens her eyes wide), deer, looking on. How lovely it was! When I opened my eyes and saw them, I found it charming they scampered away.
   The memory of all these things returned AFTERWARDS, when I met Thonlong afterwards, when I was more than twenty, that is, more than ten years later. I met Thon and got the explanation of these things, I understood. Then I remembered all that had happened to me, and I thought, Well! Because Madame Thon said to me (I told her all my childhood stories), she said to me, Oh, but I know, you are THAT, the stamp of THAT is on you. I thought over what she had said, and I saw it was indeed true. All those experiences I had were very clear indications that there were certainly people in the invisible looking after me! (Mother laughs)

0 1963-06-15, #Agenda Vol 04, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   And Nehru, you see (thats what Pavitra told me yesterday, he went to the Town hall to listen to Nehrus speech), Nehru is an out-and-out social democrat who believes that the ideal organization for mankind, instead of only an elite being able to progress, is that the entire masses should progress (as if they wanted to! but anyway). Its an ideaeveryone has his own ideas. But then it seems that when the Chinese attacked, it was a violent blow to his conviction: he thought it impossible that the Chinese would do such a thing (!) He was very deeply shattered.
   Naturally, they see no farther than the tips of their noses, and then they are surprised when circumstances (laughing) dont agree!

0 1964-07-31, #Agenda Vol 05, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Afterwards, there was a reception at the Town hall. The delegate was sitting on the dais with the archbishop and the Chief Minister of Pondicherryno one else, all the others sat on chairs below. Then, as nothing was happening, Z thought it was just a waste of time (!), he went up on the dais and asked the minister to introduce him to the Popes delegate, which he did. Then Z said he was very happy with the delegates speech and thanked him for bringing such ideasyou can imagine the archbishops face!
   But its a tiny step forward.

0 1964-10-14, #Agenda Vol 05, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   These last few nights, an experience has been developing. There is a sort of objectification, like scenes unfolding in which I am one of the characters; but it isnt me, it is some character or other that I play in order to have the double consciousness, the ordinary consciousness and the true consciousness at the same time. There was a whole series of experiences to show simultaneously the True Thing and the sort of half-death (its his word that makes me think of this I am too dead), the half-death of the mind. In those experiences, the state of ordinary mentality is something dry (not exactly hard because its crumbly), lifeless, without vibrationdry, cold; and as a color, its always grayish. And then, there is a maximum tension, an effort to understand and remember and knowknow what you should do; when you go somewhere, know how you should go there; know what people are going to do, know Everything, you see, is a perpetual question of the mind (its subconscious in the mindsome are conscious of it, but even in those who are apparently quiet, its there constantly that tension to know). And its a sort of superficial thing, shallow, cold and dry, WITHOUT VIBRATION. At the same time, as if in gusts, the true consciousness comes, as a contrast. And it happens in almost cinematographic circumstances (there is always a story, to make it more living). For instance, last night (its one story among many, many others), the I that was conscious then (which isnt me, you understand), the I that was playing had to go somewhere: it was with other people in a certain place and had to go through the Town to another place. And she knew nothing, neither the way nor the name of the place she was going to, nor the person she had to seeshe knew nothing. She knew nothing, but she knew she had to go. So then, that tension: how, how can you know? How can you know? And questioning people, asking questions, trying to explain, You know, its like this and like that, innumerable details (it lasts for hours). And now and then, a flood of lighta warm, golden, living, comfortable lightand the feeling that everything is prearranged, that all that will have to be known will be known, that the way has been prepared beforeh and that all you have to do is let yourself live! It comes like that, in gusts. But then, there is an intensity of contrast between that constant effort of the mind, which is an enormous effort of tension and concentrated will, and then and then that glory. That comfortable glory, you know, in which you let yourself go in trusting happiness: But everything is ready, everything is luminous, everything is known! All you have to do is let yourself live. All you have to do is let yourself live.
   Its as if a play were performed to make it more living, more realone subject, another subject, this, that. If you enter a certain state, then another time enter the other state, you can remember the difference and its useful, but in this form of a play, with the double consciousness, the opposition becomes so real, so concrete that you come out of it wondering, How can you go on living in this aberration when you have once TOUCHEDtouched, experienced the True Thing?

0 1965-02-19, #Agenda Vol 06, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   So if that consciousness that was there had been collective, if it had been possible to receive it collectively, NOTHING WOULD HAVE BEEN TOUCHED: the stones would have been thrown, but wouldnt have hit anyone. Thats how it would have been. For instance, a stone (a brickbat) was flung and hit my window; it fell on the roof there (even causing a water leak that had to be plugged), and I saw that very minute, I saw in the consciousness of the people present the exact vibration of Falsehood that had allowed the stone to hit there. And AT THE SAME TIME, simultaneously (it cant be said, but it was simultaneous), everywhere, all over the Town and especially over the Ashram here, I saw all the points, the exact vibration of Falsehood in everyone or everything that made the contact possible.
   The experience began a little after 7, 7:10, and it lasted till 1 in the morning.
  --
   And with the consciousness absolutely certain, because there have been other details. Three days earlier, Kali was in a fury because things werent as they ought to be on the earth, and especially among the people whose mission it is to prepare the new world. She was she really was in a fury. She saw all the blunders everywhere, and it made such a powerful vibration in the atmosphere, as though she wanted to begin her Dance; as for me, I kept telling her, Calm down, calm down. On the morning of the 11th, she was here and she kept going on about this, that, about the blunders in the government, in the Town, in the Ashram, in this and thatshe saw everything. I tried to calm her down, but really without success. Finally, when I saw there was no way, I said to the Lord, Look after her and do what needs to be done, I beg You I handed over the responsibility to Him. And then, the same evening the attack started, and I saw it was her dancing. So I thought, We really had something to learn! And I saw, I had that experience and I KNOW now (I know it in a certain, absolute and unforgettable way) which is the vibration of Truth in the Physical, in which state the Physical must be so as to respond to the Truthso as to BE the Truth. Now I know. So that I, too, have learned my lesson. But everyone has learned something, and I hope it wont be forgotten.
   And this morning (this is rather interesting), I received a letter from R. telling me, That evening I had an extraordinary experience, but now its beginning to appear like an impossibility, like something unreal. The exact moment when the experience came over me (of course, when he received the news of the attack, his first reaction was that of human fear, with the hands becoming cold and so on, but he sat down, he braced himself, he called me), and then he felt a Peace come down from above, something he had never felt before, which swept through his whole being, took hold of him entirely and lasted for I dont know, I think he said till eleven at nightit lasted a long time. He had experienced a little bit of it from time to time, but it had never been like that: it came down into him, it seized hold of him entirely. And he says, I could move about: it was THERE, it didnt budge, it was inside me. So I thought, At last someone who felt! There has been at least one who felt.

0 1967-12-30, #Agenda Vol 08, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Sections like Industries which participate actively will contri bute part of their income towards the development of the Township. Or if they produce something (like foodstuff) useful for the citizens, they will contri bute in kind to the Township which is responsible for the feeding of the citizens.
   No rules or laws are being framed. Things will get formulated as the underlying Truth of the Township emerges and takes shape progressively. We do not anticipate.
   Is that all?
  --
   Some things are really interesting. For instance, Id like there to be To begin with, every country will have its pavilion, and in the pavilion, there will be the cuisine of that country, which means that the Japanese will be able to eat Japanese food if they want to(!), etc., but in the Township itself, there will be food for vegetarians, food for nonvegetarians, and also a sort of experiment to find tomorrows food. You see, all this work of assimilation which makes you so heavy (it takes up so much time and energy from the being) should be done BEFORE, you should be able to immediately assimilate what you are given, as with things they make now; for instance, they have those vitamins that can be directly assimilated, and also (what do they call it? (Mother tries to remember) I take them every day. Words and I arent on very good terms!) proteins. Nutritive principles that are found in one thing or another and arent bulkyyou need to take a tremendous quantity of food to assimilate very little. So now that they are fairly clever with chemicals, that could be simplified. People dont like it, simply because they take an intense pleasure in eating(!), but when you no longer take pleasure in eating, you need to be nourished and not to waste your time with that. The amount of time lost is enormous: time for eating, time for digesting, and the rest. So I would like to have an experimental kitchen there, a sort of culinary laboratory, to try out. And according to their tastes and tendencies, people would go here or there.
   And you dont pay for your food, but you must give your work, or the ingredients: for example, those who had fields would give the produce of their fields; those who had factories would give their products; or else your own work in exchange for food.
  --
   And there is one thing I wanted to say. The participation in the welfare and existence of the whole township isnt something worked out individually: such individual must give so much. Its not like that. Its worked out according to ones means, activity, possibilities of production; its not the democratic idea, which cuts everything into small equal bitsan absurd machinery. Its worked out according to ones means: one who has much gives much, one who has little gives little; one who is strong works a lot, one who isnt strong does something else. You understand, its something truer, deeper. And thats why I am not trying to explain it right away, because people will start making all kinds of protests. It must come into being AUTOMATICALLY, so to say, with the growth of the Township, in the true spirit. Thats why this note is quite succinct.
   This sentence, for instance:
  --
   Sections like Industries which participate actively will contri bute part of their income towards the development of the Township. Or if they produce something (like foodstuff) useful for the citizens, they will contri bute in kind to the Township which is responsible for the feeding of the citizens.
   Thats what weve said. The industries will participate actively, they will contri bute. If they are industries producing articles that arent in constant need and are therefore in quantities or numbers too great for the Townships own use that will be sold outsidethose industries must naturally participate through money. And I take the example of food: those who produce food will give the Township what it needs (in proportion to what they produce, naturally), and it is the Townships responsibility to feed everyone. That means people wont have to buy their food with money, but they will have to earn it.
   Its a kind of adaptation of the Communist system, but not in a spirit of levelling: according to everyones capacity, his position (not a psychological or intellectual one), his INNER position.
  --
   No rules or laws are being framed. Things will get formulated as the underlying Truth of the Township emerges and takes shape progressively. We do not anticipate.
   What I mean is that usually (always till now, and more and more so), men establish mental rules according to their conceptions and their ideal, then they apply them (Mother lowers her fist, as if to show the world under the mental grip). And thats absolutely false, arbitrary, unreal, with the result that things revolt, or else waste away and disappear. Its the experience of LIFE ITSELF that must slowly work out rules AS SUPPLE AND VAST as possible, in order that they remain ever progressive. Nothing must be fixed. Thats the immense error of governments: they build a framework and say, Here is what weve established, now we must live under it. So naturally, Life is crushed and prevented from progressing. It is Life itself, developing more and more in a progression towards Light, Knowledge, Power, that must progressively establish rules as general as possible, so as to be extremely supple and capable of changing according to needof changing AS RAPIDLY as habits and needs do.

0 1969-02-08, #Agenda Vol 10, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Then, If one sets up an enterprise, the profit or production from it will go to the Town
   Its not like thatits not like that! No, its useless.

0 1969-08-30, #Agenda Vol 10, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   No customs, but permission to import granted only for goods meant to be consumed in the Town.
   That all.

02.05 - Federated Humanity, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 01, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   The original unit of the human aggregate is the family; it is like the original cell which lies at the back of the entire system that is called the human body or, for that matter, any organic body. A living and stable nucleus is needed round which a crystallisation and growth can occur. The family furnished such a nucleus in the early epochs of humanity. But with the growth of human life there came a time when, for a better and more efficient organization in collective life, larger units were needed. The original unit had to be enlarged in order to meet the demands of a wider and more complex growth. Also it is to be noted that the living body is not merely a conglomeration of cells, all more or less equal and autonomous something like a democratic or an anarchic organization; but it consists of a grouping of such cells in spheres or regions or systems according to differing functions. And as we rise in the scale of evolution the grouping becomes more and more complex, well-defined and hierarchical. Human collectivity also shows a similar development in organization. The original, the primitive unit the familywas first taken up into a larger unit, the clan; the clan, in its turn, gave place to the tribe and finally the tribe merged into the nation. A similar widening of the unit can also be noticed in man's habitat, in his geographical environment. The primitive man was confined to the village; the village gradually grew into the Township and the city state. Then came the regional unit and last of all we arrived at the country.
   Until the last great war it seemed that the nation (and country) was the largest living unit that human collectivity could admit without the risk of a break-up. Now it was at this momentous epoch that the first concept or shape of a larger federationtypified in the League of Nationsstirred into life and began to demand its lebensraum. It could not however come to fruition and stability, because the age of isolated nationhood had not yet passed and the principle of selfdetermination yet needed its absolute justification.

02.06 - Boris Pasternak, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 02, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   And that beyond the limits of the Town
   The earth should not feel lonely. 7

1.007 - The Elevations, #Quran, #unset, #Zen
  96. Had the people of the Towns believed and turned righteous, We would have opened for them the blessings of the heaven and the earth; but they rejected the truth, so We seized them by what they were doing.
  97. Do the people of the Towns feel secure that Our might will not come upon them by night, while they sleep?
  98. Do the people of the Towns feel secure that Our might will not come upon them by day, while they play?
  99. Do they feel safe from God’s plan? None feel safe from God’s plan except the losing people.
  --
  163. Ask them about the Town by the sea, when they violated the Sabbath. When they observed the Sabbath, their fish would come to them abundantly. But when they violated the Sabbath, their fish would not come to them. Thus We tried them because they disobeyed.
  164. And when a group of them said, “Why do you counsel a people whom God will annihilate, or punish with a severe punishment?” They said, “As an excuse to your Lord, and so that they may become righteous.”

1.00 - PREFACE - DESCENSUS AD INFERNOS, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  When I was seventeen I left the Town I grew up in. I moved nearby and attended a small college, which
  offered the first two years of undergraduate education. I involved myself there in university politics

1.011 - Hud, #Quran, #unset, #Zen
  100. These are of the reports of the Towns—We relate them to you. Some are still standing, and some have withered away.
  101. We did not wrong them, but they wronged themselves. Their gods, whom they invoked besides God, availed them nothing when the command of your Lord arrived. In fact, they added only to their ruin.
  102. Such is the grip of your Lord when He seizes the Towns in the midst of their sins. His grip is most painful, most severe.
  103. In that is a sign for whoever fears the punishment of the Hereafter. That is a Day for which humanity will be gathered together—that is a Day to be witnessed.
  --
  117. Your Lord would never destroy the Towns wrongfully, while their inhabitants are righteous.
  118. Had your Lord willed, He could have made humanity one community, but they continue to differ.

1.012 - Joseph, #Quran, #unset, #Zen
  82. “Ask the Town where we were, and the caravan in which we came. We are being truthful.”
  83. He said, “Rather, your souls have contrived something for you. Patience is a virtue. Perhaps God will bring them all back to me. He is the Knowing, the Wise.”
  --
  109. We did not send before you except men, whom We inspired, from the people of the Towns. Have they not roamed the earth and seen the consequences for those before them? The Home of the Hereafter is better for those who are righteous. Do you not understand?
  110. Until, when the messengers have despaired, and thought that they were rejected, Our help came to them. We save whomever We will, and Our severity is not averted from the guilty people.

1.015 - The Rock, #Quran, #unset, #Zen
  67. And the people of the Town came joyfully.
  68. He said, “These are my guests, so do not embarrass me.”

1.01 - Economy, #Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience, #Henry David Thoreau, #Philosophy
  So many autumn, ay, and winter days, spent outside the Town, trying to hear what was in the wind, to hear and carry it express! I well-nigh sunk all my capital in it, and lost my own breath into the bargain, running in the face of it. If it had concerned either of the political parties, depend upon it, it would have appeared in the Gazette with the earliest intelligence. At other times watching from the observatory of some cliff or tree, to telegraph any new arrival; or waiting at evening on the hill-tops for the sky to fall, that I might catch something, though I never caught much, and that, manna-wise, would dissolve again in the sun.
  For a long time I was reporter to a journal, of no very wide circulation, whose editor has never yet seen fit to print the bulk of my contri butions, and, as is too common with writers, I got only my labor for my pains. However, in this case my pains were their own reward.
  --
  I have looked after the wild stock of the Town, which give a faithful herdsman a good deal of trouble by leaping fences; and I have had an eye to the unfrequented nooks and corners of the farm; though I did not always know whether Jonas or Solomon worked in a particular field to-day; that was none of my business. I have watered the red huckleberry, the sand cherry and the nettle tree, the red pine and the black ash, the white grape and the yellow violet, which might have withered else in dry seasons.
  In short, I went on thus for a long time, I may say it without boasting, faithfully minding my business, till it became more and more evident that my townsmen would not after all admit me into the list of town officers, nor make my place a sinecure with a moderate allowance.
  --
  We don garment after garment, as if we grew like exogenous plants by addition without. Our outside and often thin and fanciful clothes are our epidermis, or false skin, which partakes not of our life, and may be stripped off here and there without fatal injury; our thicker garments, constantly worn, are our cellular integument, or cortex; but our shirts are our liber or true bark, which cannot be removed without girdling and so destroying the man. I believe that all races at some seasons wear something equivalent to the shirt. It is desirable that a man be clad so simply that he can lay his hands on himself in the dark, and that he live in all respects so compactly and preparedly, that, if an enemy take the Town, he can, like the old philosopher, walk out the gate empty-handed without anxiety. While one thick garment is, for most purposes, as good as three thin ones, and cheap clothing can be obtained at prices really to suit customers; while a thick coat can be bought for five dollars, which will last as many years, thick pantaloons for two dollars, cowhide boots for a dollar and a half a pair, a summer hat for a quarter of a dollar, and a winter cap for sixty-two and a half cents, or a better be made at home at a nominal cost, where is he so poor that, clad in such a suit, of _his own earning_, there will not be found wise men to do him reverence?
  When I ask for a garment of a particular form, my tailoress tells me gravely, They do not make them so now, not emphasizing the They at all, as if she quoted an authority as impersonal as the Fates, and I find it difficult to get made what I want, simply because she cannot believe that I mean what I say, that I am so rash. When I hear this oracular sentence, I am for a moment absorbed in thought, emphasizing to myself each word separately that I may come at the meaning of it, that I may find out by what degree of consanguinity _They_ are related to _me_, and what authority they may have in an affair which affects me so nearly; and, finally, I am inclined to answer her with equal mystery, and without any more emphasis of the they,It is true, they did not make them so recently, but they do now. Of what use this measuring of me if she does not measure my character, but only the breadth of my shoulders, as it were a peg to hang the coat on? We worship not the Graces, nor the Parc, but Fashion. She spins and weaves and cuts with full authority. The head monkey at Paris puts on a travellers cap, and all the monkeys in America do the same. I sometimes despair of getting anything quite simple and honest done in this world by the help of men. They would have to be passed through a powerful press first, to squeeze their old notions out of them, so that they would not soon get upon their legs again, and then there would be some one in the company with a maggot in his head, hatched from an egg deposited there nobody knows when, for not even fire kills these things, and you would have lost your labor. Nevertheless, we will not forget that some Egyptian wheat was handed down to us by a mummy.
  --
  When I consider my neighbors, the farmers of Concord, who are at least as well off as the other classes, I find that for the most part they have been toiling twenty, thirty, or forty years, that they may become the real owners of their farms, which commonly they have inherited with encumbrances, or else bought with hired money, and we may regard one third of that toil as the cost of their houses,but commonly they have not paid for them yet. It is true, the encumbrances sometimes outweigh the value of the farm, so that the farm itself becomes one great encumbrance, and still a man is found to inherit it, being well acquainted with it, as he says. On applying to the assessors, I am surprised to learn that they cannot at once name a dozen in the Town who own their farms free and clear. If you would know the history of these homesteads, inquire at the bank where they are mortgaged. The man who has actually paid for his farm with labor on it is so rare that every neighbor can point to him. I doubt if there are three such men in
  Concord. What has been said of the merchants, that a very large majority, even ninety-seven in a hundred, are sure to fail, is equally true of the farmers. With regard to the merchants, however, one of them says pertinently that a great part of their failures are not genuine pecuniary failures, but merely failures to fulfil their engagements, because it is inconvenient; that is, it is the moral character that breaks down. But this puts an infinitely worse face on the matter, and suggests, beside, that probably not even the other three succeed in saving their souls, but are perchance bankrupt in a worse sense than they who fail honestly. Bankruptcy and repudiation are the springboards from which much of our civilization vaults and turns its somersets, but the savage stands on the unelastic plank of famine. Yet the Middlesex
  --
  The customs of some savage nations might, perchance, be profitably imitated by us, for they at least go through the semblance of casting their slough annually; they have the idea of the thing, whether they have the reality or not. Would it not be well if we were to celebrate such a busk, or feast of first fruits, as Bartram describes to have been the custom of the Mucclasse Indians? When a town celebrates the busk, says he, having previously provided themselves with new clothes, new pots, pans, and other household utensils and furniture, they collect all their worn out clothes and other despicable things, sweep and cleanse their houses, squares, and the whole town of their filth, which with all the remaining grain and other old provisions they cast together into one common heap, and consume it with fire. After having taken medicine, and fasted for three days, all the fire in the Town is extinguished. During this fast they abstain from the gratification of every appetite and passion whatever. A general amnesty is proclaimed; all malefactors may return to their town.
  On the fourth morning, the high priest, by rubbing dry wood together, produces new fire in the public square, from whence every habitation in the Town is supplied with the new and pure flame.
  They then feast on the new corn and fruits, and dance and sing for three days, and the four following days they receive visits and rejoice with their friends from neighboring towns who have in like manner purified and prepared themselves.
  --
  But all this is very selfish, I have heard some of my townsmen say. I confess that I have hitherto indulged very little in philanthropic enterprises. I have made some sacrifices to a sense of duty, and among others have sacrificed this pleasure also. There are those who have used all their arts to persuade me to undertake the support of some poor family in the Town; and if I had nothing to do,for the devil finds employment for the idle,I might try my hand at some such pastime as that. However, when I have thought to indulge myself in this respect, and lay their Heaven under an obligation by maintaining certain poor persons in all respects as comfortably as I maintain myself, and have even ventured so far as to make them the offer, they have one and all unhesitatingly preferred to remain poor. While my townsmen and women are devoted in so many ways to the good of their fellows, I trust that one at least may be spared to other and less humane pursuits. You must have a genius for charity as well as for any thing else. As for Doing-good, that is one of the professions which are full. Moreover, I have tried it fairly, and, strange as it may seem, am satisfied that it does not agree with my constitution. Probably I should not consciously and deliberately forsake my particular calling to do the good which society demands of me, to save the universe from annihilation; and I believe that a like but infinitely greater steadfastness elsewhere is all that now preserves it. But I would not stand between any man and his genius; and to him who does this work, which I decline, with his whole heart and soul and life, I would say,
  Persevere, even if the world call it doing evil, as it is most likely they will.

1.01 - ON THE THREE METAMORPHOSES, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  Thus spoke Zarathustra. And at that time he sojourned in the Town that is called The Motley Cow.

1.01 - The King of the Wood, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  the lake and grove of Aricia. But the Town of Aricia (the modern La
  Riccia) was situated about three miles off, at the foot of the Alban

1.01 - The Three Metamorphoses, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  27:Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the Town which is called The Pied Cow.

1.021 - The Prophets, #Quran, #unset, #Zen
  6. None of the Towns We destroyed before them had believed. Will they, then, believe?
  7. We did not send before you except men, whom We inspired. Ask the people of knowledge, if you do not know.
  --
  74. And Lot—We gave him judgment and knowledge, and We delivered him from the Town that practiced the abominations. They were wicked and perverted people.
  75. And We admitted him into Our mercy; for He was one of the righteous.
  --
  95. There is a ban on the Town that We had destroyed—that they will not return.
  96. Until, when Gog and Magog are let loose, and they swarm down from every mound.

10.23 - Prayers and Meditations of the Mother, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 04, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   When I was a childabout the age of thirteen and for about a yearevery night as soon as I was in bed, it seemed to me that I came out of my body and rose straight up above the house, then above the Town, very high. I saw myself then, clad in a magnificent golden robe, longer than myself; and as I rose, that robe leng thened, spreading in a circle around me to form, as it were, an immense roof over the Town. Then I would see coming out from all sides, men, women, children, the old, the sick, the unhappy; they gathered under the outspread robe, imploring help, recounting their miseries, their sufferings, their pains. In reply, the robe, supple and living, stretched out to them individually, and as soon as they touched it, they were consoled or healed, and entered back into their body happier and stronger than they had ever been before coming out of it.
   I thank them with gratitude for all the charm they have been able to impart from the outside to our life; I wish, if they are destined to pass for a long or a brief period into other hands than ours, that these hands may be gentle to them and may feel all the respect that is due to what Thy divine Love, O Lord, has made to emerge from the dark inconscience of chaos. (3.3.1914)

1.02 - BEFORE THE CITY-GATE, #Faust, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
  How has he helped the Town, I say?
  Things worsen,what improvement names he?
  --
  Back on the Town direct thy sight.
  Out of the hollow, gloomy gate,

1.02 - MAPS OF MEANING - THREE LEVELS OF ANALYSIS, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  travelers arrive at the Town of Pacanow, and observe the proceedings there in great astonishment:
  All around the Town it was sunshiny and pleasant; but over Pacanow the rain poured from the sky as
  from a bucket.
  --
  Just then the Townspeople spied them and rushed toward them, led by the Burgomaster riding on a
  shod goat.
  --
  Yes, said Nitechka, but why does it fall over the Town only, and not elsewhere?
  Because elsewhere is nice weather.
  --
  Nitechka orders the Townspeople to bring all the ladders in the Town, to tie them together, and to
  lean them against the sky. He ascends the ladder, with a hundred needles, threading one:
  --
  other inhabitants of the Town. The Princess wiped her eyes that were almost cried out, and throwing
  herself on Nitechkas neck, kissed him affectionately.

1.034 - Sheba, #Quran, #unset, #Zen
  18. Between them and the Towns We had blessed, We placed prominent towns, and We made the travel between them easy. “Travel between them by night and day, in safety.”
  19. But they said, “Our Lord, lengthen the distances of our journeys.” They wronged themselves; so We made them history, and We scattered them in every direction. In this are lessons for every steadfast and appreciative person.

1.036 - Ya-Seen, #Quran, #unset, #Zen
  13. And cite for them the parable of the landlords of the Town—when the messengers came to it.
  14. We sent them two messengers, but they denied them both, so We reinforced them with a third. They said, “We are messengers to you.”

1.03 - BOOK THE THIRD, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
  But now a beardless victor sacks the Town;
  Whom nor the prancing steed, nor pond'rous shield,

1.03 - Questions and Answers, #Book of Certitude, #unset, #Zen
  ANSWER: If such property be found in the Town, its discovery is to be announced once by the Town crier. If the owner of the property is then found, it should be delivered up to him. Otherwise, the finder of the property should wait one year, and if, during this period, the owner cometh to light, the finder should receive from him the crier's fee and restore to him his property; only if the year should pass without the owner's being identified may the finder take possession of the property himself. If the value of the property is less than or equal to the crier's fee, the finder should wait a single day from the time of its discovery, at the end of which, if the owner hath not come to light, he may himself appropriate it; and in the case of property discovered in an uninhabited area, the finder should observe a three days' wait, on the passing of which period, if the identity of the owner remain unknown, he is free to take possession of his find.
  18. QUESTION: With reference to the ablutions: if, for example, a person hath just bathed his entire body, must he still perform his ablutions?

1.03 - Reading, #Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience, #Henry David Thoreau, #Philosophy
  Europe. It should be the patron of the fine arts. It is rich enough. It wants only the magnanimity and refinement. It can spend money enough on such things as farmers and traders value, but it is thought Utopian to propose spending money for things which more intelligent men know to be of far more worth. This town has spent seventeen thousand dollars on a town-house, thank fortune or politics, but probably it will not spend so much on living wit, the true meat to put into that shell, in a hundred years. The one hundred and twenty-five dollars annually subscribed for a Lyceum in the winter is better spent than any other equal sum raised in the Town. If we live in the nineteenth century, why should we not enjoy the advantages which the nineteenth century offers?
  Why should our life be in any respect provincial? If we will read newspapers, why not skip the gossip of Boston and take the best newspaper in the world at once?not be sucking the pap of neutral family papers, or browsing Olive-Branches here in New England. Let the reports of all the learned societies come to us, and we will see if they know any thing. Why should we leave it to Harper & Brothers and

1.03 - Some Practical Aspects, #Knowledge of the Higher Worlds, #Rudolf Steiner, #Theosophy
  [paragraph continues] Anyone practicing in an environment filled only with self-seeking interests, as for example, the modern struggle for existence, must be conscious of the fact that these interests are not without their effect on the development of his spiritual organs. It is true that the inner laws of these organs are so powerful that this influence cannot be fatally injurious. Just as a lily can never grow into a thistle, however inappropriate its environment, so, too, the eye of the soul can never grow to anything but its destined shape even though it be subjected to the self-seeking interests of modern cities. But under all circumstances it is well if the student seeks, now and again, his environment in the restful peace, the inner dignity and sweetness of nature. Especially fortunate is the student who can carry out his esoteric training surrounded by the green world of plants, or among the sunny hills, where nature weaves her web of sweet simplicity. This environment develops the inner organs in a harmony which can never ensue in a modern city. More favorably situated than the Townsman is the person who, during his childhood at least, had been able to brea the the fragrance of pines, to gaze on snowy peaks, and observe
   p. 112

1.03 - Sympathetic Magic, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  that long ago the Town of Tsuen-cheu-fu, the outlines of which are
  like those of a carp, frequently fell a prey to the depredations of

1.03 - Tara, Liberator from the Eight Dangers, #How to Free Your Mind - Tara the Liberator, #Thubten Chodron, #unset
  They sack the Towns and hermitages of benet and bliss:
  The thieves of wrong viewsplease protect us from this danger!

1.04 - Magic and Religion, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  nay, that they honeycomb the Town, the village, and even the family,
  so that the surface of society all over the world is cracked and

1.04 - Sounds, #Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience, #Henry David Thoreau, #Philosophy
  As I sit at my window this summer afternoon, hawks are circling about my clearing; the tantivy of wild pigeons, flying by twos and threes athwart my view, or perching restless on the white-pine boughs behind my house, gives a voice to the air; a fishhawk dimples the glassy surface of the pond and brings up a fish; a mink steals out of the marsh before my door and seizes a frog by the shore; the sedge is bending under the weight of the reed-birds flitting hither and thither; and for the last half hour I have heard the rattle of railroad cars, now dying away and then reviving like the beat of a partridge, conveying travellers from Boston to the country. For I did not live so out of the world as that boy who, as I hear, was put out to a farmer in the east part of the Town, but ere long ran away and came home again, quite down at the heel and homesick. He had never seen such a dull and out-of-the-way place; the folks were all gone off; why, you couldnt even hear the whistle! I doubt if there is such a place in
  Massachusetts now:
  --
  The whistle of the locomotive penetrates my woods summer and winter, sounding like the scream of a hawk sailing over some farmers yard, informing me that many restless city merchants are arriving within the circle of the Town, or adventurous country traders from the other side.
  As they come under one horizon, they shout their warning to get off the track to the other, heard sometimes through the circles of two towns.
  --
  While these things go up other things come down. Warned by the whizzing sound, I look up from my book and see some tall pine, hewn on far northern hills, which has winged its way over the Green Mountains and the Connecticut, shot like an arrow through the Township within ten minutes, and scarce another eye beholds it; going
     to be the mast

1.04 - The Divine Mother - This Is She, #Twelve Years With Sri Aurobindo, #Nirodbaran, #Integral Yoga
  She was always out of sympathy with certain mechanical contrivances like the radio, gramophone and ceiling-fan. The radio was allowed in Sri Aurobindo's room only after the war had taken a full-blooded turn. His bedroom had no fan, in spite of considerable heat. The sitting-room had a table-fan. Only after the accident a table-fan was installed near Sri Aurobindo's bed which was not very effective in reducing the stuffiness of the room, closed as it was on the east, west and south. Hence the need of small hand-fans during his walk. It was only after the room had undergone thorough repairs and the old beams were replaced by new solid ones that a ceiling-fan came into operation. Till then the Mother feared that a ceiling-fan would be a risk to the old ceiling. This shows how the Mother guarded against all eventualities, inner as well as outer, and gave as little handle as possible to so-called accidents. She knew very well that shrewd and subtle occult forces were actively engaged in causing them grievous harm. Who could have imagined that Sri Aurobindo would meet with a serious accident in his own room at an unwary moment? He had asserted very firmly that their life was a battlefield in a very real sense and that the Mother and himself were actively waging a continuous war against the adverse forces. "The fact that it was being waged from a closed room made it no less real and serious." She said once that illnesses in their case are much more difficult to cure than in the case of sadhaks because of the concentrated attack of the adverse forces. I may mention in passing that the Mother was not only vigilant regarding Sri Aurobindo against all possible outer attacks and accidents, she is also cognizant of the welfare of the sadhaks. During an epidemic in the Town, sadhaks are warned not to take any food from outside. All our raw vegetables and fruits are washed in an antiseptic solution before being cooked or eaten and many other precautions are taken to avoid any outbreak in the Ashram. The inspiration behind the origin of the sadhak Ganpatram's Cottage Restaurant came from the Mother, I was told. She did not want the Ashram children to take food from outside and fall ill; so she called him one day and asked him to open a restaurant only for the Ashram children and prepare food under strict hygienic conditions.
  If the Mother was thus equipped with all necessities for Sri Aurobindo's comfort, Sri Aurobindo on his part was as solicitous about the Mother's well-being. He followed closely all her outer activities and enveloped her with an aura of protection against the dark forces. His accident was due, he said, to his being busy protecting the Mother and unmindful about himself, under the assumption that the adverse forces would not dare to attack him. "That was my mistake," he said. The Mother herself could take any risk, launch upon any adventure, for she had entire faith and reliance upon Sri Aurobindo's mighty force and protection. Anybody who has come in contact with the Mother knows that her dynamic nature makes light of all difficulties and dangers and she is the least concerned about herself 'when some special work has to be done. At one time her health suffered from a chronic trouble, indicated by a swelling of the feet. I observed that every time the Mother entered or left the room, Sri Aurobindo's eyes were fixed on her feet till after a number of years the limbs regained their normalcy. Not about her health alone, about all her movements and activities the Mother always used to keep him informed: before going to the meditation and after it, before going for a drive and after it, or before seeing any visitor, she would come and see him. Sri Aurobindo also would inquire about her from Champaklal, whether she had finished her food and gone to bed or not, and as I have said, until she had retired, he kept awake. If by chance she was late in returning from a drive Sri Aurobindo would inquire again and again. As the Mother's routine was crammed with activities, quite often she used to be late for her meal. Sometimes she would report the fact. But he would never interfere with her activities, only mildly suggest some change if necessary. Imposition of rules, compulsion of any sort was against his nature, either on the Mother or on sadhaks. So is it with the Mother. Sri Aurobindo did not want us to detain her in any way. He would cut short his walk, or hurry his meal to suit her convenience.
  --
  After a long and strenuous vigil, the Mother's and Sri Aurobindo's unflagging concentration, daily reports of the progress, the homeopath's blunders and effective medicines, the patient recovered. I did not know really to whom the credit went to the Force or the homeopath. There was a supposition also that the patient's complete surrender to the Mother had made this miracle possible. I had given up all hope of recovery when I saw him vomiting such a lot of blood. Surgical intervention was out of the question, for the local hospital surgeon was not very competent. Sri Aurobindo suggested it by way of keeping ourselves on the safe side of the law, since we had no legal authority to practise. Neither had I much faith in the homeopath when the case was handed over to him, though he had made a big name in the Town. One thing I must say in favour of the patient, that he never lost hope and was throughout conscious. If I was in an anxiety he would give me hope saying, "Doctor, don't think that I am going to die." Sri Aurobindo wrote to me, "The man has a belief in yoga-force and that helps." In this predicament I wanted a straight answer from Sri Aurobindo as to which factor played the dominant part in the cure the Force or the doctor. I was doubtful about the latter because he had committed many blunders which were recognised by Sri Aurobindo and they had to be counter acted by the Force. The illuminating answer I received from him is as follows, "It was only when the heart began to misbehave seriously, that, as often happens, in response to the danger a big Force began to come down and S's body also responded it was that response that saved him, not any surrender... I think the Force can take more credit than R's medicines, although the latter were very useful, one might say an indispensable assistance. Yet it was whenever a big Force came in that S made a bound forward and each time on the lines indicated by the Force, first the heart's recovery, next the deliverance of the liver, third the overcoming of the hyperacid excesses. R was an obstacle as well as a help, twice. First, in his confounded decision to encourage 'yellow fever' the bile had to be cleared out of course, but not in that dangerous way; next in his "lime juice" excesses, the orange-juice was useful, but frantically overdone. As soon as he dropped his first mistake, the bile set itself right as soon as he dropped his second to some extent and administered orange juice + medicine reasonably, the rest ameliorated.... If so, it was because the Force got a chance to work straight helped and not impeded."
  This then is one case among many others which I have followed step by step, and have Sri Aurobindo's own words to vouch for the cure of the case by his Force.

1.05 - THE HOSTILE BROTHERS - ARCHETYPES OF RESPONSE TO THE UNKNOWN, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  found in the country, in the village, and in the Town, in all things created by God; yet it is despised by
  all. Rich and poor handle it every day. It is thrown into the street by servant maids. Children play with it.

1.05 - The Magical Control of the Weather, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  crucifixes through all the wards of the Town and scourged each other
  with iron whips. It was all in vain. Even the great St. Francis of

1.05 - War And Politics, #Twelve Years With Sri Aurobindo, #Nirodbaran, #Integral Yoga
  For all the war-news we had to depend on the daily newspapers, since members of the Ashram were not supposed to have radios. Somebody in the Town began to supply us with short bulletins; when the War had taken a full-fledged turn, the radio news was transmitted to Sri Aurobindo's room so he might follow the war-movements from hour to hour. Here we find a notable instance of the spiritual flexibility of his rules and principles. What had been laid down for a particular time and condition, would not be inviolable under altered circumstances. Sri Aurobindo, who was once a mortal opponent of British rule in India, came to support the Allies against the threat of world-domination by Hitler. "Not merely a non-cooperator but an enemy of British Imperialism", he now listened carefully to the health bulletins about Churchill when he had pneumonia, and, we believe, even helped him with his Force to recover. It is the rigid mind that cries for consistency under all circumstances. I still remember Sri Aurobindo breaking the news of Hitler's march and England's declaration of war. For a time the world hung in suspense wondering whether Hitler would flout Holland's neutrality and then penetrate into Belgium. We had very little doubt of his intention. It was evening; Sri Aurobindo was alone in his room. As soon as I entered, he looked at me and said, "Hitler has invaded Holland. Well, we shall see." That was all. Two or three such laconic but pregnant remarks regarding the War still ring in my ears. At another crucial period when Stalin held a threatening pistol at England and was almost joining hands with Hitler, we were dismayed and felt that there would be no chance for the Divine, were such a formidable alliance to take place. Sri Aurobindo at once retorted, "Is the Divine going to be cowed by Stalin?" When, seeing Hitler sweeping like a meteor over Europe, a sadhak cried in despair to the Guru, "Where is the Divine? Where is your word of hope?" Sri Aurobindo replied calmly, "Hitler is not immortal." Then the famous battle of Dunkirk and the perilous retreat, the whole Allied army exposed to enemy attack from land and air and the bright summer sun shining above. All of a sudden a fog gathered from nowhere and gave unexpected protection to the retreating army. We said, "It seems the fog helped the evacuation." To which Sri Aurobindo remarked, "Yes, the fog is rather unusual at this time." We, of course, understood what he meant. It was after the fall of Dunkirk and the capitulation of France that Sri Aurobindo began to apply his Force more vigorously in favour of the Allies, and he had "the satisfaction of seeing the rush of German victory almost immediately arrested and the tide of war begin to turn in the opposite direction".
  Thus, we see, Sri Aurobindo was not simply a passive witness, a mere verbal critic of the Allied war policy. When India was asked to participate in the war effort, and the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, much to the surprised indignation of our countrymen, contributed to the War Fund, he, for the first time, made clear to the nation what issues were involved in the War. I remember the Mother darting into Sri Aurobindo's room quite early in the morning with a sheet of paper in her hand. I guessed that something private was going to be discussed and discreetly withdrew. Then Purani came most unexpectedly. "Ah! here is something afoot," I said to myself. A couple of days later the secret was revealed in all the newspapers: Sri Aurobindo had made a donation to the War Fund! Of course, he explained why he had done so. He stated that the War was being waged "in defence of civilisation and its highest attained social, cultural and spiritual values and the whole future of humanity...." Giving the lead, he acted as an example for others to follow. But, all over the country, protests, calumnies and insinuations were his lot. Even his disciples were nonplussed in spite of his explanation why he had made that singular gesture. A disciple wrote to the Mother, "The Congress is asking us not to contribute to the War Fund. What shall we do?" The answer given was: "Sri Aurobindo has contributed for a divine cause. If you help, you will be helping yourselves." Some were wishing for the victory of the Nazis because of their hatred for the British. The Mother had to give a stern admonition. She wrote: "It has become necessary to state emphatically and clearly that all who by their thoughts and wishes are supporting and calling for the victory of the Nazis are by that very fact collaborating with the Asura against the Divine and helping to bring about the victory of the Asura."

1.07 - BOOK THE SEVENTH, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
  Soaring with sudden plumes amaz'd the Towns of Greece.
  Here Aegeus so engaging she addrest,

1.08 - Attendants, #Twelve Years With Sri Aurobindo, #Nirodbaran, #Integral Yoga
  At another time he is like a press reporter: bubbling with news gathered from all quarters, particularly from the Town. He arrives and Sri Aurobindo, looking at him, asks, "Any news?" Then the talks begin. Sometimes Purani is late and the Master enquires, "Where is Purani?"
  Often forgetting his gravity, Purani becomes a child and joins us in a plot, when there is nothing to talk about, to draw out Sri Aurobindo who might himself be waiting for the occasion. The ball is set rolling by Purani reporting for instance, "Nirod says that his mind is getting dull and stupid!" On other occasions he starts serious discussions on modern painting, modern poetry, philosophy, politics, history, science and what not. There is hardly any subject on which he cannot say something a versatile man indeed, and a very interesting personality. Once in the evening the Guru and the shishya had a long talk, for more than an hour, on an old legal case (Bapat case?) that must have taken place during Sri Aurobindo's stay in Baroda, and must have been famous for Purani to remember it and discuss it with Sri Aurobindo. He was lying on one side and Purani was sitting on the floor leaning against a couch opposite. It had the air of a very homely talk, as between father and son. Anybody who had seen the Master only during the Darshan could never conceive of this Sri Aurobindo who had put off his mantle of majesty and high impersonality. I stood for a while to listen to the discussion, but found it so dull that I began wondering how they could drag on ad infinitum! It was Purani's versatility that enriched much in our talks with the Master. If, however, by any chance you stepped on his toes, the old lion growled and roared! But wherever Sri Aurobindo's interest was involved, he would not spare himself. The Guru's name acted on him like a Mantra. The Aurobindonians are ever grateful to him for his yeoman service in bringing out so many valuable documents on Sri Aurobindo's early life in England and for trying to get his genius recognised by the English intellectual circle.

1.08 - BOOK THE EIGHTH, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
  Unbar the gates, the Town with flames infest,
  Or any thing that Minos shou'd request.
  --
  Nor think themselves secure within the Town:
  'Till Meleagros, and his chosen crew,

1.08 - ON THE TREE ON THE MOUNTAINSIDE, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  mountains surrounding the Town which is called The
  Motley Cow-behold, on his walk he found this youth

1.09 - The Worship of Trees, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  mothers. In the Town of Qua, near Old Calabar, there used to grow a
  palm-tree which ensured conception to any barren woman who ate a nut

1.10 - Relics of Tree Worship in Modern Europe, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  At the Towns of Saffron Walden and Debden in Essex on the first of
  May little girls go about in parties from door to door singing a
  --
  in some parts of Germany. Thus in the Towns of the Upper Harz
  Mountains tall fir-trees, with the bark peeled off their lower
  --
  market-place of the Town. It had been chosen by the whole community,
  who watched over it most carefully. Generally the tree was stripped

1.11 - BOOK THE ELEVENTH, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
  First to the Town with travel spent, and care,
  Peleus, and his small company repair:
  --
  Still presses on, and urging gains the Town;
  So while th' invading billows come a-breast,

1.11 - Higher Laws, #Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience, #Henry David Thoreau, #Philosophy
  Such is oftenest the young mans introduction to the forest, and the most original part of himself. He goes thither at first as a hunter and fisher, until at last, if he has the seeds of a better life in him, he distinguishes his proper objects, as a poet or naturalist it may be, and leaves the gun and fish-pole behind. The mass of men are still and always young in this respect. In some countries a hunting parson is no uncommon sight. Such a one might make a good shepherds dog, but is far from being the Good Shepherd. I have been surprised to consider that the only obvious employment, except wood-chopping, ice-cutting, or the like business, which ever to my knowledge detained at Walden Pond for a whole half day any of my fellow-citizens, whether fathers or children of the Town, with just one exception, was fishing. Commonly they did not think that they were lucky, or well paid for their time, unless they got a long string of fish, though they had the opportunity of seeing the pond all the while. They might go there a thousand times before the sediment of fishing would sink to the bottom and leave their purpose pure; but no doubt such a clarifying process would be going on all the while. The governor and his council faintly remember the pond, for they went a-fishing there when they were boys; but now they are too old and dignified to go a-fishing, and so they know it no more forever.
  Yet even they expect to go to heaven at last. If the legislature regards it, it is chiefly to regulate the number of hooks to be used there; but they know nothing about the hook of hooks with which to angle for the pond itself, impaling the legislature for a bait. Thus, even in civilized communities, the embryo man passes through the hunter stage of development.

1.12 - BOOK THE TWELFTH, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
  The tenth shall in the Town's destruction end.
  The serpent, who his maw obscene had fill'd,
  --
  Some thought him loth the Town should be destroy'd,
  Whose building had his hands divine employ'd:
  --
  The Grecian fleet descending on the Town.
  Fix'd on defence, the Trojans are not slow

1.12 - Brute Neighbors, #Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience, #Henry David Thoreau, #Philosophy
  Sometimes I had a companion in my fishing, who came through the village to my house from the other side of the Town, and the catching of the dinner was as much a social exercise as the eating of it.
  _Hermit._ I wonder what the world is doing now. I have not heard so much as a locust over the sweet-fern these three hours. The pigeons are all asleep upon their roosts,no flutter from them. Was that a farmers noon horn which sounded from beyond the woods just now? The hands are coming in to boiled salt beef and cider and Indian bread. Why will men worry themselves so? He that does not eat need not work. I wonder how much they have reaped. Who would live there where a body can never think for the barking of Bose? And O, the housekeeping! to keep bright the devils door-knobs, and scour his tubs this bright day! Better not keep a house. Say, some hollow tree; and then for morning calls and dinner-parties! Only a woodpecker tapping. O, they swarm; the sun is too warm there; they are born too far into life for me. I have water from the spring, and a loaf of brown bread on the shelf.Hark! I hear a rustling of the leaves. Is it some ill-fed village hound yielding to the instinct of the chase? or the lost pig which is said to be in these woods, whose tracks I saw after the rain? It comes on apace; my sumachs and sweet-briers tremble.Eh, Mr. Poet, is it you? How do you like the world to-day?

1.12 - GARDEN, #Faust, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
  A house, a little garden near the Town.
  But now my days have less of noise and hurry;

1.12 - God Departs, #Twelve Years With Sri Aurobindo, #Nirodbaran, #Integral Yoga
  Before this, for four days, the disciples, the people of the Town, Ashram employees had the unique Darshan and paid their homage. Bhaktas had come from different parts of India for the benediction of the last Darshan of the Guru. Many of them felt the room surcharged with peace, force, light or bliss. Some saw Sn Aurobindo sitting on the bed and saying, "I am here, I am here!" as if to falsify Nature's decree. Dilip happened to be away. On receiving the news, he arrived posthaste and utterly broke down. The Mother tenderly consoled and assured him, "How can I not love someone whom Sri Aurobindo loved? What do you think we are here for? Only to please Sri Aurobindo." He told me, "You don't know, Nirod, what I have lost." Amal Kiran too was not there. He had just left on the night of 3rd December for Bombay after meeting the Mother. He flew back as soon as he got the news. He was in the Ashram on the morning of the 6th. He has written in his reminiscences entitled The Grace of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother:
  "I who had depended so much on Sri Aurobindo in all my writing work when he had woken to inspiration the labouring poet, stirred to literary insight the fumbling critic, shaped out of absolute nothing the political commentator I who had almost every day despatched to him some piece of writing for consideration felt a void at the thought that he would not be in that room of his, listening so patiently to my poetry or prose and sending me by letter or telegram his precious guidance. A fellow-sadhak, Udar, spoke to the Mother about my plight. On December 12, the inmates of the Ashram met her again and each received from her hands a photograph of Sri Aurobindo taken after his passing. It was dusk, as far as I recollect. She must have seen a certain helplessness on my face. Smiling as she alone can do, she looked me in the eyes and said, 'Nothing has changed. Call for inspiration and help as you have always done. You will get everything from Sri Aurobindo as before.'"

1.12 - The Sacred Marriage, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  bank of the river Asopus and back to the Town, attended by a piping
  and dancing crowd. Every sixty years the festival of the Great

1.13 - BOOK THE THIRTEENTH, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
  They skulk'd within the Town, we kept the field.
  War seem'd asleep for nine long years; at length
  --
  Despair'd to take the Town, and order'd to remove.
  What subject durst arraign the Pow'r supream,
  --
  And how to take the Town, and where the secret lay:
  Yet this I compass'd, and from Troy convey'd
  --
  Enter the Town, I then unbarr'd the gates,
  When I remov'd their tutelary Fates.
  --
  Orion's daughters in the Town were seen;
  One heav'd her chest to meet the lifted knife,

1.15 - LAST VISIT TO KESHAB, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
  At this moment Keshab entered the room. He came through the east door. Those who remembered the man who had preached in the Town Hall or the Brahmo Samaj temple were shocked to see this skeleton covered with skin. He could hardly stand. He walked holding to the wall for support. With great difficulty he sat down in front of the couch.
  In the mean time Sri Ramakrishna had got down from the couch and was sitting on the floor. Keshab bowed low before the Master and remained in that position a long time, touching the Master's feet with his forehead. Then he sat up. Sri Ramakrishna was still in a state of ecstasy. He muttered to himself. He talked to the Divine Mother.

1.17 - The Burden of Royalty, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  sacrifices on behalf of the Town to the dead and to demons.
  Nominally his power is very great, but in practice it is very
  --
  highway. He may not eat while a corpse is in the Town, and he may
  not mourn for the dead. If he dies while in office, he must be

1.18 - The Perils of the Soul, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  carry the branch back to the Town, insinuating by their gestures
  that the burden is heavy and hard to bear. When the branch has been

1.19 - NIGHT, #Faust, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
  Thou'rt also free to all the Town.
  When Shame is born and first appears,

1.19 - Tabooed Acts, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  now free to take up their quarters in the Town for as long as they
  choose to remain.
  --
  out of his house into the Town unless a human sacrifice is made to
  propitiate the gods: on this account he never goes out beyond the

1.22 - ON THE GIFT-GIVING VIRTUE, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  When Zarathustra had said farewell to the Town to
  which his heart was attached, and which was named

1.23 - DREARY DAY, #Faust, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
  that the guilt of blood, from thy hand, still lies upon the Town!
  Avenging spirits hover over the spot where the victim fell, and

1.240 - 1.300 Talks, #Talks, #Sri Ramana Maharshi, #Hinduism
  The roof was pulled down and the walls demolished to get rid of the mud which harboured the ants. Sri Bhagavan saw that the hollows protected by stones were made into towns. These were skirted by walls plastered black, and there were roads to neighbouring cities which were also similarly skirted with black plastered walls. The roads were indicated by these walls. The interior of the Town contained holes in which ants used to live. The whole wall was thus tenanted by white ants which ravaged the roofing materials above.
  Sri Bhagavan had also watched a spider making its web and described it. It is seen in one place, then in another place, again in a third place. The fibre is fixed at all these points. The spider moves along it, descends, ascends and goes round and round and the web is finished. It is geometrical. The net is spread out in the morning and rolled up in the evening.
  --
  Sri Bhagavan told him: "Go this way", pointing the footpath towards the Town. "You will find the stray sheep on the way". So he did and found the lost sheep with two little lambs.
  271

1.240 - Talks 2, #Talks, #Sri Ramana Maharshi, #Hinduism
  The roof was pulled down and the walls demolished to get rid of the mud which harboured the ants. Sri Bhagavan saw that the hollows protected by stones were made into towns. These were skirted by walls plastered black, and there were roads to neighbouring cities which were also similarly skirted with black plastered walls. The roads were indicated by these walls. The interior of the Town contained holes in which ants used to live. The whole wall was thus tenanted by white ants which ravaged the roofing materials above.
  Sri Bhagavan had also watched a spider making its web and described it. It is seen in one place, then in another place, again in a third place. The fibre is fixed at all these points. The spider moves along it, descends, ascends and goes round and round and the web is finished. It is geometrical. The net is spread out in the morning and rolled up in the evening.
  --
  Sri Bhagavan told him: Go this way, pointing the footpath towards the Town. You will find the stray sheep on the way. So he did and found the lost sheep with two little lambs.
  He now says, What a Bhagavan is this! Look at the force of his words! He is great! He never forgets even a poor man like me. He remembers my son Manikkam also with kindness. Such are the great ones! I am happy when I do any little work for Him, such as looking to the cows when they are in heat.
  --
  Talks with Sri Ramana Maharshi to hold in its trunk. The trunk of the elephant is usually restless. It puts it out in all directions when taken out in the streets of the Town.
  If given a chain to carry the restlessness is checked. Similarly with the restless mind. If made to engage in japa or dhyana, other thoughts are warded off: and the mind concentrates on a single thought. It thus becomes peaceful. It does not mean that peace is gained without a prolonged struggle. The other thoughts must be fought out.

1.24 - The Killing of the Divine King, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  who is elected by the big men of the Town as follows. When in the
  opinion of the big men the king has reigned long enough, they give

1.25 - Fascinations, Invisibility, Levitation, Transmutations, Kinks in Time, #Magick Without Tears, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
  In certain types of animal there appears, if tradition have any weight, to be a curious quality of sympathy? I doubt if that be the word, but can think of none better which enables them to assume at times the human form. No. 1 and the rest are also rans is the seal. There is a whole body of literature about this. Then come wolves, hyaenas, large dogs of the hunting type; occasionally leopards. Tales of cats and serpents are usually the other way round; it is the human (nearly always female) that assumes these shapes by witchcraft. But in ancient Egypt they literally doted on this sort of thing. The papyri are full of formulas for operating such transmutations. But I think that this was mostly to afford some relaxation for the spirit of the dead man; he nipped out of his sarcophagus, and painted the Town all the colours of the rainbow in one animal shape or another.
  The only experience I have of anything of this sort was when I was in Pacific waters, mostly at Honolulu or in Nippon. I was practising Astral projection. A sister of the Order who lived in Hong Kong helped me. I was to visit her, and the token of perfect success was to be that I should knock a vase off the mantel-piece. We appointed certain days and hours with some awkwardness, as my time-distance from her was constantly growing shorter for me to pay my visit. We got some remarkable results; our records of the interview used to tally with surprising accuracy; but the vase remained intact!

1.25 - Temporary Kings, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  stay outside the Town he is visited by the real sultan, who grants
  him his request and gives him seven more days to reign, so that the
  --
  back to the Town by night. This temporary sultanship always falls in
  spring, about the beginning of April. Its origin is said to have
  --
  On "little Easter Sunday" the freeholders of the Town and manor
  assembled together, either in person or by their deputies, and one

1.26 - Sacrifice of the Kings Son, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  Spartans at Thermopylae, he came to the Town of Alus. Here he was
  shown the sanctuary of Laphystian Zeus, about which his guides told
  --
  act of entering the Town-hall were wreathed as victims, led forth in
  procession, and sacrificed. These instances appear to have been
  --
  foot in the Town-hall where the sacrifices were offered to
  Laphystian Zeus by one of his kinsmen. But if he were rash enough to

1.28 - The Killing of the Tree-Spirit, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  as the _Radica._ About four o'clock in the afternoon the Town band,
  playing lively tunes and followed by a great crowd, proceeds to the
  --
  borne through the Town by a troop of mummers in the course of the
  afternoon. When evening comes on, four of the mummers hold out a
  --
  whom the urchins and all the tag-rag and bobtail of the Town
  mustered in great force, the figure was carried about by the
  --
  At Tabor in Bohemia the figure of Death is carried out of the Town
  and flung from a high rock into the water, while they sing--
  --
  Thus in the Towns of Sweden on May Day two troops of young men on
  horseback used to meet as if for mortal combat. One of them was led
  --
  carried out of the Town, followed by women chanting dirges and
  expressing by their gestures grief and despair. In the open fields a

1.300 - 1.400 Talks, #Talks, #Sri Ramana Maharshi, #Hinduism
  Talks with Sri Ramana Maharshi to hold in its trunk. The trunk of the elephant is usually restless. It puts it out in all directions when taken out in the streets of the Town.
  If given a chain to carry the restlessness is checked. Similarly with the restless mind. If made to engage in japa or dhyana, other thoughts are warded off: and the mind concentrates on a single thought. It thus becomes peaceful. It does not mean that peace is gained without a prolonged struggle. The other thoughts must be fought out.

1.39 - Prophecy, #Magick Without Tears, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
  I hope you are not getting the idea that my Prophetic ambit is limited to these high-falutin' metaphysical masterpieces of Runic Lore. In case you do, I now propose to break your "seven green withs that were never dried" altogether, Delilah; for I shall keep my hair on. I shall go forth to war! From 1920 to 1923 my abode for a season was the house called the Horsel of the Abbey of Thelema that lieth upon Santa Barbara, overlooking the Town of Telepylus see Homer and Samuel Butler II, but called later by the Romans Cephaloedium, and now Cefal. There did I toil to expand my little Part III of Book 4 to the portentous volume now more generally known as Magick in Theory and Practice. After numerous misadventures, it was published in 1928.[78]
  I refer you to that book, page 96.

1.39 - The Ritual of Osiris, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  from which the Towns and villages, built on higher ground, rise like
  islands. For about a month the flood remains nearly stationary, then

1.439, #Talks, #Sri Ramana Maharshi, #Hinduism
  Talks with Sri Ramana Maharshi free from greed or attachment of any kind. He had earned some money by service in the Straits Settlements and deposited his small savings with someone in the Town from whom he used to draw in his emergencies. He was offered a comfortable living in his native village which he refused and continued to live with Sri Bhagavan till the end.
  Ayyasami had worked under a European in South Africa and was clean, active and capable. He could manage even ten asramams at a time. He was also free from any attachment or greed. He was loyal to
  --
  He was once on his way to Vettavalam, moving on his buttocks. An old man suddenly appeared before him and said Get up and walk. Why do you move on your buttocks? Kuppu Iyer was excited and beside himself. Involuntarily he rose up and walked freely. After going a short distance, he looked behind to see the stranger who made him walk. But he could not find anyone. He narrated the incident to all those who were surprised to see him walk. Any old man in the Town can bear witness to
  Kuppu Iyer regaining the use of his legs.
  --
  Some teachers who attended the Teachers Guild meeting in the Town
  came on a visit to the hall. One of them asked Sri Bhagavan: I seem

1.450 - 1.500 Talks, #Talks, #Sri Ramana Maharshi, #Hinduism
  Talks with Sri Ramana Maharshi free from greed or attachment of any kind. He had earned some money by service in the Straits Settlements and deposited his small savings with someone in the Town from whom he used to draw in his emergencies. He was offered a comfortable living in his native village which he refused and continued to live with Sri Bhagavan till the end.
  Ayyasami had worked under a European in South Africa and was clean, active and capable. He could manage even ten asramams at a time. He was also free from any attachment or greed. He was loyal to
  --
  He was once on his way to Vettavalam, moving on his buttocks. An old man suddenly appeared before him and said "Get up and walk. Why do you move on your buttocks?" Kuppu Iyer was excited and beside himself. Involuntarily he rose up and walked freely. After going a short distance, he looked behind to see the stranger who made him walk. But he could not find anyone. He narrated the incident to all those who were surprised to see him walk. Any old man in the Town can bear witness to
  Kuppu Iyer regaining the use of his legs.

1.45 - The Corn-Mother and the Corn-Maiden in Northern Europe, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  obligation of "providing for the dearth of the Township" in the
  ensuing season. Similarly we saw that in Pembrokeshire, where the

1.50 - Eating the God, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  sometimes clear a space outside of the Town, where they erect a
  number of low mounds and cover them with as many little clay figures
  --
  make assurance doubly sure the road into the Town is barricaded
  against him.

1.54 - Types of Animal Sacrament, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  people of the street Saint Jean used to go out of the Town armed
  with sticks, with which they beat the bushes, looking for wrens. The
  --
  they returned to the Town in procession, headed by the King, who
  carried the wren on a pole. On the evening of the last day of the
  --
  streets of the Town to the light of torches, with drums beating and
  fifes playing in front of them. At the door of every house they

1.55 - The Transference of Evil, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  camel through all the quarters of the Town in order that the animal
  may take the pestilence on itself. Then they strangle it in a sacred

1.56 - The Public Expulsion of Evils, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  escape by a gate of the Town or village; the people stream out after
  them, pursue them for some distance into the forest, and warn them
  --
  proper means, so they say, to expel from the Town or village the
  devils and evil spirits which cause, induce, and import all the
  --
  of the Town, they all return. In this way he is expelled from more
  than a hundred towns at the same time. To make sure that he does not
  --
  spirit, Abonsam, out of the Town has taken place. As soon as the
  eight o'clock gun fired in the fort the people began firing muskets
  --
  noise, in order to drive him out of the Town into the sea. The
  custom is preceded by four weeks' dead silence; no gun is allowed to
  --
  make a noise in the Town, they are immediately taken before the king
  and fined heavily. If a dog or pig, sheep or goat be found at large
  --
  yams and be merry, therefore they must cleanse the Town and remove
  the evils. Accordingly the evil spirits, witches, and all the ills
  --
  the earth on various roads outside the Town. During the following
  night no fire may be lit and no food eaten. Next morning the women
  --
  ghosts and devils from the Town.

1.57 - Public Scapegoats, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  died since the last lustration of the Town. About three weeks or a
  month before the expulsion, which according to one account takes
  --
  about and paraded through the streets of the Town or city of the
  Sovereign who would sacrifice him for the well-being of his

1.58 - Human Scapegoats in Classical Antiquity, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  kind was performed by the chief magistrate at the Town Hall, and by
  each householder at his own home. It was called the "expulsion of
  --
  magistrate of his native town he performed this ceremony at the Town
  Hall, and he has recorded the discussion to which the custom

1.62 - The Fire-Festivals of Europe, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  a mountain which overhangs the Town. The discs were discharged by
  means of flexible rods, and in their flight through the darkness
  --
  kindled in the streets and squares of the Towns and villages on the
  Eve of St. John (Midsummer Eve); formerly the Grand Master of the

1.64 - The Burning of Human Beings in the Fires, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  by the carrying of a giant and a dragon up and down the Town. The
  last survivor of these perambulating English giants lingered at
  --
  attire, pour forth from the Town chanting hymns, and take up their
  position around the column. Meanwhile, bonfires are lit, with
  --
  at it and partook of the banquet afterwards in the Town hall. But
  this was the last occasion when a monarch presided at the midsummer

1951-03-17 - The universe- eternally new, same - Pralaya Traditions - Light and thought - new consciousness, forces - The expanding universe - inexpressible experiences - Ashram surcharged with Light - new force - vibrating atmospheres, #Questions And Answers 1950-1951, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   I had the contrary experience also, the first time that I went out in a car after many, many years here. When I reached a little beyond the lake, I felt all of a sudden that the atmosphere was changing; where there had been plenitude, energy, light and force, all that diminished, diminished and then nothing. I was not in a mental or vital consciousness, I was in an absolutely physical consciousness. Well, those who are sensitive in their physical consciousness ought to feel that quite concretely. And I can assure you that the area we call the Ashram has a condensation of force which is not at all the same as that of the Town, and still less that of the countryside.
   So, I ask you: this kind of condensation of force (which gives you quite a special vibration of consciousness), who is there that is really conscious of it? Many among you feel it vaguely, I know, even people from outside feel it vaguely; they get an impression, they speak of it, but the precise consciousness, the scientific consciousness which could give you the exact measure of it, who has that? Im not alluding to anyone in particular, each one can look into himself. And this, this condensation here is only a far-off reflection of the supramental force. So when this supramental force will be installed here definitively, how long will it take for people to perceive that it is there? And that it changes everything, do you understand? And when I say that the mind cannot judge, it is on facts like these that I base myself the mind is not an instrument of knowledge, it cannot know. A scientist can tell you the proportion of the different components in any particular atmosphere, he analyses it. But as for this proportion here, who can give it? Who can say: There is such a vibration, such a proportion of this, such a proportion of that, such a proportion of the supramental? put the question to you so that you may ponder over it.

1953-07-22, #Questions And Answers 1953, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   I was in Japan. It was at the beginning of January 1919. Anyway, it was the time when a terrible flu raged there in the whole of Japan, which killed hundreds of thousands of people. It was one of those epidemics the like of which is rarely seen. In Tokyo, every day there were hundreds and hundreds of new cases. The disease appeared to take this turn: it lasted three days and on the third day the patient died. And people died in such large numbers that they could not even be cremated, you understand, it was impossible, there were too many of them. Or otherwise, if one did not die on the third day, at the end of seven days one was altogether cured; a little exhausted but all the same completely cured. There was a panic in the Town, for epidemics are very rare in Japan. They are a very clean people, very careful and with a fine morale. Illnesses are very rare. But still this came, it came as a catastrophe. There was a terrible fear. For example, people were seen walking about in the streets with a mask on the nose, a mask to purify the air they were breathing, so that it might not be full of the microbes of the illness. It was a common fear. Now, it so happened I was living with someone who never ceased troubling me: But what is this disease? What is there behind this disease? What I was doing, you know, was simply to cover myself with my force, my protection so as not to catch it and I did not think of it any more and continued doing my work. Nothing happened and I was not thinking of it. But constantly I heard: What is this? Oh, I would like to know what is there behind this illness. But could you not tell me what this illness is, why it is there? etc. One day I was called to the other end of the Town by a young woman whom I knew and who wished to introduce me to some friends and show me certain things. I do not remember now what exactly was the matter, but anyway I had to cross the whole town in a tram-car. And I was in the tram and seeing these people with masks on their noses, and then there was in the atmosphere this constant fear, and so there came a suggestion to me; I began to ask myself: Truly, what is this illness? What is there behind this illness? What are the forces that are in this illness? I came to the house, I passed an hour there and I returned. And I returned with a terrible fever. I had caught it. It came to you thus, without preparation, instantaneously. Illnesses, generally illnesses from germs and microbes take a few days in the system: they come, there is a little battle inside; you win or you lose, if you lose you catch the illness, it is not complicated. But there, you just receive a letter, open the envelope, hop! puff! The next minute you have the fever. Well, that evening I had a terrible fever. The doctor was called (it was not I who called him), the doctor was called and he told me: I must absolutely give you this medicine. It was one of the best medicines for the fever, he had just a little (all their stocks were exhausted, everyone was taking it); he said: I have still a few packets, I shall give you some I beg of you, do not give it to me, I wont take it. Keep it for someone who has faith in it and will take it. He was quite disgusted: It was no use my coming here. So I said: Perhaps it was no use! And I remained in my bed, with my fever, a violent fever. All the while I was asking myself: What is this illness? Why is it there? What is there behind it At the end of the second day, as I was lying all alone, I saw clearly a being, with a part of the head cut off, in a military uniform (or the remains of a military uniform) approaching me and suddenly flinging himself upon my chest, with that half a head to suck my force. I took a good look, then realised that I was about to die. He was drawing all my life out (for I must tell you that people were dying of pneumonia in three days). I was completely nailed to the bed, without movement, in a deep trance. I could no longer stir and he was pulling. I thought: now it is the end. Then I called on my occult power, I gave a big fight and I succeeded in turning him back so that he could not stay there any longer. And I woke up.
   But I had seen. And I had learnt, I had understood that the illness originated from beings who had been thrown out of their bodies. I had seen this during the First Great War, towards its end, when people used to live in trenches and were killed by bombardment. They were in perfect health, altogether healthy and in a second they were thrown out of their bodies, not conscious that they were dead. They did not know they hadnt a body any more and they tried to find in others the life they could not find in themselves. That is, they were turned into so many countless vampires. And they vampirised upon men. And then over and above that, there was a decomposition of the vital forces of people who fell ill and died. One lived in a kind of sticky and thick cloud made up of all that. And so those who took in this cloud fell ill and usually got cured, but those who were attacked by a being of that kind invariably died, they could not resist. I know how much knowledge and force were necessary for me to resist. It was irresistible. That is, if they were attacked by a being who was a centre of this whirl of bad forces, they died. And there must have been many of these, a very great number. I saw all that and I understood.
   When someone came to see me, I asked to be left alone, I lay quietly in my bed and I passed two or three days absolutely quiet, in concentration, with my consciousness. Subsequently, a friend of ours (a Japanese, a very good friend) came and told me: Ah! you were ill? So what I thought was true. Just imagine for the last two or three days, there hasnt been a single new case of illness in the Town and most of the people who were ill have been cured and the number of deaths has become almost negligible, and now it is all over. The illness is wholly under control. Then I narrated what had happened to me and he went and narrated it to everybody. They even published articles about it in the papers.
   Well, consciousness, to be sure, is more effective than doctors pills! The condition was critical. Just imagine, there were entire villages where everyone had died. There was a village in Japan, not very big, but still with more than a hundred people, and it happened, by some extraordinary stroke of luck, that one of the villagers was to receive a letter (the postman went there only if there was a letter; naturally, it was a village far in the countryside); so he went to the countryside; there was a snowfall; the whole village was under snow and there was not a living person. It was exactly so. It was that kind of epidemic. And Tokyo was also like that; but Tokyo was a big town and things did not happen in the same fashion. And it was in this way the epidemic ended. That is my story.

1957-03-15 - Reminiscences of Tlemcen, #Questions And Answers 1957-1958, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  Another time and this is even more amusing But first I shall tell you a little about Tlemcen, which you probably dont know. Tlemcen is a small town in southern Algeria, almost on the borders of the Sahara. the Town itself is built in the valley which is surrounded by a circle of mountains, not very high but nevertheless higher than hills. And the valley is very fertile, verdurous, magnificent. The population there is mainly Arabs and rich merchants; indeed, the city is very prosperousit was, for I dont know what it is like now; I am speaking to you about things that happened at the beginning of this century there were very prosperous merchants there and from time to time these Arabs came to pay a visit to Monsieur X. They knew nothing, understood nothing, but they were very interested.
  One day, towards evening, one of these people arrived and started asking questions, ludicrous ones besides. Then Madame X said to me, You will see, we are going to have a little fun. In the verandah of the house there was a big dining-table, a very large table, like that, quite wide, with eight legs, four on each side. It was really massive, and heavy. Chairs had been arranged to receive this man, at a little distance from the table. He was at one end, Madame X at the other; I was seated on one side, Monsieur X also. All four of us were there. Nobody was near the table, all of us were at a distance from it. And so, he was asking questions, as I said rather ludicrous ones, on the powers one could have and what could be done with what he called magic. She looked at me and said nothing but sat very still. Suddenly I heard a cry, a cry of terror. The table started moving and with an almost heroic gesture went to attack the poor man seated at the other end! It went and bumped against him. Madame X had not touched it, nobody had touched it. She had only concentrated on the table and by her vital power had made it move. At first the table had wobbled a little, then had started moving slowly, then suddenly, as in one bound, it flung itself on that man, who went away and never came back!

1f.lovecraft - A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Credit; for what all the Town is sensible of, is no great Discovery for
   a Grub-Street Critick to make. You might as well say, you have a strong

1f.lovecraft - At the Mountains of Madness, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   left, where the ancient river had doubtless flowed through the Town
   into the mountains.
  --
   the Town was unusually steep and abrupt, and a rock outcropping at the
   edge where the grade changed led us to think that an artificial terrace

1f.lovecraft - Discarded Draft of, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   old duck, though, and sticks pretty close around the Town. Hes the
   grandson of Capt. Obed Marsh, who founded the business. His mother was
  --
   except that the Town was founded in 1643, noted for shipbuilding before
   the Revolution, a seat of great marine prosperity in the early
  --
   Portuguese on the southern fringe of the Town. Local finances were very
   bad, and but for the Marsh factory the place would have been bankrupt.

1f.lovecraft - He, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the Town; and in the hours before dawn, when all the revellers had
   slunk away, I used to wander alone among their cryptical windings and

1f.lovecraft - Herbert West-Reanimator, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the morning before in Sumners Pond, and buried at the Towns expense
   without delay or embalming. That afternoon we found the new grave, and
  --
   the Town. Though not as yet licenced physicians, we now had our
   degrees, and were pressed frantically into public service as the
  --
   some business with the Bolton Worsted Mills. The walk through the Town
   had been long, and by the time the traveller paused at our cottage to

1f.lovecraft - Ibid, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the Town pump. However, he had not been wholly unaffected by the
   Restoration influence; and having become addicted to gaming, lost the
  --
   It was in the house of Dexter, in the northern part of the Town near
   the present intersection of North Main and Olney Streets, on the

1f.lovecraft - Medusas Coil, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   realised that I must have directions if I expected to reach the Town
   before night. I did not care to be wandering about these bleak southern
  --
   attitudes and painting the Town red.
   But of course there were lots of fellows who were on a sort of

1f.lovecraft - Pickmans Model, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   studio instead of carting his outfit around the Town for this or that
   view. He thought a photograph quite as good as an actual scene or model

1f.lovecraft - Polaris, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   fire which would warn the waiting soldiers and save the Town from
   immediate disaster.

1f.lovecraft - Sweet Ermengarde, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   played last week at the Town Hall!
   And so he went down to the settlement, apologised to Ermengarde, let

1f.lovecraft - The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   that the Town had long ago overtaken, and on toward the stately
   colleges along the shady, sumptuous street, whose old square brick
  --
   the Town Street, in what later became Olney Court; and in 1761 he
   replaced this with a larger one, on the same site, which is still
  --
   the Townsfolk; and they were prone to assign other reasons for his
   continued youth and longevity. It was held, for the most part, that
  --
   life of the Town, he had naturally made acquaintances of the better
   sort, whose company and conversation he was well fitted by education to
  --
   from Newport to the Town which was so rapidly overtaking it in
   standing, and built a fine country seat on the Neck in what is now the
  --
   It was near the docks along the southerly part of the Town Street,
   however, that the worst things were muttered about Joseph Curwen.
  --
   virtual monopoly of the Towns trade in saltpetre, black pepper, and
   cinnamon, and easily led any other one shipping establishment save the
  --
   patch up his relations with the Townsfolk of Providence, so that his
   presence might no longer be a signal for hushed conversation,
  --
   distinguished assemblages which the Town could boast; the ceremony
   being performed by the younger Samuel Winsor. The Gazette mentioned the
  --
   the Town, which was then much below the level of Newport in its
   patronage of the liberal arts. He had helped Daniel Jenckes found his
  --
   warehouses at the Town Street docks, soon felt assured that it was not
   merely His Majestys armed ships which the sinister skulker was anxious
  --
   not conceivably have been destined for anyone else in the Town. As if
   conscious of this natural belief, Curwen took care to speak casually on
  --
   other hand was sufficiently influential in the Town to be heard in turn
   with respect. The colloquy took place in an upper room of Sabins
  --
   tremendously impressed. Like nearly everyone else in the Town, he had
   had black suspicions of his own anent Joseph Curwen; hence it needed
  --
   probably be essential in any case, for this was no matter that the Town
   constables or militia could cope with; and above all else the excitable
  --
   menace to the welfare of the Town and Colony; and must be eliminated at
   any cost. Late in December 1770 a group of eminent townsmen met at the
  --
   near the Town. Weeden smiled grimly, and as a perfunctory detail traced
   the footprints back to their source. It was the Pawtuxet farm of Joseph
  --
   His coach was seen at all hours in the Town and on the Pawtuxet Road,
   and he dropped little by little the air of forced geniality with which
   he had latterly sought to combat the Towns prejudice. The nearest
   neighbours to his farm, the Fenners, one night remarked a great shaft

1f.lovecraft - The Colour out of Space, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   his tale was all a freak of madness as the Townfolk had forewarned.
   Something terrible came to the hills and valleys on that meteor, and

1f.lovecraft - The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   unknown shore, and the Townsfolk dreaded to see it dock. The mouths of
   the men who came from it to trade were too wide, and the way their
  --
   the south wind drove into the Town. Uneasiness rustled through the
   taverns along that waterfront, and after a while the dark wide-mouthed
  --
   all through the Town were stationed slaves bearing torches.
   In a detestable square a sort of procession was formed; ten of the
  --
   infamous ways. Most of the Townsfolk believed him; yet so fond were the
   jewellers of great rubies that none would wholly promise to cease
  --
   on the shore of Yath where the rear of the Town slopes down to it; and
   his wife and servants brought strange toothsome foods for the
  --
   rose the green gentle hills behind the Town, with their groves and
   gardens of asphodels and the small shrines and cottages upon them; and
  --
   After that the captain took Carter to the north quarter of the Town,
   near the Gate of the Caravans, where are the taverns of the
  --
   whirring night-gaunts which swarmed over the Town like a flock of
   horned and Cyclopean bats.
  --
   impressive to watch the dense cloud of them spreading through the Town
   and up the winding roadway to the reaches above. Sometimes a group of
  --
   headlands while still the Town was a chaos of battle and conquest.
   The Pickman ghoul allowed several hours for the night-gaunts to make up
  --
   invasion of the Town and give the alarm to the monstrous things below.
   Fortunately the ghouls still bore the spears and javelins which Carter
  --
   in the Town. The first two at once scrambled up the rocks in their
   respective directions, while the third was subdivided into a land party
  --
   more acutely near the Town.
   Meanwhile the frightful detachments of the moon-beasts and
  --
   reinforcements for this front from the party in the Town, and these had
   helped greatly in the earlier stages of the combat. Then, when the
  --
   great basalt cliff behind the Town was cleared, and the cold, sterile
   table-land of Lengs outskirts laid open to sight. Still higher flew
  --
   stars, or lean over pale balustrades to gaze at the Towns steep
   northward slopes, where one by one the little windows in old peaked

1f.lovecraft - The Dreams in the Witch House, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  haunted the mouldering structure and the Town and nuzzled people
  curiously in the black hours before dawn, he resolved to live in the
  --
  bridge and into the shelter of the Town's labyrinthine waterfront
  alleys. Distant though the island was, he felt that a monstrous and
  --
  the following June. He found the spectral gossip of the Town much
  diminished, and it is indeed a fact that-notwithstanding certain

1f.lovecraft - The Dunwich Horror, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Dunwich horror of 1928 was hushed up by those who had the Towns and
   the worlds welfare at heartpeople shun it without knowing exactly
  --
   It was in the Township of Dunwich, in a large and partly inhabited
   farmhouse set against a hillside four miles from the village and a mile

1f.lovecraft - The Evil Clergyman, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   where I was, but cannot recall what I then knew. Certainly the Town was
   not London. My impression is of a small seaport.

1f.lovecraft - The Festival, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   I had seen maps of the Town, and knew where to find the home of my
   people. It was told that I should be known and welcomed, for village
  --
   happy the Town at night whose wizards are all ashes. For it is of
   old rumour that the soul of the devil-bought hastes not from his

1f.lovecraft - The Horror at Red Hook, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   nothing to Suydam, and he had come to mean less and less to the Town.
   Elderly people still pointed him out on the streets, but to most of the

1f.lovecraft - The Horror in the Burying-Ground, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   of the people have drifted to the Towns across the distant river or to
   the city beyond the distant hills. The steeple of the old white church
  --
   the Townsfolk and visitors, though he tended to spoil that impression
   by his boastful and tasteless talk. Whenever he administered to his
  --
   constable, had to take him back to the Town farm by force, and his
   screams waked dreadful echoes.
  --
   the window where theyd locked him up at the Town farmeven if
   Constable Blake says he didnt get out that night. From that day to

1f.lovecraft - The Last Test, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the Town like a fog from the bay. Reporters trained in the doctrine of
   sensation first used their imagination without restraint, and gloried

1f.lovecraft - The Loved Dead, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the Townsfolk were so intent upon the ceremony that the radical change
   in my demeanor passed unnoticed by all save my father and my mother;
  --
   the Town itself. A mere handful of the houses were occupied, but among
   these was the one I had once called home. The tangled, weed-choked

1f.lovecraft - The Mound, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the Town. Answering the anxious hail, I restored the manuscript to its
   strange cylinderto which the disc around my neck still clung until I
  --
   that, besides the Towns, several similarly glittering structures of a
   more isolated sort were scattered here and there along the road and
  --
   smoke or other signs of life could be discerned about any of the Towns
   or buildings. Finally Zamacona saw that the plain was not infinite in
  --
   thisespecially the glittering of certain pinnacles in the Townshad
   become very vivid when Zamacona pitched his second camp amidst the

1f.lovecraft - The Night Ocean, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   below the Town. Why this unbuilt stretch existed, I could not imagine;
   since many dwellings straggled along the northward coast, facing the
  --
   The noisy, yellow streets of the Town, with their curiously unreal
   activity, were very far away, and when I went there for my evening meal
  --
   the Town and my no-longer-to-be-seen house. As the universal grey
   became spotted with a carrion purplecuriously brilliant despite its
  --
   I approached the Town, sickened by the presence of such an object
   amidst the apparent beauty of the clean beach, though it was horribly
  --
   The day was in late September, and the Town had closed the resorts
   where mad frivolity ruled empty, fear-haunted lives, and where raddled
  --
   there were not a hundred people left in the Town. Again the gaudy,
   stucco-fronted buildings lining the shore were permitted to crumble

1f.lovecraft - The Shadow over Innsmouth, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   say, except that the Town was founded in 1643, noted for shipbuilding
   before the Revolution, a seat of great marine prosperity in the early
  --
   and it soon came to be the greatest influence on the Town, replacing
   Freemasonry altogether and taking up headquarters in the old Masonic
  --
   people in the Town, but there now came signs of a sparse
   habitationcurtained windows here and there, and an occasional battered
  --
   since entering the compact part of the Townand had I been in a
   steadier mood I would have found nothing whatever of terror in it.
  --
   extremity of the square near the river, an office of the Towns only
   industrythe Marsh Refining Company. There were perhaps ten people
  --
   and somewhat touched in the head, besides being the Town drunkard. He
   was a strange, furtive creature who constantly looked over his shoulder
  --
   were falling and competition was growing. Of course the Towns real
   business was the refinery, whose commercial office was on the square
  --
   my benefit a rough but ample and painstaking sketch map of the Towns
   salient features. After a moments study I felt sure that it would be
  --
   coach for Arkham. the Town, I could see, formed a significant and
   exaggerated example of communal decay; but being no sociologist I would
  --
   the Manuxet. the Town was getting more and more on my nerves, and I
   looked behind me furtively as I picked my way back over the tottering
  --
   than those near the centre of the Town; so that I was several times
   evilly reminded of something utterly fantastic which I could not quite
  --
   this aged witness to the Towns decay, with memories going back to the
   early days of ships and factories, was a lure that no amount of reason
  --
   unrest which joined with my earlier sense of loathing for the Town and
   its blight of intangible shadow.
  --
   the lethal mustiness blended hideously with the Towns general fishy
   odour and persistently focussed ones fancy on death and decay.
  --
   the Townsfolk really so resentful about curious visitors? Had my
   obvious sightseeing, with its frequent map-consultations, aroused
  --
   and escaping from the Town. One thing in my favour was the deserted and
   ruinous state of the abutting buildings, and the number of skylights
  --
   get quickly out of the Town Square region. My preference would be to
   avoid Paine, since the fire station there might be open all night.
  --
   activity in the Town, but I judged that the news of my escape from the
   Gilman had not yet spread. I would, of course, soon have to shift from
  --
   shapes swimming inward toward the Town; and even at my vast distance
   and in my single moment of perception I could tell that the bobbing
  --
   chance that the Townsfolk would not think of that; since its
   brier-choked desertion made it half-impassable, and the unlikeliest of
  --
   circled inland from the Town, something less tranquil arrested my
   notice and held me immobile for a second.
  --
   over the Town? It must have, I concluded, since I now began to hear
   shocking guttural murmurs from that hitherto silent direction. There

1f.lovecraft - The Shunned House, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the Town across the Great Bridge. There, in 1785, his son Dutee was
   born; and there the family dwelt till the encroachments of commerce
  --
   vexation when, in 1804, the Town council ordered him to fumigate the
   place with sulphur, tar, and gum camphor on account of the
  --
   great gale drove the waters of the bay over half the Town, and floated
   a tall sloop well up Westminster Street so that its masts almost tapped
  --
   beginning at the Town Street beside the river and extending up over the
   hill to a line roughly corresponding with the modern Hope Street. The
  --
   them to settle in the Town. Unpopularity had dogged them in East
   Greenwich, whither they had come in 1686, after the revocation of the
  --
   from the village down the bay, had moved the sympathy of the Town
   fathers. Here the strangers had been granted a haven; and the swarthy
  --
   the Roulets from the Town?
   I now visited the accursed place with increased frequency; studying the

1f.lovecraft - The Strange High House in the Mist, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   descend to the Town, where he loved to thread the narrow olden lanes up
   and down hill, and study the crazy tottering gables and odd pillared

1f.lovecraft - The Street, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   children, and the newcomers children, grew up. the Town was now a
   city, and one by one the cabins gave place to houses; simple, beautiful

1f.lovecraft - The Thing on the Doorstep, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   purchases made by the servants. And now the Town marshal of Chesuncook
   had wired of the draggled madman who stumbled out of the woods with
  --
   in a cell at the Town farm, vacillating between frenzy and apathy. He
   knew me at once, and began pouring out a meaningless, half-incoherent

1f.lovecraft - The Tree, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   from far Syracuse were glad that they rested snugly in the Town. They
   talked of their illustrious Tyrant, and of the splendour of his

1f.lovecraft - The Very Old Folk, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the Townsfolk were frightened, and had begged the presence of a cohort
   from Calagurris. It was the Terrible Season of the autumn, and the wild
  --
   which only rumour told of in the Towns. They were the very old folk who
   dwelt higher up in the hills and spoke a choppy language which the
  --
   visiting almost any nameless doom upon the Town, which after all was a
   Roman settlement and contained a great number of our citizens. The
  --
   characteristic. And everywhere horror brooded. the Town and country
   folk scarcely dared speak aloud, and the men of Libos entourage, who
  --
   danger to the Town and inhabitants of Pompelo was a real one, I could
   not from my studies doubt. I had read many scrolls out of Syria and
  --
   that cohort no record exists, but the Town at least was savedfor
   encyclopdias tell of the survival of Pompelo to this day, under the

1f.lovecraft - The Whisperer in Darkness, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   necessarily delivered to his house from the Townshend station either by
   official messenger or by a restored telephone serviceremoved any
  --
   I concluded, must be a summer transient in the Townshend region.
   Noyes climbed into the car beside me and started it at once. I was glad
  --
   atmospheric tensity made me feel disinclined to talk. the Town seemed
   very attractive in the afternoon sunlight as we swept up an incline and

1f.lovecraft - Two Black Bottles, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   time. It was whispered about the Town that Vanderhoof preached
   regularly in the church every Sunday morning, unaware that his
  --
   the Towns ill luck, but not a one dared lift a finger against him, or
   could even approach him without a tremor of fear. His name, as well as
  --
   out along a road leading to the outskirts of the Town.
   I had walked barely two minutes before I sighted the moor of which
  --
   the Town and its inhabitants. Crazed by his desires, he tried to bring
   the church under his spell, but the power of God was too strong.

1f.lovecraft - Under the Pyramids, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   various dens in the most lawless regions of the Townmostly northeast
   of the Ezbekiyehwhere he gathered one by one a select and formidable

1.fs - Archimedes, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
  The godlike art that girt the Town when all
  Rome's vengeance burst in thunder on the wall!"

1.fs - Count Eberhard, The Groaner Of Wurtembert. A War Song, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
     the Townsmen fled in random chance
     O'er mountain, vale, and flood.

1.fs - Pompeii And Herculaneum, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
  And built anew the Town of Dorian Hercules!
  House upon houseits silent halls once more

1.fs - The Lay Of The Bell, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
   While the gate the Town before
   Heavily swings with sullen roar!

1.fs - The Walk, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
   Hoping nature, long-lost in the Town's ashes, to find.
   Oh then open, ye walls, and set the captive at freedom

1.hs - The Essence of Grace, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
   English version by Thomas Rain Crowe Original Language Persian/Farsi Now that I have raised the glass of pure wine to my lips, The nightingale starts to sing! Go to the librarian and ask for the book of this bird's songs, and Then go out into the desert. Do you really need college to read this book? Break all your ties with people who profess to teach, and learn from the Pure Bird. From Pole to Pole the news of those sitting in quiet solitude is spreading. On the front page of the newspaper, the alcoholic Chancellor of the University Said: "Wine is illegal. It's even worse than living off charity." It's not important whether we drink Gallo or Mouton Cadet: drink up! And be happy, for whatever our Winebringer brings is the essence of grace. The stories of the greed and fantasies of all the so-called "wise ones" Remind me of the mat-weavers who tell tourists that each strand is a yarn of gold. Hafiz says: the Town's forger of false coins is also president of the city bank. So keep quiet, and hoard life's subtleties. A good wine is kept for drinking, never sold. [1512.jpg] -- from Drunk on the Wine of the Beloved: 100 Poems of Hafiz, by Thomas Rain Crowe <
1.jk - Teignmouth - Some Doggerel, Sent In A Letter To B. R. Haydon, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
  There were two brooks in and near Teignmouth -- one in Brimley Vale and the other in Coomb Vale (nothing to do with Coomb-in-Teign-Head on the Shaldon bank); but I never heard these called Arch Brook and Larch Brook. The "Wild word" of stanza 3 answers to any of the thick plantations of Little Haldon on the Exeter road, -- a down such as Keats describes -- furze and all. Newton Abbott or Newton Bushel, about six miles from Teignmouth, lies in a marshy situation enough, though the name of "the Marsh" has been appropriated to a spot near the Railway station. the Town still has, like most country towns of any consequence, a Market Street. Of the dykes, ditches, &c., of "the Barton" I can give no account, as I do not know to what particular manor-house and demesne the term was ever applied at Teignmouth.
  There is a touch of "local colour" in the white violets of stanza 6; for though primroses and violets are found in almost all parts of the country, white violets are not quite common about Teignmouth, but are to be found at Bishop's Teignton. It is a pity that this choice little bit of trifling should be disfigured by the false rhyme 'critics' and 'Prickets'. Keats does not seem to have been quite certain when he despatched his letter whether his "doggerel" had been written seriously or not; for he resumes prose with --

1.jk - The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies - A Faery Tale .. Unfinished, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
  To catch the treasure: "Best in all the Town!"
  He said, smack'd his moist lips, and gave a pleasant frown.

1.jk - Written In The Cottage Where Burns Was Born, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
  "I begin a letter to you because I am approaching Burns's cottage very fast. We have made continual enquiries from the time we left his tomb at Dumfries. His name, of course, is known all about: his great reputation among the plodding people is, 'that he wrote a good mony sensible things.' One of the pleasantest ways of annulling self is approaching such a shrine as the Cottage of Burns: we need not think of his misery -- that is all gone, bad luck to it! I shall look upon it hereafter with unmixed pleasure, as I do on my Stratford-upon-Avon day with Bailey. I shall fill this sheet for you in the Bardie's country, going no further than this, till I get to the Town of Ayr, which will be a nine miles walk to tea."'
  ~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895.

1.jr - Inner Wakefulness, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
   English version by Coleman Barks Original Language Persian/Farsi & Turkish This place is a dream only a sleeper considers it real then death comes like dawn and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief A man goes to sleep in the Town where he has always lived and he dreams he's living in another town in the dream he doesn't remember the Town he's sleeping in his bed in he believes the reality of the dream town the world is that kind of sleep Humankind is being led along an evolving course, through this migration of intelligences and though we seem to be sleeping there is an inner wakefulness, that directs the dream and that will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are [2090.jpg] -- from The Essential Rumi, Translated by Coleman Barks <
1.jwvg - Gipsy Song, #Goethe - Poems, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
  Seven women they were, from out of the Town.
  Wille wau wau wau!

1.jwvg - The Wanderer, #Goethe - Poems, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
  Bring'st thou goods from out the Town
  Round the country?
  --
  From the Town no goods I bring.
  Cool is now the evening;

1.lb - Ballads Of Four Seasons: Winter, #Li Bai - Poems, #Li Bai, #Poetry
  When will it reach the Town where warriors stay?
   by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

1.lb - His Dream Of Skyland, #Li Bai - Poems, #Li Bai, #Poetry
  Followed me to the Town of Yen-chi.
  Here still stands the mansion of Prince Hsieh.

1.lovecraft - Psychopompos- A Tale in Rhyme, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Nor was the Town with special rumour rife
  When he sought out the bailiff and his wife:
  --
  Kind hands attend them, whilst oer all the Town
  A strange sweet peace of spirit settles down.

1.pbs - Evening - Ponte Al Mare, Pisa, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  And whirled about the pavement of the Town.
  III.

1.pbs - Julian and Maddalo - A Conversation, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  And then, the Town is silentone may write
  Or read in gondolas by day or night,

1.pbs - Marenghi, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  A massy tower yet overhangs the Town,
  A scattered group of ruined dwellings now...

1.pbs - Peter Bell The Third, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  For Peter did not know the Town,
   But thought, as country readers do,
  --
  Followed his hearse along the Town:
   Where was the Devil himself?

1.pbs - The Revolt Of Islam - Canto I-XII, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
    And up a rock which overhangs the Town,
   By the steep path were bearing me: below,
  --
   the Town among the woods below that lay,
  And the dark rocks which bound the bright and glassy bay.
  --
   For to the North I saw the Town on fire,
    And its red light made morning pallid now,

1.poe - The City In The Sea, #Poe - Poems, #unset, #Zen
     While from a proud tower in the Town
     Death looks gigantically down.

1.poe - The City Of Sin, #Poe - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  While from the high towers of the Town
  Death looks gigantically down.

1.rb - A Grammarian's Funeral Shortly After The Revival Of Learning, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
    (Here's the Town-gate reached: there's the market-place
     Gaping before us.)

1.rb - An Epistle Containing the Strange Medical Experience of Kar, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  Bethany: "Bethany, the Town of Mary and his sister Martha"
  (John 11: 1).

1.rb - Fra Lippo Lippi, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
   To roam the Town and sing out carnival,
   And I've been three weeks shut within my mew,

1.rb - Old Pictures In Florence, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
   Have you allowed, as the Town-tongues babble it,-
  Oh, never! it shall not be counted true-

1.rb - Paracelsus - Part III - Paracelsus, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  Placarded through the Town as one whose spite
  Had near availed to stop the blessed effects

1.rb - Pippa Passes - Part III - Evening, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  I laugh at myself as through the Town I walk.
  And see men merry as if no Italy

1.rb - Sordello - Book the First, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  "Old Salinguerra in the Town once more
  "Uprooting, overturning, flame before,
  --
  "Quietly through the Town they rode, jog-jog;
  "'Ten, twenty, thirty,curse the catalogue

1.rb - Sordello - Book the Fourth, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  Talked of the Townsmen making him amends,
  Gave him a goshawk, and affirmed there was

1.rb - Sordello - Book the Sixth, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  Ecelin flew there, and the Town henceforth
  Was wholly hisTaurello sinking back

1.rb - Sordello - Book the Third, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  "'Exact the Town, the minster and the street!'"
  "As all mirth triumphs, sadness means defeat:

1.rb - The Pied Piper Of Hamelin, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  To see the Townsfolk suffer so
  From vermin, was a pity.
  --
   To the Town Hall came flocking:
  ``'Tis clear,'' cried they, ``our Mayor's a noddy;
  --
  ``Joining the Town and just at hand,
  ``Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew

1.rt - Lovers Gifts LVIII - Things Throng And Laugh, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  rhymes, they will be housed in the towers of the Town not yet
  planned, they have their call to arms from the battle fields of the

1.rt - The Further Bank, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
    I shall never go away from you into the Town to work like
  father.

1.rt - The Little Big Man, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  thinking that I am still a baby, will bring for me from the Town
  little shoes and small silken frocks.

1.rt - The Wicked Postman, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  everybody in the Town.
    Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the

1.rwe - Astrae, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  In the country and the Town,
  With this prayer upon their neck,

1.rwe - Boston, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  Or over the Town blue ocean flows.
  This poem was read in Faneuil Hall, on the Centennial Anniversary of the "Boston Tea-Party," at which a band of men disguised as Indians had quietly emptied into the sea the taxed tea-chests of three British ships. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

1.rwe - The World-Soul, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
   The fopperies of the Town.
  Within, without, the idle earth

1.rwe - Waves, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  Ode Sung In the Town Hall 1857 by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

1.rwe - Woodnotes, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  'What prizes the Town and the tower?
  Only what the pine-tree yields;

1.wby - A Prayer For My Son, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  And when through all the Town there ran
  The servants of Your enemy,

1.wby - Colonel Martin, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  "She may be in the Town.
  She may be all alone there,
  --
  Carry the gold about the Town,
  Throw it in every patt.'

1.wby - Lapis Lazuli, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  Until the Town lie bearen flat.
  All perform their tragic play,

1.wby - The Gift Of Harun Al-Rashid, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  That speech was all that the Town knew, but he
  Seemed for a while to have grown young again;

1.wby - The Happy Townland, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  If he could see the Townland
  That we are riding to;
  --
  He is riding to the Townland
  That is the world's bane.'
  --
  He is riding to the Townland
  That is the world's bane.'
  --
  He is riding to the Townland
  That is the world's bane.'

1.wby - To A Shade, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  IF you have revisited the Town, thin Shade,
  Whether to look upon your monument

1.wby - Tom ORoughley, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  "THOUGH logic-choppers rule the Town,
  And every man and maid and boy

1.whitman - Song Of The Open Road, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
      town, the return back from the Town,
  They passI also passanything passesnone can be interdicted;

1.ww - Book Sixth [Cambridge and the Alps], #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  Hushed in profound repose. We left the Town
  Of Gravedona with this hope; but soon          

1.ww - Lucy Gray [or Solitude], #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  You to the Town must go,
  And take a lantern, Child, to light
  --
  But never reach'd the Town.
  The wretched Parents all that night

1.ww - The Excursion- II- Book First- The Wanderer, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  And he would leave his work--and to the Town
  Would turn without an errand his slack steps;

1.ww - The Farmer Of Tilsbury Vale, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  In the throng of the Town like a stranger is he,
  Like one whose own country's far over the sea;

1.ww - The Idiot Boy, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  To bring a Doctor from the Town,
  Or she will die, old Susan Gale.
  --
  To bring a Doctor from the Town,
  To comfort poor old Susan Gale.
  --
  While to the Town she posts away;
  'If Susan had not been so ill,
  --
  But now she's fairly in the Town,
  And to the Doctor's door she hies;
  --
   the Town so long, the Town so wide,
  Is silent as the skies.
  --
  Then up along the Town she hies,
  No wonder if her senses fail;

1.ww - Troilus And Cresida, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  A cause he found into the Town to go,
  And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went;      
  --
  Came as he rode by places of the Town
  Where he had felt such perfect pleasure once.

1.ww - Vaudracour And Julia, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  That rose a brief league distant from the Town,
  The dwellers in that house where he had lodged

2.07 - On Congress and Politics, #Evening Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #unset, #Zen
   We had nothing of the mental ideal in politics. We had a spontaneous and a free growth of communities developing on their own lines. It was not so much a mental idea as an inner impulse or feeling, to express life in a particular form. Each such communal form of life the village, the Town, etc., which formed the unit of national life, was left free in its own internal management. The central authority never interfered with it.
   There was not the idea of 'interests' in India as in Europe, i.e., each community was not fighting for its own interests; but there was rather the idea of Dharma the function which the individual and the community have to fulfil in the larger national life. There were caste organisations not based upon a religio-social basis as we find nowadays; they were more or less groups organised for a communal life. There were also religious communities like the Buddhists, Jains, etc. Each followed its own law Swadharma unhampered by the State. The State recognised the necessity of allowing such various forms of life to develop freely in order to give to the national spirit a richer expression.
  --
   This organisation we find in history perfected in the reign of Chandragupta and the Maurya dynasty. The period preceding this must have been one of great political development in India. Every department of national life, we can see, was in charge of a board or a committee with a minister at the head and each board looked after what we now would call its own department and was left free from undue interference of the central authority. The change of kings left these boards untouched and unaffected in their work. An organisation similar to that was found in the Town and in the village and it was this organisation that was taken up by the Mahomedans when they came and it is that which the English also have taken up. The king as the absolute monarch was never an Indian idea. It was brought from Central Asia by the Mahomedans.
   The English in accepting this system have disfigured it considerably. They have found ways to put their hands on and grasp all the old organisations, using them merely as channels to establish more thoroughly the authority of the central power. They discourage every free organisation and every attempt at the manifestation of the free life of the community. Now attempts are being made to have co-operative societies in villages; there is also an effort at reviving the Panchayats. But these organisations cannot be revived once they have been crushed and even if they revived they would not be the same.

2.09 - SEVEN REASONS WHY A SCIENTIST BELIEVES IN GOD, #God Exists, #Swami Sivananda Saraswati, #Hinduism
  Many years ago a species of cactus was planted in Australia as a protective fence. Having no insect enemies in Australia, the cactus soon began a prodigious growth; the alarming abundance persisted until the plants covered an area as long and wide as England, crowding inhabitants out of the Towns and villages, and destroying their farms. Seeking a defense, entomologists scoured the world; finally they turned up an insect which lived exclusively on cactus, and would eat nothing else. It would breed freely, too; and it had no enemies in Australia. So animal soon conquered vegetable, and today the cactus pest has retreated and with it all but a small protective residue of the insects, enough to hold the cactus in check forever.
  Such checks and balances have been universally provided. Why have not fast-breeding insects dominated the earth? Because they have no lungs such as man possesses; they brea the through tubes. But when insects grow large, their tubes do not grow in ratio to the increasing size of the body. Hence there never has been an insect of great size; this limitation on growth has held them all in check. If this physical check had not been provided, man could not exist. Imagine meeting a hornet as big as a lion !

2.12 - On Miracles, #Evening Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #unset, #Zen
   Sri Aurobindo: Do you mean nagar devat, the presiding deity of the Town?
   Disciple: Something like that.

3.02 - The Great Secret, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
    The first car, built with my own hands from parts collected here and there and never intended for the use to which I put them, undoubtedly gave me the greatest joy of my whole life. Perched precariously on a somewhat uncomfortable seat, I drove the few hundred yards from my father's workshop to the Town Hall, and nothing seemed more beautiful to me than this odd contraption, wobbling and puffing its way along, scattering the pedestrians and making the dogs bark and the horses rear.
    I shall not dwell on the years that followed, on the hostility of those who proclaimed that the horse had been created by God to draw carriages and that it was already quite impious enough to have made railways without going even further and launching these new diabolical inventions upon the roads and in the cities. Even more numerous were those who could see no future in a temperamental machine that could only be handled by experts or single-minded cranks. The few adventurous souls who lent me my first dollars to set up a small workshop, hire a couple of hands and buy some steel, seemed to have the same blind faith as the first gold-seekers who went out in pursuit of a problematical and elusive fortune in a hostile and desolate country.

3.02 - The Psychology of Rebirth, #The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  episode, the rebuilding of the Town wall. But this time the wall
  is to be a strong defence against Gog and Magog. The passage

3.08 - ON APOSTATES, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  Thus Zarathustra discoursed in the Town which he
  loved and which is also called The Motley Cow. For

33.01 - The Initiation of Swadeshi, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   The events of another day come to mind. Perhaps it was on the occasion of the first declaration of Boycott, on the 7th of August, 1905. the Town Hall of Calcutta was the venue of the meeting. What a huge crowd had gathered there and what an oceanic movement! I had been taken there by Atul Gupta, the friend, philosopher and guide of my student days; I had been his disciple in every respect, in my studies as in patriotic work. He made me sit by his side and gave me the necessary instructions. The entire audience at one time stood up in a body and shouted their unanimous approval of a resolution: "All, all," they cried. I too had to do the same. You will perhaps call it drama, but after all, the critical moments of life are nothing but drama. There was no hypocrisy about the thing, it was just a manner of expression. One thing deserves to be mentioned here: the voices I heard of the many orators of that epoch. The glory of those voices is now lost, thanks to the kindness of the mike. Surendranath Banerjee, Ambikacharan Majumdar, Sachindranath Bose and of course Bepinchandra Pal - what high-pitched voices they had and how graceful in movement! How was it possible to combine in a single voice such power and strength with so much sweetness! I had read about the orations of Demos thenes and Cicero, heard the eulogies of France's Mirabeau and Danton, of Burke and Gladstone of England. But it was truly an experience to have heard with one's own ears a human voice of their calibre. One cannot do without a mike today if one is to address an audience of a thousand. In those days ten thousand people could easily listen to those superhuman voices. But why need we go so far? You have all listened to the voice of our Sahana, a voice that held the heart of Rabindranath enthralled. Let me here tell you an amusing story in this connection, though it belongs to a much later date. There was a musical soireat the residence of one of Dilip's relatives; it was at his uncle's I believe. I too was among the invitees and there was a fairly big crowd. The performers of the evening were to be a virtuoso, one of the well-known ones though I forget the name, and our Sahana. A question arose: who would sing first, Sahana or the virtuoso? It was agreed to have Sahana first and the virtuoso to follow; after all, a master must have the last word! Sahana finished her songs and now it was the master's turn. But he dropped a bombshell! He said, "One cannot sing anything after that, it would fall flat!" He did sing, though, after a while. Those were the days indeed.
   Now to resume the thread of my narrative. During the holidays I was back in my home town of Rungpore. Here there was evidence of the same movement, with identical features. We roamed the streets singing, that is, shouting hoarsely at the top of our voices we did the morning rounds with songs like
  --
   Something rather out of the ordinary came to pass one day. There was an order served on the Town as a whole and on certain individuals in particular, forbidding all processions.
   No one was to take out a procession or join in one. In defiance of the order - defying orders was part of the programme of those days - groups of young boys came out and roamed about the streets singing. But that was all they did, there was no occasion for any breach of the peace save the disturbance that their shouts might have caused. Nevertheless, the 'Bande Mataram' cry in itself was in the official view a symbol of resistance, of violence and atrocity. So the police soon rushed after us, ordering us to disperse. We left the main road and gathered in a garden-like empty space by the roadside. Many had left, but about a hundred - I was among that number - squatted down. The police sub-inspector Raicharan arrived on the scene with a mighty mien, accompanied by a few constables. As he kept on touching each of us on the head by turns, he muttered in his inimitable English, "You arrest, you arrest." We were taken to the Magistrate's bungalow, and as the day drew to a close we were released .on bail. The case came up before the court. The ringleader of our group had been Atul Gupta. Our counsel pleaded on his behalf that he was a man of position - he was at the time a student of the M.A. class - and should therefore be provided with a chair instead of having to stand on the dock. The magistrate took no notice and dismissed the plea. Atul Gupta's father happened to be a prominent nationalist of the Town and the order banning processions had been served in his house. This had the effect of doubling or trebling the seriousness of Atul's offence; for he was an educated man, he claimed to be a leader, what he had done was done with full knowledge and deliberately. Hence the punishment he received was the heaviest of us all, a fine of a hundred rupees. Thus he became a marked man, and it stood in his way when in afterlife his name was considered for a judgeship of the High Court. There could be no place for him as a Judge in the British Empire, and he had to remain an advocate. This however did not hurt him in any way, either by way of prestige or emoluments. We had in our group another person considerably older than all of us. We used to call him a member of the vagabond company, as he did no work or studies. He was asked by the Court, "What is your occupation?" In order to keep up his dignity and position, he replied, "General merchant." The Magistrate took him at his word and awarded a fine of fifty rupees. Fifty rupees! But the poor fellow was not even worth five. I for my part might have escaped, as I was a mere boy, but I was fired twenty-five rupees. The reason was that when they asked me if I had been aware of the Government order, I said without any hesitation that most certainly I was. A deliberate defiance of the law! That was an unpardonable offence. Afterwards, during the Alipore Bomb case, this was cited against me on behalf of the prosecution in order to prove that I was an old offender. But the judge of the Alipore court, Beachcroft, had rather taken a fancy to me. He did not take any note of this point and dismissed it as school-boy bravado. Nevertheless, that confession of mine had been dubbed by many at the time an act of foolishness, as they said, had I but mentioned that I knew nothing of the Government order, they would have let me off without further ado. My answer was that I was embarking on a good and noble venture, how could I start off with a lie?
   I have referred above to sub-inspector Raicharan. An ordinary sub-inspector, he was nonetheless an interest colourful personality, exercising considerable power and influence as a strong man. Immediately after our so-called "arrest", when he came to know who I was, he blurted out "So you are Rajanibabu's son? But why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have let you off. Now I can't do anything about it, it is too late." He knew my father very well and had been a sub-inspector at Nilphamari as well. As I was saying, sub-inspector Raicharan was a man with an individuality. I can still picture him riding at a gallop, his chest proudly thrust forward, the tail of his horse flying at the back, in front his beard reaching to the chest, puffed up by the wind and parted in two. His mount too was a well-known race-horse of the Town. They used to hold races in the huge meadow near the Collector's office - we called it the Collectorate Math. It was Raicharan's horse that always came first; he was his own jockey.
   Thus it was that I received a new initiation in my life.

33.04 - Deoghar, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   THE scene was Deoghar, though not exactly the Town itself. About five miles before you reach the Town, there is the Jesidih Junction on the main railway line. Nearly a mile from there, close to the railway line there was a house with only a ground floor and quite neat and clean on the whole. All around were open fields - not the green meadows of Bengal but the barren red moorlands of Bihar. Not entirely unpleasant scenery though, for it breathed an atmosphere of purity and peace and silence. A little farther away there stood a larger two-storeyed mansion, perhaps the comfortable holiday retreat of some rich man.
   The time was towards the end of 1907 and the beginning of 1908. I was about seventeen or eighteen and had just finished with my college life.

33.08 - I Tried Sannyas, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   So I trudged along. the Township was passed, human habitations grew thin and the meadows stretched wider or both sides of the road. But what was this coming all on a sudden? It started drizzling. I had no umbrella, there were no houses to offer me shelter, only the shades of wayside trees. I began to get drenched and the rain damped my body and the inner spirit too along with it. I now said to myself, "Hang it all, but what is the point in this useless suffering? Is this spiritual discipline? And is it essential to that discipline to get oneself drenched in the rain out in this wilderness?" The answer came, "No, it is not at all essential. Can't you recall Sri Krishna's words, 'He who afflicts his body afflicts me too who dwell in that body'? Now then?" Well, I thought I should now turn back. If my resolution was not a sound resolution, there could be no harm in going back on it. So I turned back.
   But turn hack how? There was not enough money to pay for the train fare. In any case, it would be easier to take a country-boat, from the place where I had reached, - so I gathered from enquiries. I came to the riverside. It was already getting on to eight and the last of the ferry boats was about to leave. I ran for it and jumped in. And we crossed over to Calcutta. As I prepared to get down, the boatman said, "Your fare, please?" I rummaged my pockets and found there the two pice left. I offered them to the man. But he said, "Not two pice but four, the fare is one anna." "But I have nothing more." "That I don't know, you have to pay the full fare." "But I have told you I have nothing more, how can I pay?" "I don't know about that." "All right, I can give you my pair of slippers." "No, they won't do. If you give me the chuddaryou have on, I might consider," It was a good shawl I had on, and I said, "No, my dear fellow, that I am not going to part with." "But you will have to."

33.12 - Pondicherry Cyclone, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   We were at school then, the District School at Rungpur, and were attending class. The day was about over. The sky 4ad been overcast and it looked as if it was going to rain. All of a sudden we heard people shouting, "Fire, fire!" Was there a fire, a real fire? We rushed out in a body into the open field In front. As we looked up we saw what they had at first taken to be smoke or rather a whirling mass that looked like smoke but was actually a cloud. There was a mass of clouds that kept whirling almost over our heads, and from a distance there came a low rumbling and whistling sound. What could that be? What did it mean? They let us off from school and all of us ran in the direction of the sound. It did not rain much, very little indeed, if at all. We ran on, but the sound was nowhere near. Then we heard people saying, "Something terrible has happened, over there, in that direction." We kept running, for a distance of two or three miles from the School and beyond the limits of the Town. Suddenly we were brought up short. Right in front there was a wooded tract where the trees had been all smashed up. We moved on straight into the heart of the ruin. It was a strange spectacle, as if an open zig-zag path some fifty cubits wide had been cut across the wood with dozens of bull-dozers driving through and levelling everything down. Bushes and shrubs and trees and houses - it was lucky there were not many houses - had all been swept clean away for a distance of four or five miles, we were .informed. The place had been sparsely populated, so the casualties were not heavy - some half a dozen men, a few head of cattle and some houses. The demon of destruction seemed to have spent all his wrath on Nature. It was perhaps really the work of some evil spirit.
   They said the whirlwind had arisen from a pool of water four or five miles away and it did look like a demon when it came rushing forward with a whirling motion after having churned the waters of the pool. However that may be, we heard this about a pedestrian who had been walking along the road just when the tornado crossed his path. He was caught by the wind, given a few twirls up in the air and thrown down on the ground by the side of the road. As he shook himself up on his feet, he went on muttering, "What fun, I got a free lift to the sky!" - kaisa maja,

33.14 - I Played Football, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Now to come back to Bengal. When we returned to Bengal after a lapse of four years and they saw us play at Rungpore, we were given the name, "Madrasi players", and it was given out that two absolutely formidable "Madrasi players" had arrived in town. So the Town Club of Rungpore decided that they must now be able to annex the Dinajpur Shield, the most coveted trophy in North Bengal. A couple of players were "hired" from elsewhere to make the team perfectly invincible. And off we went to Dinajpur. The performance of our team had already received adequate publicity, for we had beaten Bogra Town by two goals. One of these goals had been scored by me and it had brought profuse applause. Let me stop and tell you first about that particular feat. I was playing right-out. A ball came to me about mid-field, near the touch line. The field lay practically open. The half-back, a non-Indian, was a little farther away and I could easily pass him by. The full-back rushed at me, but he too was by-passed. As there was no point in waiting longer, I aimed a shot at the goal. But instead of shooting with the right foot - I was playing right-out you remember - I used the left. The goalkeeper was naturally expecting the shot to land on his right; instead it went to his left;and got us a fine goal, and what hurrahs! Needless to add, these things do not happen by previous plan or calculations, they come in a matter of moments and automatically. One can of course try to reason out later how it all happened. This in the parlance of Yoga is what Sri Aurobindo calls an "involved process".
   To come back to the point. It was the last match of the tournament, the final: Dinajpur Town Club versus Rungpore Town Club. Everyone felt certain that we would be the winners, ours was such a strong team; the only question was: by how many goals? We too felt the same way. However, soon after the play began, I think it was before halftime in any case, something entirely unexpected came to pass. One of the Dinajpur forwards, I cannot now recall his name but he was a very good player, finding our side of the field almost empty - we were pressing them hard on their side of the field - aimed a shot from beyond the half boundary line, almost near mid-field. Our goalkeeper was caught napping and it was a fine score. Everybody was flabbergasted. During the next half-hour or so, we held them pressed to their goal mouth and went on bombarding them with shots at the goal. But each time we shot, the ball struck the post or the cross-bar or it hit the goalkeeper, it could never be placed inside the goal. It was a regular bombing every minute that we kept up, but nothing could happen; it looked as if somebody had raised a wall against us. I tried six or seven corner kicks, all of them first-class, but to no avail. A Kumartuli player in our team was so impressed by my corner kicks that he extended to me an invitation. "Why don't you come and play in Calcutta? What is the point in wasting yourself here in a provincial town? You should come and play with us in our team." I could not however accept the invitation; I am going to tell you why. Anyhow, we did not manage to equalize that goal and had to accept defeat. I never felt so disappointed. We returned to Rungpore with heads down and not a word spoken.

40.01 - November 24, 1926, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 08, #unset, #Zen
   Let me just illustrate, from my own experience, to what extent we had become self-gathered and indrawn. One day, for some reason or other, I happened to have come out of the Ashram precincts and away from its atmosphere; that is to say, I was going about the Town and through the market area. Suddenly I began to feel rather queer, as if I were not walking on the ground. There was no weight in my legs, I floated on air through a mist as in a dream and there was no solid ground or a settled path. I felt terribly uneasy, almost like a fish out of water. I hurried my steps back and it was not till I had reached the Ashram precincts that I could heave a sigh of relief.
   We have left that stage far enough behind us now. We have in. fact reached the opposite end perhaps. We have taken a plunge outwards, identified ourselves with the outer being - a tendency against which the Upanishad has used a word of warning: paraci khani vyatrant, our senses have a natural pull towards the outer things. But this too was necessary and still is. We form part of the world, we are united with it and inseparable. We are an image of the entire world, its symbol and representative. We have to share in its work and suffer its deeds. Even Sri Aurobindo and the Mother have not spared themselves this, but that is another matter. Whatever changes we succeed in effectuating in ourselves here will initiate similar changes all the world over. Therefore, not to become wholly externalised, - a tendency which is uppermost here in our collective life today, - but to keep the path open for the inner sadhana, this should be our endeavour. We have to harmonise the two extremes, for not to disjoin but to unite, that is Yoga.

4.04 - Some Vital Functions, #Of The Nature Of Things, #Lucretius, #Poetry
  In manner like. Kings take the Towns by storm,
  Succumb to capture, battle on the field,

4.0 - The Path of Knowledge, #Theosophy, #Alice Bailey, #Occultism
  [paragraph continues] "Spirit-land." For only in this way can that land act on him and reveal its facts to him. A man never reaches the truth as long as he yields to the thoughts continuously coursing through his ego. For if he does, his thoughts take a course imposed on them by the fact that they come into existence within the bodily nature. The thought world of a man who is absorbed in an intellectual activity, determined primarily by his physical brain, has an appearance of irregularity and confusion. In it a thought enters, breaks off, is driven out of the field by another. Any one who tests this by listening to a conversation between two people, or who observes himself in an unprejudiced way, will gain an idea of this mass of will-o'-the-wisp thoughts. As long as a man devotes himself only to the calls of the life of the senses, his confused succession of thoughts will always be brought into order again by the facts of the reality. I may think ever so confusedly, but in my actions everyday facts force upon me the laws corresponding to the reality. My mental picture of a town may be most confused, but if I wish to walk along a certain road in the Town I must accommodate myself
   p. 210

5.03 - The World Is Not Eternal, #Of The Nature Of Things, #Lucretius, #Poetry
  And whelmed the Towns- then, all the more must thou
  Confess, defeated by the argument,

5.1.01.1 - The Book of the Herald, #5.1.01 - Ilion, #unset, #Zen
  Donning apparel and armour strode through the Town of his fathers,
  Watched by her gods on his way to his fate, towards Pergamas portals.
  --
  Now, from the citadels rise with the Townships crowding below it
  High towards a pondering of domes and the mystic Palladium climbing,

5.1.01.5 - The Book of Achilles, #5.1.01 - Ilion, #unset, #Zen
  Now that he stands confronting his fate in the Town of his fathers.
  Peace dwells not in thy aspect. Sowst thou a seed then of ruin

7.06 - The Simple Life, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  When they met outside the gates of the Town, they sat by a large stone on the bank of a clear stream that ran nearby, and put together the alms they had received.
  O Brother Masseo, cried Saint Francis with a joyful face, we are not worthy of so great a feast.

7.08 - Sincerity, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  Stop! cried the wise men. The point has pierced the body of Seshanaga, the world-serpent. the Town must not be built here.
  And, indeed, the legend tells that when the iron rod was drawn out of the ground, it was found to be all red with the blood of Seshanaga.
  --
  The soil was fertile and the water abundant. For six hundred years, the Town of Almora has stood on its rock, and the surrounding fields produce rich harvests.
  Thus, in spite of their wisdom, the wise men were mistaken in their predictions. Doubtless they were sincere and thought they were speaking the truth, but men are very often mistaken in this way and take for realities what is nothing but superstition.

7.09 - Right Judgement, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  A great wolf was causing terror in the woods and fields around the Town of Gubbio, so that the people dared not even venture on the roads. The monster was killing men and animals alike.
  At last the good Saint Francis decided to face the frightful creature. He went out of the Town, followed at a distance by many men and women. As he drew near to the forest, the wolf suddenly sprang at the saint with wide open jaws. But Francis calmly made a sign and the wolf lay down peacefully at his feet like a lamb.
  "Brother Wolf," Saint Francis told him, "you have done much harm in this land, and you deserve a murderer's death. All men hate you. But I would gladly make peace between you and my friends of Gubbio."
  --
  The wolf lived in the Town for two years and did no harm to anyone. Each day the Townsfolk would bring him his food, and they all mourned him when he died.
  However bad the wolf may have seemed, in truth there was

7.11 - Building and Destroying, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  Later, when Tiruvalluvar came to the Town of Madura, many people gathered together to hear him recite lines from his beautiful poem, and they were enchanted by the verses composed by the child from the Illupay grove:
  Hard it is to find in this world

Aeneid, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  " 'When on your way you reach the Town of Cumae,
  the sacred lakes, the loud wood of Avernus,
  --
  the fields that we distrust. We sight the Town
  of Hercules-Tarentum's gulf (if what
  --
  of Gela and the Town that also takes
  its name of Qela from its rushing river.
  --
  On one side lie the Towns of the Gaetulians,
  a race invincible, and the unbridled
  --
  should cherish first the Town of Troy, the sweet
  remains of my own people and the tall
  --
  had reached the Towns of Phrygian Ida and
  of Thracian Samos, now called Samothrace.
  --
  the daughter of Leda, to the Towns of Troy?
  What of your sacred pledge? Of your old love
  --
  raving throughout the Towns of Italy.
  I do not care at all for empire, though
  --
  the Trojans would have even reached the Towns
  of Inachus; her fates reversed, Greece would
  --
  And there were many mothers in the Towns
  of Tuscany who wanted her, in vain,
  --
  supposed to have been settled by Greeks from the Town of the
  same name in Laconia, southeast of Sparta. The epithet "silent"
  --
  Ari'cia a nymph, consort of HiPPOLYTUS-Virbius after his resurrection and mother by him of VIRBIUS (2). the Town of Aricia
  a city in Latium south of Alba Longa, famous as a site of Diana's
  --
  Phonei'cia country on the coast of Syria that included the Towns
  of Tyre and Sidon. 1,485.

BOOK III. - The external calamities of Rome, #City of God, #Saint Augustine of Hippo, #Christianity
  But if so, I ask the reason; for in my judgment, the conduct of the gods was as much to be reprobated as that of the Townsmen to be applauded. For these closed their gates against Fimbria, that they might preserve the city for Sylla, and were therefore burnt and consumed by the enraged general. Now, up to this time, Sylla's cause was the more worthy of the two; for till now he used arms to restore the republic, and as yet his good intentions had met with no reverses. What better thing, then, could the Trojans have done? What more honourable, what more faithful to Rome, or more worthy of her relationship, than to preserve their city for the better part of the Romans, and to shut their gates against a parricide of his country? It is for the defenders of the gods to consider the ruin which this conduct brought on Troy. The gods deserted an adulterous people, and abandoned Troy to the fires of the Greeks, that out of her ashes a chaster Rome might arise. But why did they a second time abandon this same town, allied now to Rome, and not making war upon her noble daughter, but preserving a most stedfast and pious fidelity to Rome's most justifiable faction? Why did they give her up to be destroyed, not by the Greek heroes, but by the basest of the Romans? Or, if the gods did not favour Sylla's cause, for which the unhappy Trojans maintained their city, why did they themselves predict and promise Sylla such successes? Must we call them flatterers of the fortunate, rather than helpers of the wretched? Troy was not destroyed, then, because the gods deserted it. For the demons, always watchful to deceive, did what they could. For, when all the statues were overthrown and burnt together with the Town, Livy tells us that only the image of Minerva is said to have been found standing uninjured amidst the ruins of her temple; not that it might be said in their praise, "The gods who made this realm divine," but that it might not be said in their defence, They are "gone from each fane, each sacred shrine:" for that marvel was permitted to them, not that they might be proved to be powerful, but that they might be convicted of being present.
  8. Whether Rome ought to have been entrusted to the Trojan gods?
  --
  The Romans, then, conquered that they might, with hands stained in the blood of their fathers-in-law, wrench the miserable girls from their embrace,girls who dared not weep for their slain parents, for fear of offending their victorious husbands; and while yet the battle was raging, stood with their prayers on their lips, and knew not for whom to utter them. Such nuptials were certainly prepared for the Roman people not by Venus, but Bellona; or possibly that[Pg 104] infernal fury Alecto had more liberty to injure them now that Juno was aiding them, than when the prayers of that goddess had excited her against neas. Andromache in captivity was happier than these Roman brides. For though she was a slave, yet, after she had become the wife of Pyrrhus, no more Trojans fell by his hand; but the Romans slew in battle the very fathers of the brides they fondled. Andromache, the victor's captive, could only mourn, not fear, the death of her people. The Sabine women, related to men still combatants, feared the death of their fathers when their husbands went out to battle, and mourned their death as they returned, while neither their grief nor their fear could be freely expressed. For the victories of their husbands, involving the destruction of fellow-townsmen, relatives, brothers, fathers, caused either pious agony or cruel exultation. Moreover, as the fortune of war is capricious, some of them lost their husbands by the sword of their parents, while others lost husb and and father together in mutual destruction. For the Romans by no means escaped with impunity, but they were driven back within their walls, and defended themselves behind closed gates; and when the gates were opened by guile, and the enemy admitted into the Town, the Forum itself was the field of a hateful and fierce engagement of fathers-in-law and sons-in-law. The ravishers were indeed quite defeated, and, flying on all sides to their houses, sullied with new shame their original shameful and lamentable triumph. It was at this juncture that Romulus, hoping no more from the valour of his citizens, prayed Jupiter that they might stand their ground; and from this occasion the god gained the name of Stator. But not even thus would the mischief have been finished, had not the ravished women themselves flashed out with dishevelled hair, and cast themselves before their parents, and thus disarmed their just rage, not with the arms of victory, but with the supplications of filial affection. Then Romulus, who could not brook his own brother as a colleague, was compelled to accept Titus Tatius, king of the Sabines, as his partner on the throne. But how long would he who misliked the fellowship of his own twin-brother endure a stranger? So, Tatius being slain, Romulus remained sole king, that he might be the[Pg 105] greater god. See what rights of marriage these were that fomented unnatural wars. These were the Roman leagues of kindred, relationship, alliance, religion. This was the life of the city so abundantly protected by the gods. You see how many severe things might be said on this theme; but our purpose carries us past them, and requires our discourse for other matters.
  14. Of the wickedness of the war waged by the Romans against the Albans, and of the victories won by the lust of power.
  --
  Omitting many things, that I may not exceed the limits of the work I have proposed to myself, I come to the epoch between the second and last Punic wars, during which, according to Sallust, the Romans lived with the greatest virtue and concord. Now, in this period of virtue and harmony, the great Scipio, the liberator of Rome and Italy, who had with surprising ability brought to a close the second Punic war that horrible, destructive, dangerous contestwho had defeated Hannibal and subdued Carthage, and whose whole life is said to have been dedicated to the gods, and cherished in their temples,this Scipio, after such a triumph, was obliged to yield to the accusations of his enemies, and to leave his country, which his valour had saved and liberated, to spend the remainder of his days in the Town of Liternum, so indifferent to a recall from exile, that he is said to have given orders that not even his remains should lie in his ungrateful country. It was at that time also that the proconsul Cn. Manlius, after subduing the Galatians, introduced into Rome the luxury of Asia, more destructive than all hostile armies. It was then that iron bedsteads and expensive carpets were first used; then, too, that female singers were admitted at banquets, and other licentious abominations were introduced. But at present I meant to speak, not of the evils men voluntarily practise, but of those they suffer in spite of themselves. So that the case of Scipio, who succumbed to his enemies, and died in exile from the country he had rescued, was mentioned by me as being pertinent to the present discussion; for this was the reward he received from those Roman gods whose temples he saved from Hannibal, and who are worshipped only for the sake of securing temporal[Pg 124] happiness. But since Sallust, as we have seen, declares that the manners of Rome were never better than at that time, I therefore judged it right to mention the Asiatic luxury then introduced, that it might be seen that what he says is true, only when that period is compared with the others, during which the morals were certainly worse, and the factions more violent. For at that time I mean between the second and third Punic war that notorious Lex Voconia was passed, which prohibited a man from making a woman, even an only daughter, his heir; than which law I am at a loss to conceive what could be more unjust. It is true that in the interval between these two Punic wars the misery of Rome was somewhat less. Abroad, indeed, their forces were consumed by wars, yet also consoled by victories; while at home there were not such disturbances as at other times. But when the last Punic war had terminated in the utter destruction of Rome's rival, which quickly succumbed to the other Scipio, who thus earned for himself the surname of Africanus, then the Roman republic was overwhelmed with such a host of ills, which sprang from the corrupt manners induced by prosperity and security, that the sudden overthrow of Carthage is seen to have injured Rome more seriously than her long-continued hostility. During the whole subsequent period down to the time of Csar Augustus, who seems to have entirely deprived the Romans of liberty,a liberty, indeed, which in their own judgment was no longer glorious, but full of broils and dangers, and which now was quite enervated and languishing, and who submitted all things again to the will of a monarch, and infused as it were a new life into the sickly old age of the republic, and inaugurated a fresh rgime;during this whole period, I say, many military disasters were sustained on a variety of occasions, all of which I here pass by. There was specially the treaty of Numantia, blotted as it was with extreme disgrace; for the sacred chickens, they say, flew out of the coop, and thus augured disaster to Mancinus the consul; just as if, during all these years in which that little city of Numantia had withstood the besieging army of Rome, and had become a terror to the republic, the other generals had all marched against it under unfavourable auspices.
  [Pg 125]
  --
  These things, I say, I pass in silence; but I can by no means be silent regarding the order given by Mithridates, king of Asia, that on one day all Roman citizens residing anywhere in Asia (where great numbers of them were following their private business) should be put to death: and this order was executed. How miserable a spectacle was then presented, when each man was suddenly and treacherously murdered wherever he happened to be, in the field or on the road, in the Town, in his own home, or in the street, in market or temple, in bed or at table! Think of the groans of the dying, the tears of the spectators, and even of the executioners themselves. For how cruel a necessity was it that compelled the hosts of these victims, not only to see these abominable butcheries in their own houses, but even to perpetrate them: to change their countenance suddenly from the bland kindliness of friendship, and in the midst of peace set about the business of war; and, shall I say, give and receive wounds, the slain being pierced in body, the slayer in spirit! Had all these murdered persons, then, despised auguries? Had they neither public nor household gods to consult when they left their homes and set out on that fatal journey? If they had not, our adversaries have no reason to complain of these Christian times in this particular, since long ago the Romans despised auguries as idle. If, on the other hand, they did consult omens, let them tell us what good they got thereby, even when such things were not prohibited, but authorized, by human, if not by divine law.
  23. Of the internal disasters which vexed the Roman republic, and followed a portentous madness which seized all the domestic animals.

BOOK II. -- PART II. THE ARCHAIC SYMBOLISM OF THE WORLD-RELIGIONS, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
  of Bharatavarsha (old India), the Town of Nagpur being one of the most ancient cities in the country.
  [[Vol. 2, Page]] 502 THE SECRET DOCTRINE.

Book of Imaginary Beings (text), #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  Somewhat later the Town gravedigger reported that on
  that same day several unknown persons had come to bury

BOOK VII. - Of the select gods of the civil theology, and that eternal life is not obtained by worshipping them, #City of God, #Saint Augustine of Hippo, #Christianity
  Now as to the rites of Liber, whom they have set over liquid seeds, and therefore not only over the liquors of fruits, among which wine holds, so to speak, the primacy, but also over the seeds of animals:as to these rites, I am unwilling to undertake to show to what excess of turpitude they had reached, because that would entail a leng thened discourse, though I am not unwilling to do so as a demonstration of the proud stupidity of those who practise them. Among other rites which I am compelled from the greatness of their number to omit, Varro says that in Italy, at the places where roads crossed each other, the rites of Liber were celebrated with such unrestrained turpitude, that the private parts of a man were worshipped in his honour. Nor was this abomination transacted in secret, that some regard at least might be paid to modesty, but was openly and wantonly displayed. For during the festival of Liber, this obscene member, placed on a car, was carried with great honour, first over the cross-roads in the country, and then into the city. But in the Town of Lavinium a whole month was devoted to Liber alone, during the days of which all the people gave themselves up to the most dissolute conversation, until that member had been carried through the forum and brought to rest in its own place; on which unseemly member it was necessary that[Pg 285] the most honourable matron should place a wreath in the presence of all the people. Thus, forsooth, was the god Liber to be appeased in order to the growth of seeds. Thus was enchantment to be driven away from fields, even by a matron's being compelled to do in public what not even a harlot ought to be permitted to do in a theatre, if there were matrons among the spectators. For these reasons, then, Saturn alone was not believed to be sufficient for seeds,namely, that the impure mind might find occasions for multiplying the gods; and that, being righteously abandoned to uncleanness by the one true God, and being prostituted to the worship of many false gods, through an avidity for ever greater and greater uncleanness, it should call these sacrilegious rites sacred things, and should abandon itself to be violated and polluted by crowds of foul demons.
  22. Concerning Neptune, and Salacia, and Venilia.

Diamond Sutra 1, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  Shravasti: This was the capital of the ancient kingdom of Kaushala. In his Maha Prajnaparamita Shastra, Nagarjuna says the city had a population of 900,000, and it overshadowed even Magadhas capital of Rajagriha during the fifth century B.C. Today, its ruins can be visited twenty kilometers west of the Town of Balrampur on the train line between Lucknow and Gorakhpur. Some commentators say the citys name came from that of its founder, King Shravasta. Others say the name was derived from the sage Savattha, who lived there before the city was built.
  Anathapindada Garden in Jeta Forest: During the Buddhas day, there was a wealthy merchant in Shravasti named Sudatta. Since he often helped the unfortunate, he was called Anathapindada (the Benefactor). One day, while visiting his sons prospective in-laws in Rajagriha, Sudatta had the good fortune of hearing the Buddha speak and was so affected by what he heard that he invited the Bhagavan to Shravasti. But when Sudatta returned to find a suitable residence for the Buddha and his disciples, the only place that seemed to him sufficiently spacious and serene was the forested preserve of Crown Prince Jeta, two kilometers southwest of the city. When Sudatta inquired about buying it, the prince joked, Ill sell you whatever portion you can cover with gold. Taking the prince at his word, Sudatta went home and brought back enough gold to cover an area of two hundred acres that became known as Anathapindada Garden. Overcome by Sudattas sincerity, the prince donated the entire forest to the Buddhas congregation, and together the two men built a vihara, or monastery, where the Buddha could live and preach whenever he visited. These events are said to have occurred in the fourth year of the Buddhas ministry, or in 428 B.C. Altogether, the Buddha spent twenty-five rainy seasons at Jeta Vihara and delivered many of his most important sermons there. He also performed a series of miracles in Shravasti that were unique in his career, and it was also in Shravasti that he refuted the teachings of the leaders of other spiritual sects.

Emma Zunz, #Labyrinths, #Jorge Luis Borges, #Poetry
  outskirts of the Town, he feared thieves; in the patio of the factory there was
  a large dog and in the drawer of his desk, everyone knew, a revolver. He had

ENNEAD 04.03 - Psychological Questions., #Plotinus - Complete Works Vol 02, #Plotinus, #Christianity
  7. That is what seems true to us. As to the Philebus passage (quoted in the first section), it might mean that all souls were parts of the universal Soul. That, however, is not its true meaning, as held by some. It only means what Plato desired to assert in this place, namely, that heaven is animate. Plato proves this by saying that it would be absurd to insist that heaven has no soul, when our body, which is only a part of the body of the universe, nevertheless has a soul; but how could a part be animate, unless the whole was so also? It is especially in the Timaeus107 that Plato clearly expresses his thought. After having described the birth of the universal Soul, he shows the other souls born later from the mixture made in the same vase from which the universal Soul was drawn. He asserts that they are similar to the universal Soul, and that their difference consists in that they occupy the second or third rank. That is further confirmed by this passage of the Phaedrus108: "The universal Soul cares for what is inanimate." Outside of the Soul, indeed, what power would manage, fashion, ordain and produce the body? It would be nonsense to attribute this power to one soul, and not to another. (Plato) adds (in substance): "The Perfect Soul, the Soul of the universe, hovering in the ethereal region, acts on the earth without entering into it, being borne above him as in a chariot. The other souls that are perfect share with it the administration of the world." When Plato speaks of the soul as having lost her wings, he is evidently distinguishing individual souls from the universal Soul. One might also conclude that our souls are part of the universal Soul from his statement that the souls follow the circular movement of the universe, that from it they derive their characteristics,400 and that they undergo its influence. Indeed, they might very easily undergo the influence exercised by the nature of the special localities, of the waters and the air of the Towns they inhabit, and the temperament of the bodies to which they are joined. We have indeed acknowledged that, being contained in the universe, we possess something of the life-characteristic of the universal Soul, and that we undergo the influence of the circular movement of the heavens. But we have also shown that there is within us another (rational) soul, which is capable of resistance to these influences, and which manifests its different character precisely by the resistance she offers them. The objection that we are begotten within the universe may be answered by the fact that the child is likewise begotten within its mother's womb, and that nevertheless the soul that enters into its body is distinct from that of its mother. Such is our solution of the problem.
  SYMPATHY BETWEEN INDIVIDUAL AND UNIVERSAL SOUL COMES FROM COMMON SOURCE.

Tablets of Baha u llah text, #Tablets of Baha u llah, #Baha u llah, #Baha i
  This Tablet was addressed to Áqá Muhammad, a distinguished believer from the Town of Qá'in, who was surnamed Nabíl-i-Akbar (see Memorials of the Faithful pages 1-5). Another distinguished believer of Qá'in, Mullá Muhammad-'Alí, was known as Nabíl-i-Qá'iní (see Memorials of the Faithful pages 49-54). In the abjad notation the name 'Muhammad' has the same numerical value as 'Nabíl'.
  

Talks 076-099, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  Mr. Grant Duff asked the Master if any mongoose had had anything to do with him. The Master said, Yes. It was the occasion of Ardra and Jayanti, I was living up the hill in Skandasramam. Streams of visitors were climbing up the hill from the Town A mongoose, larger than the ordinary size, of golden hue (not grey as a mongoose is), with no black spot on its tail as is usual with the wild mongoose, passed these crowds fearlessly. People
  took it to be a tame one belonging to someone in the crowd. The animal went straight to Palaniswami, who was having a bath in the spring by the

Talks 100-125, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  Mr. Kishorilal, an officer of the Railway Board, Government of India, hails from Delhi. He looks simple, gentle and dignified in behaviour. He has gastric ulcer and has arranged for his board and lodging in the Town.
  Five years ago he took up the study of devotional literature. He is a bhakta of Sri Krishna. He could feel Krishna in all that he saw. Krishna often appeared to him and made him happy. His work was going on without any effort on his part. Everything seemed to be done for him by Krishna himself.

Talks 225-239, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  Mr. T. K. S. Iyer, a disciple, was excited because someone in the Town had spoken disparagingly of the Master. He did not retort and came away excited. So he asked Master what penalty should be paid for his failure to defend him.
  M.: Patience, more patience; tolerance, more tolerance!

Talks 600-652, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  Some teachers who attended the Teachers' Guild meeting in the Town came on a visit to the hall. One of them asked Sri Bhagavan: "I seem to be wandering in a forest because I do not find the way."
  M.: This idea of being in a forest must go. It is such ideas which are at the root of the trouble.

Talks With Sri Aurobindo 1, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  that we stayed in England The magistrate was transferred and a new magistrate came in his place. He found that he had no authority in the Town, all
  power being in the hands of my father. He couldn't tolerate it. He asked the
  --
  CHAMPAKLAL: I hear he is holding classes in the Town and giving lectures on
  Yoga.

Talks With Sri Aurobindo 2, #Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #unset, #Zen
  SRI AUROBINDO: He expected that the people would get hold of the Town.
  405
  --
  PURANI: In the Town. I suppose the Vaishya Sabha is putting him up.
  SRI AUROBINDO: He ought not to have any difficulty as he is a Brahmin.
  --
  News has been obtained that Shastri is somewhere in the Town. The owner of
  the house in which he is lodged is in contact with the Ashram. He proposed

The Act of Creation text, #The Act of Creation, #Arthur Koestler, #Psychology
  for selecting the proper word. The words just like the Towns with
  *M' were lying in darkness before the beam searched them out and
  --
  and auditory-vocal images of the word, plus the location of the Town
  on a mental map, and you get about half a dozen matrices which will
  --
  that the Town stands on an undulating plateau and, by some inarticulate
  analogy, perhaps arrive at the conclusion that the soil consists chiefly

The Book of Joshua, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  15 Then she let them down by a cord through the window: for her house was upon the Town wall, and she dwelt upon the wall. 16 And she said unto them, Get you to the mountain, lest the pursuers meet you; and hide yourselves there three days, until the pursuers be returned: and afterward may ye go your way. 17 And the men said unto her, We will be blameless of this thine oath which thou hast made us swear. 18 Behold, when we come into the land, thou shalt bind this line of scarlet thread in the window which thou didst let us down by: and thou shalt bring thy father, and thy mother, and thy brethren, and all thy father's household, home unto thee. 19 And it shall be, that whosoever shall go out of the doors of thy house into the street, his blood shall be upon his head, and we will be guiltless: and whosoever shall be with thee in the house, his blood shall be on our head, if any hand be upon him. 20 And if thou utter this our business, then we will be quit of thine oath which thou hast made us to swear. 21 And she said, According unto your words, so be it. And she sent them away, and they departed: and she bound the scarlet line in the window.
  22 And they went, and came unto the mountain, and abode there three days, until the pursuers were returned: and the pursuers sought them throughout all the way, but found them not. 23 So the two men returned, and descended from the mountain, and passed over, and came to Joshua the son of Nun, and told him all things that befell them: 24 And they said unto Joshua, Truly the LORD hath delivered into our hands all the land; for even all the inhabitants of the country do faint because of us.
  --
  29 And Moses gave inheritance unto the half tribe of Manasseh: and this was the possession of the half tribe of the children of Manasseh by their families. 30 And their coast was from Mahanaim, all Bashan, all the kingdom of Og king of Bashan, and all the Towns of Jair, which are in Bashan, threescore cities: 31 And half Gilead, and Ashtaroth, and Edrei, cities of the kingdom of Og in Bashan, were pertaining unto the children of Machir the son of Manasseh, even to the one half of the children of Machir by their families. 32 These are the countries which Moses did distribute for inheritance in the plains of Moab, on the other side Jordan, by Jericho, eastward. 33 But unto the tribe of Levi Moses gave not any inheritance: the LORD God of Israel was their inheritance, as he said unto them.
  CHAPTER 14

The Dwellings of the Philosophers, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  earth, from the Hospice of Beaune to the law courts of Rouen and the Town hall of
  Compiegne; from the mansions built nearly everywhere by Jacques Coeur to the belfries of

The Gospel According to John, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  40 Many of the people therefore, when they heard this saying, said, Of a truth this is the Prophet. 41 Others said, This is the Christ. But some said, Shall Christ come out of Galilee? 42 Hath not the scripture said, That Christ cometh of the seed of David, and out of the Town of Bethlehem, where David was? 43 So there was a division among the people because of him. 44 And some of them would have taken him; but no man laid hands on him.
  45 Then came the officers to the chief priests and Pharisees; and they said unto them, Why have ye not brought him? 46 The officers answered, Never man spake like this man. 47 Then answered them the Pharisees, Are ye also deceived? 48 Have any of the rulers or of the Pharisees believed on him? 49 But this people who knoweth not the law are cursed. 50 Nicodemus saith unto them, (he that came to Jesus by night, being one of them,) 51 Doth our law judge any man, before it hear him, and know what he doeth? 52 They answered and said unto him, Art thou also of Galilee? Search, and look: for out of Galilee ariseth no prophet. 53 And every man went unto his own house.
  --
  Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Bethany, the Town of Mary and her sister Martha. 2 (It was that Mary which anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick.) 3 Therefore his sisters sent unto him, saying, Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick. 4 When Jesus heard that, he said, This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby. 5 Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus. 6 When he had heard therefore that he was sick, he abode two days still in the same place where he was.
  7 Then after that saith he to his disciples, Let us go into Juda again. 8 His disciples say unto him, Master, the Jews of late sought to stone thee; and goest thou thither again? 9 Jesus answered, Are there not twelve hours in the day? If any man walk in the day, he stumbleth not, because he seeth the light of this world. 10 But if a man walk in the night, he stumbleth, because there is no light in him. 11 These things said he: and after that he saith unto them, Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I go, that I may awake him out of sleep. 12 Then said his disciples, Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well. 13 Howbeit Jesus spake of his death: but they thought that he had spoken of taking of rest in sleep. 14 Then said Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead. 15 And I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe; nevertheless let us go unto him. 16 Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellowdisciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him.
  --
  Believest thou this? 27 She saith unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world. 28 And when she had so said, she went her way, and called Mary her sister secretly, saying, The Master is come, and calleth for thee. 29 As soon as she heard that, she arose quickly, and came unto him. 30 Now Jesus was not yet come into the Town, but was in that place where Martha met him. 31 The Jews then which were with her in the house, and comforted her, when they saw Mary, that she rose up hastily and went out, followed her, saying, She goeth unto the grave to weep there.
  32 Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. 33 When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled, 34 and said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see.

The Gospel According to Luke, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  1 Then he called his twelve disciples together, and gave them power and authority over all devils, and to cure diseases. 2 And he sent them to preach the kingdom of God, and to heal the sick. 3 And he said unto them, Take nothing for your journey, neither staves, nor scrip, neither bread, neither money; neither have two coats apiece. 4 And whatsoever house ye enter into, there abide, and thence depart. 5 And whosoever will not receive you, when ye go out of that city, shake off the very dust from your feet for a testimony against them. 6 And they departed, and went through the Towns, preaching the gospel, and healing every where.
  7 Now Herod the tetrarch heard of all that was done by him: and he was perplexed, because that it was said of some, that John was risen from the dead; 8 And of some, that Elias had appeared; and of others, that one of the old prophets was risen again. 9 And Herod said, John have I beheaded: but who is this, of whom I hear such things? And he desired to see him.
  --
  10 And the apostles, when they were returned, told him all that they had done. And he took them, and went aside privately into a desert place belonging to the city called Bethsaida. 11 And the people, when they knew it, followed him: and he received them, and spake unto them of the kingdom of God, and healed them that had need of healing. 12 And when the day began to wear away, then came the twelve, and said unto him, Send the multitude away, that they may go into the Towns and country round about, and lodge, and get victuals: for we are here in a desert place. 13 But he said unto them, Give ye them to eat. And they said, We have no more but five loaves and two fishes; except we should go and buy meat for all this people. 14 For they were about five thousand men. And he said to his disciples, Make them sit down by fifties in a company. 15 And they did so, and made them all sit down. 16 Then he took the five loaves and the two fishes, and looking up to heaven, he blessed them, and brake, and gave to the disciples to set before the multitude. 17 And they did eat, and were all filled: and there was taken up of fragments that remained to them twelve baskets.
  Peter's Confession about Jesus

The Gospel According to Mark, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  35 In the early morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house, and went away to a secluded place, and was praying there. 36 Simon and his companions searched for Him; 37 they found Him, and said to Him, "Everyone is looking for You." 38 He said to them, "Let us go somewhere else to the Towns nearby, so that I may preach there also; for that is what I came for." 39 And He went into their synagogues throughout all Galilee, preaching and casting out the demons.
  The Cleansing of a Leper

The Gospel According to Matthew, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  16 "Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. 17 Beware of men; for they will deliver you up to councils, and flog you in their synagogues, 18 and you will be dragged before governors and kings for my sake, to bear testimony before them and the Gentiles. 19 When they deliver you up, do not be anxious how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you in that hour; 20 for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you. 21 Brother will deliver up brother to death, and the father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death; 22 and you will be hated by all for my name's sake. But he who endures to the end will be saved. 23 When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next; for truly, I say to you, you will not have gone through all the Towns of Israel, before the Son of man comes. 24 "A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master; 25 it is enough for the disciple to be like his teacher, and the servant like his master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household.
  26 "So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known. 27 What I tell you in the dark, utter in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim upon the housetops. 28 And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. 29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father's will. 30 But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. 31 Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.
  --
  13 Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a lonely place apart. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the Towns. 14 As he went ashore he saw a great throng; and he had compassion on them, and healed their sick. 15 When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, "This is a lonely place, and the day is now over; send the crowds away to go into the villages and buy food for themselves." 16 Jesus said, "They need not go away; you give them something to eat." 17 They said to him, "We have only five loaves here and two fish." 18 And he said, "Bring them here to me." 19 Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass; and taking the five loaves and the two fish he looked up to heaven, and blessed, and broke and gave the loaves to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. 20 And they all ate and were satisfied. And they took up twelve baskets full of the broken pieces left over. 21 And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.
  Walking on the Water

The Pilgrims Progress, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  {37} Now, as Christian was walking solitarily by himself, he espied one afar off, come crossing over the field to meet him; and their hap was to meet just as they were crossing the way of each other. The gentleman's name that met him was Mr. Worldly Wiseman, he dwelt in the Town of Carnal Policy, a very great town, and also hard by from whence Christian came. This man, then, meeting with Christian, and having some inkling of him,--for Christian's setting forth from the City of Destruction was much noised abroad, not only in the Town where he dwelt, but also it began to be the Town talk in some other places,--Mr. Worldly Wiseman, therefore, having some guess of him, by beholding his laborious going, by observing his sighs and groans, and the like, began thus to enter into some talk with Christian.
  {38} WORLD. How now, good fellow, whither away after this burdened manner?
  --
  {53} Then Evangelist proceeded, saying, Give more earnest heed to the things that I shall tell thee of. I will now show thee who it was that deluded thee, and who it was also to whom he sent thee. --The man that met thee is one Worldly Wiseman, and rightly is he so called; partly, because he savoureth only the doctrine of this world, [1 John 4:5] (therefore he always goes to the Town of Morality to church): and partly because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth him best from the cross. [Gal 6:12] And because he is of this carnal temper, therefore he seeketh to pervert my ways, though right. Now there are three things in this man's counsel, that thou must utterly abhor.
  1. His turning thee out of the way. 2. His labouring to render the cross odious to thee. And, 3. His setting thy feet in that way that leadeth unto the administration of death.
  --
  {175} FAITH. When I came to the foot of the hill called Difficulty, I met with a very aged man, who asked me what I was, and whither bound. I told him that I am a pilgrim, going to the Celestial City. Then said the old man, Thou lookest like an honest fellow; wilt thou be content to dwell with me for the wages that I shall give thee? Then I asked him his name, and where he dwelt. He said his name was Adam the First, and that he dwelt in the Town of Deceit. [Eph. 4:22] I asked him then what was his work, and what the wages he would give. He told me that his work was many delights; and his wages that I should be his heir at last. I further asked him what house he kept, and what other servants he had. So he told me that his house was maintained with all the dainties in the world; and that his servants were those of his own begetting. Then I asked if he had any children. He said that he had but three daughters: The Lust of the Flesh, The Lust of the Eyes, and The Pride of Life, and that I should marry them all if I would. [1 John 2:16] Then I asked how long time he would have me live with him? And he told me, As long as he lived himself.
  CHR. Well, and what conclusion came the old man and you to at last?
  --
  CHR. Deceived! you may be sure of it; remember the proverb, "They say and do not." [Matt. 23:3] But the kingdom of God is not in word, but in Power. [1 Cor 4:20] He talketh of prayer, of repentance, of faith, and of the new birth; but he knows but only to talk of them. I have been in his family, and have observed him both at home and abroad; and I know what I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty of religion as the white of an egg is of savour. There is there neither prayer nor sign of repentance for sin; yea, the brute in his kind serves God far better than he. He is the very stain, reproach, and shame of religion, to all that know him; it can hardly have a good word in all that end of the Town where he dwells, through him. [Rom. 2:24,25] Thus say the common people that know him, A saint abroad, and a devil at home. His poor family finds it so; he is such a churl, such a railer at and so unreasonable with his servants, that they neither know how to do for or speak to him. Men that have any dealings with him say it is better to deal with a Turk than with him; for fairer dealing they shall have at their hands. This Talkative (if it be possible) will go beyond them, defraud, beguile, and overreach them. Besides, he brings up his sons to follow his steps; and if he findeth in any of them a foolish timorousness, (for so he calls the first appearance of a tender conscience,) he calls them fools and blockheads, and by no means will employ them in much, or speak to their commendations before others. For my part, I am of opinion, that he has, by his wicked life, caused many to stumble and fall; and will be, if God prevent not, the ruin of many more.
  {194} FAITH. Well, my brother, I am bound to believe you; not only because you say you know him, but also because, like a Christian, you make your reports of men. For I cannot think that you speak these things of ill-will, but because it is even so as you say.
  --
  {214} He that shall die there, although his death will be unnatural, and his pain perhaps great, he will yet have the better of his fellow; not only because he will be arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but because he will escape many miseries that the other will meet with in the rest of his journey. But when you are come to the Town, and shall find fulfilled what I have here related, then remember your friend, and quit yourselves like men, and commit the keeping of your souls to your God in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator.
  {215} Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the wilderness, they presently saw a town before them, and the name of that town is Vanity; and at the Town there is a fair kept, called Vanity Fair: it is kept all the year long. It beareth the name of Vanity Fair because the Town where it is kept is lighter than vanity; and, also because all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity. As is the saying of the wise, "all that cometh is vanity." [Eccl. 1; 2:11,17; 11:8; Isa. 11:17]
  {216} This fair is no new-erected business, but a thing of ancient standing; I will show you the original of it.
  --
  {218} Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial City lies just through this town where this lusty fair is kept; and he that will go to the city, and yet not go through this town, must needs go out of the world. [1 Cor. 5:10] The Prince of princes himself, when here, went through this town to his own country, and that upon a fair day too; yea, and as I think, it was Beelzebub, the chief lord of this fair, that invited him to buy of his vanities; yea, would have made him lord of the fair, would he but have done him reverence as he went through the Town. [Matt. 4:8, Luke 4:5-7] Yea, because he was such a person of honour, Beelzebub had him from street to street, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a little time, that he might, if possible, allure the Blessed One to cheapen and buy some of his vanities; but he had no mind to the merchandise, and therefore left the Town, without laying out so much as one farthing upon these vanities. This fair, therefore, is an ancient thing, of long standing, and a very great fair.
  {219} Now these pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through this fair. Well, so they did: but, behold, even as they entered into the fair, all the people in the fair were moved, and the Town itself as it were in a hubbub about them; and that for several reasons: for--
  {220} First, The pilgrims were clothed with such kind of raiment as was diverse from the raiment of any that traded in that fair. The people, therefore, of the fair, made a great gazing upon them: some said they were fools, some they were bedlams, and some they are outlandish men. [1 Cor. 2:7-8]
  --
  {223} One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriage of the men, to say unto them, What will ye buy? But they, looking gravely upon him, answered, "We buy the truth." [Prov. 23:23] At that there was an occasion taken to despise the men the more; some mocking, some taunting, some speaking reproachfully, and some calling upon others to smite them. At last things came to a hubbub and great stir in the fair, insomuch that all order was confounded. Now was word presently brought to the great one of the fair, who quickly came down, and deputed some of his most trusty friends to take these men into examination, about whom the fair was almost overturned. So the men were brought to examination; and they that sat upon them, asked them whence they came, whither they went, and what they did there, in such an unusual garb? The men told them that they were pilgrims and strangers in the world, and that they were going to their own country, which was the heavenly Jerusalem, [Heb. 11:13-16] and that they had given no occasion to the men of the Town, nor yet to the merchandisers, thus to abuse them, and to let them in their journey, except it was for that, when one asked them what they would buy, they said they would buy the truth. But they that were appointed to examine them did not believe them to be any other than bedlams and mad, or else such as came to put all things into a confusion in the fair. Therefore they took them and beat them, and besmeared them with dirt, and then put them into the cage, that they might be made a spectacle to all the men of the fair.
  Behold Vanity Fair! the Pilgrims there
  --
  {227} "That they were enemies to and disturbers of their trade; that they had made commotions and divisions in the Town, and had won a party to their own most dangerous opinions, in contempt of the law of their prince."
  Now, FAITHFUL, play the man, speak for thy God:
  --
  {245} So I saw that quickly after they were got out of the fair, they overtook one that was going before them, whose name was By-ends: so they said to him, What countryman, Sir? and how far go you this way? He told them that he came from the Town of Fair-speech, and he was going to the Celestial City (but told them not his name).
  From Fair-speech! said Christian. Is there any good that lives there? [Prov. 26:25]
  --
  {311} So they both went on, and Ignorance he came after. Now when they had passed him a little way, they entered into a very dark lane, where they met a man whom seven devils had bound with seven strong cords, and were carrying of him back to the door that they saw on the side of the hill. [Matt. 12:45, Prov. 5:22] Now good Christian began to tremble, and so did Hopeful his companion; yet as the devils led away the man, Christian looked to see if he knew him; and he thought it might be one Turn-away, that dwelt in the Town of Apostasy. But he did not perfectly see his face, for he did hang his head like a thief that is found. But being once past, Hopeful looked after him, and espied on his back a paper with this inscription, "Wanton professor and damnable apostate".
  Then said Christian to his fellow, Now I call to remembrance, that which was told me of a thing that happened to a good man hereabout. The name of the man was Little-faith, but a good man, and he dwelt in the Town of Sincere. The thing was this:--At the entering in at this passage, there comes down from Broad-way Gate, a lane called Dead Man's Lane; so called because of the murders that are commonly done there; and this Little-faith going on pilgrimage, as we do now, chanced to sit down there, and slept. Now there happened, at that time, to come down the lane, from Broad-way Gate, three sturdy rogues, and their names were Faint-heart, Mistrust, and Guilt, (three brothers), and they espying Little-faith, where he was, came galloping up with speed. Now the good man was just awake from his sleep, and was getting up to go on his journey. So they came up all to him, and with threatening language bid him stand. At this Little-faith looked as white as a clout, and had neither power to fight nor fly. Then said Faint-heart, Deliver thy purse. But he making no haste to do it (for he was loath to lose his money), Mistrust ran up to him, and thrusting his hand into his pocket, pulled out thence a bag of silver. Then he cried out, Thieves! Thieves! With that Guilt, with a great club that was in his hand, struck Little-faith on the head, and with that blow felled him flat to the ground, where he lay bleeding as one that would bleed to death. All this while the thieves stood by. But, at last, they hearing that some were upon the road, and fearing lest it should be one Great-grace, that dwells in the city of Good-confidence, they betook themselves to their heels, and left this good man to shift for himself. Now, after a while, Little-faith came to himself, and getting up, made shift to scrabble on his way. This was the story.
  {312} HOPE. But did they take from him all that ever he had?

Thus Spoke Zarathustra text, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  At the gate of the Town he met the gravediggers;
  they shone their torches in his face, recognized Zarathustra, and mocked him. "Zarathustra carries off the

Verses of Vemana, #is Book, #unset, #Zen
  If a soldier skilled in war serves a base master he will disobey and turn again from seeking his favour. He will roam the Towns and hamlets like a monkey.
  1203

WORDNET












--- Grep of noun the_town
talk of the town



IN WEBGEN [10000/429]

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Nemesis(1993) - Set in a WW III-decimated 21st-century Los Angeles in which humans compete with cyborgs, this low-budget special-effects laden thriller chronicles the attempts of a heroic fellow to clean up the town and keep the androids from taking over what's left of the planet.
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High Plains Drifter(1973) - A gunfighting stranger comes to the small settlement of Lago. After gunning down three gunmen who tried to kill him, the townsfolk decide to hire the Stranger to hold off three outlaws who are on their way.
Oblivion(1994) - What do you get when you combine a Western with a Science Fiction film? You might get this shoot'em up in space. It is set in the distant town of Oblivion (it was actually filmed in Romania). Though it's a high tech town, it has the feel of an old fashioned Western outpost from the 1800's. The town...
Steel Dawn(1987) - This futuristic drama offers the classic story of Shane with a few interesting twists. The tale is set in a smouldering, decimated post WW III world in the town of Meridian which has been besieged by bad-guys belonging to a powerful landowner who is trying to monopolize the precious local water supp...
It's the Pied Piper, Charlie Brown(2000) - It's the Pied Piper, Charlie Brown is a retelling to Sally by Charlie Brown of the story how the Pied Piper of Hamelin (portrayed by Snoopy) chased away all the mice (changed by Charlie Brown from rats because Sally is terrified of rats) from the town of Hamlet. The Peanuts kids substitute some char...
The Giant Spider Invasion(1975) - A meteorite crashes in a small Wisconsin town, spiders start to pop from the meteorite and it's fragments. The spiders prey on the townspeople as local scientists try to figure the true origins of the meteorite.
Strange Invaders (1983) - Charles Bigelow finds out his ex-wife,Margaret, has vanished while attending her mother's funeral. Charles travels to her hometown of Centerville only to find the town's weird residents (wearing 1950's clothing) who claim Margaret and her family never lived there. He discovers that the whole town ha...
The Giant Gila Monster(1959) - A small Texas town has strange events occurring in it's town. Accident start to happen around the town but hardly anybody can figure out the cause of it. Sheriff Jeff along with his friend Chase (a mechanic, hod rod racer, and song writer) figure out that something isn't right with accidents. They...
The Legend of Boggy Creek(1972) - Based on the true events about various encounters with the Bigfoot like creature called the Fouke Monster, the town of Fouke, Arkansas recalls the terrifying encounters (going back to the 1950's) with the monster through various retellings and interviews recreated in the documentar
The Simpsons Movie(2007) - Based on the long-running and iconic animated series. The EPA has launched a plot to put all of Springfield under a dome and isolate them from the rest of the world because the town has become the single most polluted place in the world. Not wanting their home and their city destroyed and everyone t...
Silent Night, Bloody Night (1974) - The citizens of a small New England town are trying to sell a mansion. The mansion has a dark mysterious part the leadership of the town wish to keep hidden but when man inheritance the mansion to begins to unravel the mystery but an escape maniac makes things more difficult as he picks off members...
Laserblast(1978) - Billy Duncan is a angry and lonely kid in a small town dealing with bullies and the towns citizens everyday. He feels that they all mistreat him and he hates the town even more it. While relaxing in the desert an alien ship leaves behind a powerful laser weapon. Billy finds it and starts to use it a...
Village of the Damned(1995) - Director John Carpenter brings fear through the faces of the seemingly innocence of youth in this remake of the 1960 Wolf Rilla movie of the same name. In the small coastal village of Midwich, an unseen force invades the townspeople rendering them unconscious for over six hours which leaves ten wom...
All The Right Moves(1983) - Stefen Djordjevic (Tom Cruise) wants to become a football star, but people want him to stay and work in the mines of the town he lives in. It's nearly mined out and Stefen doesn't see a future in it. Nickerson (Craig T. Nelson), his football coach, longs for something better, too, that better being...
Hard Rock Zombies(1985) - A popular hard rock band passes by the small town of Grand Guignol during their tours however the town turns out not so innocent filled with horrors such as werewolves, dwarves, and even Adolf Hitler himself. This stop the lead singer of the band from making love with one of the local girls, Cassie....
Video Violence... When Renting Is Not Enough.(1987) - Steve and Rachel, a young couple, open a video store in a backwater town. They start to notice the towns residence tend to rent only horror and porn movies however they soon discover that they make their own home movies of real people bein
El Mariachi(1992) - El Mariachi just wants to play his guitar and carry on the family tradition. Unfortunately, the town he tries to find work in has another visitor...a killer who carries his guns in a guitar case. The drug lord and his henchmen mistake El Mariachi for the killer, Azul, and chase him around town tryin...
Career Opportunities(1991) - Josie, the daughter of the town's wealthiest businessman, faces problems at home and wishes to leave home, but is disorientated. Her decision is finalized after she falls asleep in a Target dressing room, and awakes to find that she is locked in the store overnight with the janitor, Jim, the town "n...
North Shore Fish(1997) - For most of its existence, a tightly-knit Massachusetts community has earned its living and gained its identity from the fish industry. Indeed, the North Shore frozen fish company is the town's primary source of income. Sal Matilla (Tony Danza) is the plant foreman. With the help of his lifelong gir...
Dante's Peak(1997) - Volcanologist Harry Dalton comes to the sleepy town of Dante's Peak to investigate the recent rumblings of the dormant volcano the burg is named for. Before long, his worst fears are realized when a massive eruption hits, and immediately, Harry, the mayor and the townspeople find themselves fighting...
Dr. Giggles(1992) - The psychopathic son of a mass-murdering doctor, escapes from his mental institution to seek revenge on the town where his father was caught. The giggling doctor kills his victims with a surgical theme. His goal being to give one of the townfolk a heart transplant.
Going All the Way(1997) - Two men return home from the Army to find that their attitudes on life, love, and the town where they grew up have changed in this bittersweet coming-of-age drama. Sonny Burns (Jeremy Davies) and Gunner Casselman (Ben Affleck) are two guys from Indianapolis who were drafted during the Korean War. In...
Scooby-Doo and the Witch's Ghost(1999) - A famous horror writer, Ben Ravencroft invites Scooby and the gang to his home town of Oakhaven where they find the ghost of "witch" Sarah Ravencroft, a relative of Ben's whom haunts the town.
Blue Velvet(1986) - Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle MacLachlan) is just your average young American. When he returns for a visit to the town where he grew up, he finds a severed ear in a field. Assuming the mantle of junior detective after irritation with the police, he ends up connecting the ear to a depraved underworld of sex...
Breaker! Breaker!(1977) - Breaker! Breaker! is a 1977 film starring Chuck Norris. The story follows a truck driver, John David "J.D." Dawes (Norris), who must infiltrate a desert town and save his brother, Billy (Michael Augenstein), who is imprisoned by the town's corrupt judge (George Murdock). The majority of the movie, h...
8 Mile(2002) - The setting is Detroit in 1995. The city is divided by 8 Mile, a road that splits the town in half along racial lines. A young white rapper, Jimmy "B-Rabbit" Smith Jr summons strength within himself to cross over these arbitrary boundaries to fulfill his dream of success in hip hop. With future and...
Yojimbo(1961) - A crafty ronin comes to a town divided by two criminal gangs and decides to play them against each other to free the town.
Splitting Heirs(1993) - In this story written by Eric Idle of "Monty Python" fame, Tommy Patel (played by Idle) was an average man living in West London with a Hindi family. An American by the name of Henry Bullock (Rick Moranis) visits from New York and he and Tommy have a night on the town, leading to Tommy's firing....
On the Town(1949) - Fun-loving sailors Gabey (Gene Kelly), Chip (Frank Sinatra) and Ozzie (Jules Munshin) have 24 hours of shore leave in New York City, and they want to make every second count. While Chip hooks up with loudmouth cab driver Brunhilde (Betty Garrett) and Ozzie swoons for prim anthropologist Claire (Ann...
Around the Country(2010) - In this film version of Coolduder's popular Around the Town web series, Shawn and M.J go on a cross-country road trip from Baltimore to San-Deigo for their final video together.
Murphy's Romance(1985) - A divorced,single mother(Sally Field) moves to a small Arizona town and falls in love with the town pharmacist(James Garner)who is twice her age.
Assault In Paradise(1977) - A Native American travels around a resort town, murdering cops and rich people with a high-powered crossbow, while demanding that the town's richest residents pay him money to stop the killings.
The Clown & The Kids(1969)(1969) - Circus clown:Emmett Kelly and his fellow circus performers head to a European village to do a show for the kids..unaware that the town's mean and hateful patriarch"Jonathan Scagg"tries to prevent the circus from coming to town and he abuses the poor children. After doing his show..Kelly turns into "...
The Naked Kiss(1964) - Kelly, a prostitute, finds redemption in the town of Grantville, where she arrives working as a medium-time seller. There, she meets Griff, the police captain of the town, with whom she spends a romantic afternoon. The woman, traumatized by an experience in the past called "The Naked Kiss" by psychi...
The Town Santa Forgot(1993) - This holiday TV special is a tale details the life of an outrageously overindulged, bratty 5-year old little boy named Jeremy Creek spoiled ridiculously by his inferiorly mild and intimidated parents, flinging himself into destructive, earsplitting, and violent temper tantrums when his requests are...
High Heels and Low Lifes(2001) - In this broad comedy from sometime comic actor Mel Smith, two women find themselves fleeing criminals. Minnie Driver stars as Shannon, a London nurse who finds her boyfriend Ray, a "sound sculptor", becoming increasingly dull and inattentive. When he forgets her birthday, she decides to hit the town...
Salems lot(1979) - A man and young boy discover a terrifying secret About the town they live in people vanish and turn into vampire ghosts or vampires
High Season(1987) - On the isle of Rhodes, Katherine, an expatriate English photographer, lives with her daughter. A young local wants to encourage tourism, so he commissions a sculpture of the Unknown Tourist for the town square; the sculptor he brings to Rhodes is Kate's ex-husband. Also there to see Kate is Sharp, a...
Great White (a.k.a. The Last Shark)(1981) - A great white shark attacks the town of Port Harbor and it is up to the locals to sto
Happy Birthday Bunnykins(1995) - In this family classic based from Royal Doulton, William Bunnykins fears that his birthday will be ruined by the Town of Little Twitching's 500th Birthday. After William received advice from a lady, William escorts the Queen and his family and friends bring a happy conclusion to his happiest birthda...
Two Thousand Maniacs!(1964) - Six people are lured into a small Deep South town for a Centennial celebration where the residents proceed to kill them one by one as revenge for the town's destruction during the Civil War.
Fancy Pants(1950) - An American actor impersonating an English butler is hired by a nouveau riche woman from New Mexico to refine her husband and headstrong daughter . The complications increase when the town believes the actor to be an Earl, and President Roosevelt decides to pay a visit.
Pokmon 3: The Movie(2000) - Originally released in Japan in 2000 then in the U.S. in 2001, the movie focuses on a researcher named Spencer Hale, who lives in the town of Greenfield and studies the elusive Unown, symbolic Pokemon. His daughter Molly hears a story about the legendary Pokemon Entei, who she claims is strong and n...
Pokmon Heroes(2002) - In the seaside town of Altomare there lives a legend about how two legendary Pokemon named Latias and Latios protected the town from a trainer who was terrorizing after which Latios sacrificed itself. Latios had its soul kept in a mystical item called the Soul Dew, which is being sought by Annie & O...
People Under The Stairs(1991) - A boy wants to help his sick mother make rent before eviction, so he goes into the house of the wealthiest family in the town. he gets locked in and discovers a CRAZY family lives there. the parents who are actually brother & sister have a girl locked in the house as well as lots of other boys in th...
Eight Crazy Nights(2002) - In the town of Dukesberry, New Hampshire, Davey Stone who is a 33-year-old trouble making alcoholic gets arrested for walking out on paying a restaurant bill. Instead of jail time for another addition to his long criminal record, he gets sentenced to community service helping 70-year-old basketball...
The Grinch(2000) - A live-action remake of the classic Christmas special starring Jim Carrey as the title character. The Grinch who lives at the top of Mount Crumpitt just outside the town of Whoville hates the Whos and absolutely hates Christmas! Despite being an outcast, young Cindy Lou Who believes there is somethi...
Igor And The Lunatics(1985) - After 16 years in prison, Igor and his gang are out and bent on taking revenge on the town that sent them up.
Return Of Sabata(1971) - Master gunslinger Sabata arrives in Hobsonville, a town completely owned by McIntock, a robber baron who is taxing the inhabitants for the cost of future improvements to the town. Or that's what McIntock says he'll do with the money...
Antropophagus(1980) - A group of tourists become stranded on an uninhabited island where they are stalked by an insane, violent, and grotesque killer that slaughtered the town's former residents.
Boss N*****(1975) - Two black bounty hunters ride into a small town out West in pursuit of an outlaw. They discover that the town has no sheriff, and soon take over that position, much against the will of the mostly white townsfolk. They raise hell, chase women, and milk the locals for cash, while waiting for the oppor...
The Undertaker And His Pals(1966) - An undertaker and his two friends, who are restaurant owners, drum up business by going out on the town and killing people; the restaurant owners use parts of the bodies for their menu, and the undertaker gets paid by the families to bury the remainder. Their racket goes awry when 2 detectives suspe...
The Being(1983) - Toxic waste dumping in a small Idaho town turns a young boy into a horrible mutant monster. The town's police chief and a government scientist team up to stop the monster, which is quickly killing off the town's citizenry.
The Good Earth(1937) - The story of a farmer in China: a story of humility and bravery. His father gives Wang Lung a freed slave as wife. By diligence and frugality the two manage to enlarge their property. But then a famine forces them to leave their land and live in the town. However it turns out to be a blessing in dis...
Witchouse(1999) - On Mayday 1998 in the town of Dunwich, Massachusetts, Elizabeth gathers together a group of specially selected friends for a rather odd party. It turns out that she is the descendent of a malevolent witch named Lilith who was burned at the stake precisely three hundred years ago. Now Elizabeth hopes...
Lurking Fear(1994) - The town of Leffert's Corners has been plagued by unearthly beings for decades, and now there is only a few people left, including the local priest and a woman traumatised by the death of her sister. But when John Martense turns up to claim his illicit family fortune, with bad guys in pursuit, the l...
Death Hunt(1981) - Canada 1931: The unsociable trapper Johnson lives for himself in the ice-cold mountains near the Yukon river. During a visit in the town he witnesses a dog-fight. He interrupts the game and buys one of the dogs - almost dead already - for $200 against the owner's will. When the owner Hasel complains...
Chopper Chicks In Zombietown(1989) - Riding around on their motorbikes, a gang of tough women bikers are the only thing that stands between a crowd of Zombies, which have been accidentally let out of their secure cave (!), and those still alive in the town.
Open Season(2006) - Boog is a bear who enjoys the domesticated and pampered life in the garage of park ranger Beth, who has raised him since he was a cub. One day, when the town hunting fanatic shows up with a one-antlered deer named Elliot, the seer becomes friends with Boog and intends to show him the wild life. Afte...
Silent Rage(1982) - In the hospital of a small town, three doctors experiment on a man called John Kirby. As a result, John becomes a mute maniacal murderer with the ability to heal automatically every time he gets injured, no matter how bad it is. When he starts killing everyone he crosses, the town's sheriff goes aft...
Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs(2009) - Flint Lockwood is a young inventor in the town of Swallow Falls who has always wanted to construct something spectacular. However, all of his inventions keep backfiring. His father who does not understand his talent works in a sardine store, and after the closing of the town's Sardine cannery, the...
Borat(2006) - Kazakh television personality Borat Sagdiyev leaves Kazakhstan for the "Greatest Country in the World," the "US and A" to make a documentary at the behest of the Kazakh Ministry of Information. He leaves behind his wife Oksana and other inhabitants of his village including "the town rapist", "the to...
Mayor Cupcake(2011) - A hard-working cupcake maker is inadvertently elected mayor of a small town burdened with debt. Uneducated, she relies on her street smarts to clean up the town.
The Shaggy D.A.(1976) - Wilby Daniels is now a successful attorney who is married to Betty, and they have a son named Brian. Returning to the town of Medfield from a vacation, the family discovers that they have been robbed of almost all their possessions and Wilby blames the local district attorney John Slade, who is repu...
The New Guy(2002) - A high school senior branded uncool in the ninth grade gets himself expelled so he changes his image to cool kid at the town's other high school.
Hard Bounty(1995) - Kanning makes a good living as a bounty hunter. He always brings the guilty to justice and never makes a mistake. One day he makes a mistake, and decides to leave the bounty business: he buys the town saloon where his woman Donnie works as a whore. Meanwhile Carver busies himself extorting land clai...
The Pit(1981) - Jamie Benjamin is a young preteen who is mocked by the town. Jamie doesn't help his cause as his strange behavior and obsession with girls catch up with him. His only friend is Teddy, a teddy bear who he has conversations with. As his parents go on a business trip he is left in the care of a young s...
Christmas Mountain(1981) - A cowboy comes to a town at Christmas time. He eats at a cafe but was unable to pay for his meal, so the owner throws him in jail. The town wants to alleviate their guilt over a Mexican family, who has pregnant woman with them, who lives on top of a mountain called Christmas mountain. They bail out...
It's the Pied Piper, Charlie Brown(2000) - The first peanuts Special of the new Millennium and the last produced under Charles Schulz before his death. In a take on the classic tale of "The Pied Piper of Hamelin", Snoopy gets a job using his concertina to rid the town of mice so he can win a year's supply of dog food. This is the first Peanu...
Rango(2011) - Rango is a 2011 American computer-animated Western comedy film directed by Gore Verbinski from a screenplay by John Logan. The film's plot centers on Rango, a chameleon who accidentally ends up in the town of Dirt, an outpost that is in desperate need of a new sheriff. His first mission is to save t...
The Legend of Frosty the Snowman(2005) - Frosty the Snowman befriends a young boy named Tommy Tinkerton in the town of Evergreen, an upbeat but decrepit town where every kid has to follow harsh rules and having fun is discouraged. When word gets out that Tommy has befriended a fun-loving snowman he becomes an outcast in the town. Meanwhile...
A Madea Christmas(2013) - Madea takes on a new job at her great niece Eileen's local store in a small rural town but loses the job on her first day. Meanwhile EIleen's daughter Lacey who is a teacher at the town's small school says the school does not have the money this year to hold the annual Christmas jubilee and she also...
Saving Christmas(2017) - Danny is a middle school student who lives in the town of Norpole, Maine with his mother Elizabeth and his sister Jennifer. Sadly, Danny's father has died, and this will be the family's first Christmas without him. When Jennifer says that she doesn't believe in Santa Claus any more, Danny decides to...
A Civil Action (1998) ::: 6.6/10 -- PG-13 | 1h 55min | Drama | 8 January 1999 (USA) -- A tenacious lawyer takes on a case involving a major company responsible for causing several people to be diagnosed with leukemia due to the town's water supply being contaminated, at the risk of bankrupting his firm and career. Director: Steven Zaillian Writers:
A Mighty Wind (2003) ::: 7.2/10 -- PG-13 | 1h 31min | Comedy, Music | 9 May 2003 (USA) -- Mockumentary captures the reunion of 1960s folk trio the Folksmen as they prepare for a show at The Town Hall to memorialize a recently deceased concert promoter. Director: Christopher Guest Writers:
A Summer Tale (2000) ::: 7.3/10 -- Den bsta sommaren (original title) -- A Summer Tale Poster Two kids move in with a lonely undertaker who is secretly in love with the town's school teacher. Director:
A Summer Tale (2000) ::: 7.3/10 -- Den bsta sommaren (original title) -- A Summer Tale Poster Two kids move in with a lonely undertaker who is secretly in love with the town's school teacher. Director: Ulf Malmros Writers: Ulf Malmros, Vasa (as Lars Johansson) Stars:
Banana Joe (1982) ::: 6.4/10 -- 1h 36min | Action, Comedy | 8 April 1982 (Italy) -- A man is living happily on an island with his family, growing bananas. When a local mobster with an eye on man's property tries to take it from him, he must go to the town for the first time to get some help. Director: Steno Writers: Mario Amendola (screenplay) (as Amendola), Bruno Corbucci (screenplay) (as Corbucci) | 2 more credits
Blow the Man Down (2019) ::: 6.4/10 -- R | 1h 31min | Comedy, Drama, Mystery | 20 March 2020 (USA) -- Mary Beth and Priscilla Connolly attempt to cover up a gruesome run-in with a dangerous man. To conceal their crime, the sisters must go deep into the criminal underbelly of their hometown, uncovering the town's darkest secrets. Directors: Bridget Savage Cole, Danielle Krudy Writers:
Breakfast on Pluto (2005) ::: 7.2/10 -- R | 2h 8min | Comedy, Drama | 6 January 2006 (USA) -- In the 1970s, a young trans woman, Patrick "Kitten" Braden, comes of age by leaving her Irish town for London, in part to look for her mother and in part because her gender identity is beyond the town's understanding. Director: Neil Jordan Writers:
Cop Land (1997) ::: 6.9/10 -- R | 1h 45min | Crime, Drama, Thriller | 15 August 1997 (USA) -- The Sheriff of a suburban New Jersey community, populated by New York City police officers, slowly discovers the town is a front for mob connections and corruption. Director: James Mangold Writer:
Day of the Outlaw (1959) ::: 7.3/10 -- Not Rated | 1h 32min | Western | 19 July 1959 (USA) -- Blaise Starrett is a rancher at odds with homesteaders when outlaws hold up the small town. The outlaws are held in check only by their notorious leader, but he is diagnosed with a fatal wound and the town is a powder keg waiting to blow. Director: Andr De Toth (as Andre De Toth) Writers: Lee E. Wells (novel), Philip Yordan (screenplay)
Destry Rides Again (1939) ::: 7.7/10 -- Approved | 1h 35min | Comedy, Western | 29 December 1939 (USA) -- Deputy sheriff Destry tames the town of Bottle Neck, including saloon singer Frenchy. Director: George Marshall Writers: Felix Jackson (screen play), Gertrude Purcell (screen play) | 3 more
Dodge City (1939) ::: 7.1/10 -- Approved | 1h 44min | Action, Drama, Romance | 8 April 1939 (USA) -- A Texas cattle agent witnesses first hand, the brutal lawlessness of Dodge City and takes the job of sheriff to clean the town up. Director: Michael Curtiz Writer: Robert Buckner (original screen play)
Dogville (2003) ::: 8.0/10 -- R | 2h 58min | Crime, Drama | 23 April 2004 (USA) -- A woman on the run from the mob is reluctantly accepted in a small Colorado community in exchange for labor, but when a search visits the town she finds out that their support has a price. Director: Lars von Trier Writer:
Ghost Wars ::: TV-14 | 1h | Drama, Fantasy, Horror | TV Series (20172018) -- A remote Alaskan town that has been overrun by paranormal forces. Local outcast Roman Mercer must overcome the town's prejudices and his own personal demons if he's to harness his repressed psychic powers and save everyone. Creator:
Goldstone (2016) ::: 6.5/10 -- R | 1h 50min | Crime, Thriller | 7 July 2016 (Australia) -- Indigenous detective Jay Swan arrives in the town of Goldstone to search for a missing person, and his simple duty becomes complicated when he uncovers a web of crime and corruption. Director: Ivan Sen Writer:
Graves End (2005) ::: 8.8/10 -- 1h 30min | Thriller, Mystery | 22 April 2005 (USA) -- When society turns their back on reformed felons, the town of Graves End welcomes them but when the ex-cons disappear, FBI agent Paul Rickman comes looking for them and discovers more than he expected. Director: James Marlowe Writers: Rick Askew, James Marlowe | 2 more credits Stars:
Haven ::: TV-PG | 1h | Crime, Drama, Fantasy | TV Series (20102015) -- Many in the coastal town of Haven, Maine have a dormant curse or "trouble" that could trigger at any time for any reason. FBI agent Audrey Parker, the sheriff and the town's black sheep must deal with the troubles' deadly effects. Creators:
High Noon (1952) ::: 7.9/10 -- PG | 1h 25min | Drama, Thriller, Western | 30 July 1952 (USA) -- A town Marshal, despite the disagreements of his newlywed bride and the townspeople around him, must face a gang of deadly killers alone at high noon when the gang leader, an outlaw he sent up years ago, arrives on the noon train. Director: Fred Zinnemann Writers:
High Plains Drifter (1973) ::: 7.5/10 -- R | 1h 45min | Drama, Mystery, Western | 7 April 1973 (USA) -- A gun-fighting stranger comes to the small settlement of Lago and is hired to bring the townsfolk together in an attempt to hold off three outlaws who are on their way. Director: Clint Eastwood Writer:
Home Room (2002) ::: 7.2/10 -- R | 2h 13min | Crime, Drama | 12 April 2002 (USA) -- A high school shooting has repercussions on the town and students. Director: Paul F. Ryan Writer: Paul F. Ryan
Jericho ::: TV-14 | 45min | Action, Drama, Mystery | TV Series (20062008) -- A small town in Kansas is literally left in the dark after seeing a mushroom cloud over near-by Denver, Colorado. The townspeople struggle to find answers about the blast and solutions on how to survive. Creators:
License to Drive (1988) ::: 6.4/10 -- PG-13 | 1h 28min | Comedy | 6 July 1988 (USA) -- A teen decides to go for a night on the town with his friends despite flunking his driver's test. Director: Greg Beeman Writer: Neil Tolkin
On the Town (1949) ::: 7.4/10 -- Passed | 1h 38min | Comedy, Musical, Romance | 30 December 1949 (USA) -- Three sailors wreak havoc as they search for love during a whirlwind 24-hour leave in New York City. Directors: Stanley Donen, Gene Kelly Writers: Adolph Green (screenplay), Betty Comden (screenplay) | 3 more credits
Outcasts ::: TV-14 | 50min | Drama, Sci-Fi | TV Series (20102011) -- With Earth rapidly becoming uninhabitable, pioneers seek to colonize the harsh terrain of the planet Carpathia. 10 years later, the town of Forthaven faces danger as the planet's dark secrets are revealed. Creator:
Pretty Little Liars: The Perfectionists ::: TV-14 | 45min | Crime, Drama, Mystery | TV Series (2019) -- Everything about the town of Beacon Heights seems perfect, but in the aftermath of the town's first murder, behind every Perfectionist hides secrets, lies and much needed alibies. Creator:
Quo vadis, Aida? (2020) ::: 7.1/10 -- 1h 41min | Drama, History, War | 15 March 2021 (USA) -- Aida is a translator for the UN in the small town of Srebrenica. When the Serbian army takes over the town, her family is among the thousands of citizens looking for shelter in the UN camp. Director: Jasmila Zbanic Writer:
Rango (2011) ::: 7.2/10 -- PG | 1h 47min | Animation, Adventure, Comedy | 4 March 2011 (USA) -- Rango is an ordinary chameleon who accidentally winds up in the town of Dirt, a lawless outpost in the Wild West in desperate need of a new sheriff. Director: Gore Verbinski Writers:
Rise of the Legend (2014) ::: 6.5/10 -- Huang feihong zhi yingxiong you meng (original title) -- Rise of the Legend Poster -- An orphan, whose father has been killed by dark power, attempts to bring justice back to the town. Director: Roy Hin Yeung Chow Writer:
Roger Dodger (2002) ::: 6.9/10 -- R | 1h 46min | Comedy, Drama | 22 November 2002 (USA) -- After breaking up with his lover and boss, a smooth-talking man takes his teenaged nephew out on the town in search of sex. Director: Dylan Kidd Writer: Dylan Kidd
Sabata (1969) ::: 6.8/10 -- Ehi amico... c' Sabata. Hai chiuso! (original title) -- Sabata Poster A master gunfighter teams up with a banjo-playing drifter and a Mexican tramp to foil the town leaders of Daugherty, Texas, who want to steal $100,000 from their own bank to buy land that the approaching railroad will cross. Director: Gianfranco Parolini (as Frank Kramer) Writers: Renato Izzo (story), Gianfranco Parolini (story) | 2 more credits
Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated ::: TV-Y7-FV | 23min | Animation, Adventure, Comedy | TV Series (20102013) -- Scooby-Doo and the gang attempt to solve creepy mysteries in the town of Crystal Cove, a place with a history of eerie supernatural events. Creators: Joe Ruby, Ken Spears
Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983) ::: 6.8/10 -- PG | 1h 35min | Fantasy, Mystery, Thriller | 29 April 1983 (USA) -- In a small American town, a diabolical circus and its demonic proprietor prey on the townsfolk. Director: Jack Clayton Writers: Ray Bradbury (screenplay), Ray Bradbury (novel)
Splendor in the Grass (1961) ::: 7.8/10 -- Not Rated | 2h 4min | Drama, Romance | 17 November 1961 (Japan) -- A fragile Kansas girl's love for a handsome young man from the town's most powerful family drives her to heartbreak and madness. Director: Elia Kazan Writer: William Inge
Tales from the Loop ::: TV-MA | 50min | Drama, Sci-Fi | TV Series (2020 ) -- The townspeople who live above "The Loop," a machine built to unlock and explore the mysteries of the universe, experience things previously consigned to the realm of science fiction. Creator:
The Chicago Code -- 44min | Action, Crime, Drama | TV Series (2011) ::: Detective Jarek Wysocki, one of Chicago's toughest cops, struggles to clean up the town's violence and corruption. Creator: Shawn Ryan
The Christmas Card (2006) ::: 7.0/10 -- 1h 24min | Drama, Romance | TV Movie 2 December 2006 -- US soldier visits the town from where an inspirational Christmas card was sent to him by a church group that mails cards out to servicemen as a goodwill effort. Director: Stephen Bridgewater (as Stephen W. Bridgewater) Writer: Joany Kane Stars:
The City of the Dead (1960) ::: 6.8/10 -- PG-13 | 1h 16min | Horror, Mystery, Thriller | 12 September 1962 (USA) -- A young college student arrives in a sleepy Massachusetts town to research witchcraft; during her stay at an eerie inn, she discovers a startling secret about the town and its inhabitants. Director: John Llewellyn Moxey (as John Moxey) Writers:
The Doctor Blake Mysteries ::: TV-14 | 57min | Crime, Drama, Mystery | TV Series (20132017) -- Dr Lucien Blake left Ballarat as a young man. But now he finds himself returning, to take over not only his dead father's medical practice, but also his on-call role as the town's police surgeon. Creators:
The Ed Sullivan Show ::: Toast of the Town (original tit ::: TV-G | 1h | Comedy, Music | TV Series (19481971) -- The classic prime time variety show most famous for its vaudeville acts and rock music performances. Stars:
The Judge (2014) ::: 7.4/10 -- R | 2h 21min | Crime, Drama | 10 October 2014 (USA) -- Big-city lawyer Hank Palmer returns to his childhood home where his father, the town's judge, is suspected of murder. Hank sets out to discover the truth and, along the way, reconnects with his estranged family. Director: David Dobkin Writers:
The Middle ::: TV-PG | 22min | Comedy | TV Series (20092018) -- The daily mishaps of a married woman and her semi-dysfunctional family and their attempts to survive life in general in the town of Orson, Indiana. Creators:
The Simpsons Movie (2007) ::: 7.3/10 -- PG-13 | 1h 27min | Animation, Adventure, Comedy | 27 July 2007 (USA) -- After Homer pollutes the town's water supply, Springfield is encased in a gigantic dome by the EPA and the Simpsons are declared fugitives. Director: David Silverman Writers: James L. Brooks (screenplay), Matt Groening (screenplay) | 13 more
The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie (2004) ::: 7.1/10 -- PG | 1h 27min | Animation, Action, Adventure | 19 November 2004 (USA) -- SpongeBob SquarePants takes leave from the town of Bikini Bottom in order to track down King Neptune's stolen crown. Directors: Stephen Hillenburg, Mark Osborne Writers: Derek Drymon, Stephen Hillenburg (television series SpongeBob
The Sweet Hereafter (1997) ::: 7.5/10 -- R | 1h 52min | Drama | 21 November 1997 (USA) -- A bus crash in a small town brings a lawyer to the town to defend the families, but he discovers that everything is not what it seems. Director: Atom Egoyan Writers: Russell Banks (novel), Atom Egoyan (screenplay)
The Talk of the Town (1942) ::: 7.5/10 -- Approved | 1h 58min | Comedy, Drama, Romance | 20 August 1942 (USA) -- An escaped prisoner and a stuffy law professor vie for the hand of a spirited schoolteacher. Director: George Stevens Writers: Irwin Shaw (screen play), Sidney Buchman (screen play) | 2 more credits Stars:
The Town (2010) ::: 7.5/10 -- R | 2h 5min | Crime, Drama, Thriller | 17 September 2010 (USA) -- A longtime thief, planning his next job, tries to balance his feelings for a bank manager connected to an earlier heist, and a hell-bent F.B.I Agent looking to bring him and his crew down. Director: Ben Affleck Writers:
The Vampire Diaries ::: TV-14 | 43min | Drama, Fantasy, Horror | TV Series (20092017) -- The lives, loves, dangers and disasters in the town, Mystic Falls, Virginia. Creatures of unspeakable horror lurk beneath this town as a teenage girl is suddenly torn between two vampire brothers. Creators:
Tidelands ::: TV-MA | 1h | Crime, Drama, Fantasy | TV Series (2018) -- After an ex-con returns to her fishing village, a dead body leads her to uncover the secrets of the town and its half-siren, half-human residents. Creators:
Tim (1979) ::: 6.4/10 -- Not Rated | 1h 49min | Drama, Romance | 13 July 1979 (Australia) -- A somewhat mentally handicapped 20-year-old man works as a laborer, but everyone abuses his naivet. A nice 40-year-old American woman hires him one day and they become close. However, the town and his family see her as predatory. Director: Michael Pate Writers: Colleen McCullough (novel), Michael Pate
Tom Goes to the Mayor ::: TV-14 | 11min | Comedy, Animation | TV Series (20042006) Hapless Tom Peters takes meetings with a bizarre and moronic mayor to share his ideas for bettering the town, always with disastrous results. Creators: Tim Heidecker, Eric Wareheim Stars:
Trapped ::: fr (original tit ::: TV-14 | 1h | Crime, Drama, Mystery | TV Series (2015 ) -- In a remote town in Iceland, Police desperately try to solve a crime as a powerful storm descends upon the town. Creator:
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91 Days -- -- Shuka -- 12 eps -- Original -- Action Drama Historical -- 91 Days 91 Days -- As a child living in the town of Lawless, Angelo Lagusa has witnessed a tragedy: his parents and younger brother have been mercilessly slaughtered by the Vanetti mafia family. Losing everything he holds dear, he leaves both his name and hometown behind, adopting the new identity of Avilio Bruno. -- -- Seven years later, Avilio finally has his chance for revenge when he receives a mysterious letter prompting him to return to Lawless. Obliging, he soon encounters the Vanetti don's son, Nero, and seeks to befriend him using the skills he has quietly honed for years. -- -- Set during the Prohibition era, 91 Days tells the story of Avilio's dark, bloodstained path to vengeance, as he slowly ends each of the men involved in the killing of his family. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Crunchyroll, Funimation -- 502,107 7.83
Another -- -- P.A. Works -- 12 eps -- Light novel -- Mystery Horror Supernatural Thriller School -- Another Another -- In 1972, a popular student in Yomiyama North Middle School's class 3-3 named Misaki passed away during the school year. Since then, the town of Yomiyama has been shrouded by a fearful atmosphere, from the dark secrets hidden deep within. -- -- Twenty-six years later, 15-year-old Kouichi Sakakibara transfers into class 3-3 of Yomiyama North and soon after discovers that a strange, gloomy mood seems to hang over all the students. He also finds himself drawn to the mysterious, eyepatch-wearing student Mei Misaki; however, the rest of the class and the teachers seem to treat her like she doesn't exist. Paying no heed to warnings from everyone including Mei herself, Kouichi begins to get closer not only to her, but also to the truth behind the gruesome phenomenon plaguing class 3-3 of Yomiyama North. -- -- Another follows Kouichi, Mei, and their classmates as they are pulled into the enigma surrounding a series of inevitable, tragic events—but unraveling the horror of Yomiyama may just cost them the ultimate price. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- TV - Jan 10, 2012 -- 1,275,253 7.53
Biohazard: Infinite Darkness -- -- Quebico -- ? eps -- Game -- Action Sci-Fi Horror -- Biohazard: Infinite Darkness Biohazard: Infinite Darkness -- The Netflix series will tell its new story across two timelines. In the first, 14-year-old sisters Jade and Billie Wesker are moved to New Raccoon City. A manufactured, corporate town, forced on them right as adolescence is in full swing. But the more time they spend there, the more they come to realize that the town is more than it seems and their father may be concealing dark secrets. Secrets that could destroy the world. The second, more than a decade into the future sees less than 15 million people left on Earth. And more than 6 billion monsters — people and animals infected with the T-virus. Jade, now 30, struggles to survive in this new world, while the secrets from her past — about her sister, her father and herself — continue to haunt her. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- ONA - ??? ??, 2021 -- 1,612 N/AOretacha Youkai Ningen -- -- DLE -- 25 eps -- Original -- Demons Horror Parody -- Oretacha Youkai Ningen Oretacha Youkai Ningen -- (No synopsis yet.) -- 1,612 N/A -- -- Youshou -- -- - -- 2 eps -- - -- Demons Hentai Horror -- Youshou Youshou -- Justice has never been so naked! -- -- A super-secret cult of lesbians performs erotic experiments on bodies from the local hospital! Their purpose: to revive the spirit of their ancient leader in a virile human form. Now it's up to the Midnight Strike Force, a team of busty justice fighters, to go undercover (and under the covers) to stop the nefarious acolytes before they succeed in their diabolically dirty schemes! -- -- (Source: Critical Mass Video) -- OVA - Feb 11, 2001 -- 1,599 5.21
BNA -- -- Trigger -- 12 eps -- Original -- Action Super Power Fantasy -- BNA BNA -- Throughout history, humans have been at odds with Beastmen—a species capable of changing shape due to their genetic "Beast Factor." Because of this conflict, Beastmen have been forced into hiding. Anima City serves as a safe haven for these oppressed individuals to live free from human interference. -- -- During a festival celebrating the town's 10th anniversary, Michiru Kagemori, a human who suddenly turned into a tanuki, finds that Anima City is a far cry from paradise. After witnessing an explosion in the square, she is confronted by Shirou Ogami, a seemingly indestructible wolf and sworn protector of all Beastmen. As they pursue the criminals behind the bombing, the two discover that Michiru is anything but an ordinary Beastman, and look to investigate her mysterious past and uncanny abilities. Could she turn out to be the missing link between Humans and Beastmen? -- -- ONA - Apr 9, 2020 -- 235,099 7.43
Bounen no Xamdou -- -- Bones -- 26 eps -- Original -- Action Military Sci-Fi Adventure -- Bounen no Xamdou Bounen no Xamdou -- Sentan Island is a small island surrounded by the Yuden Sea. It exists in a state of dreamlike tranquility, cut off from the war between the Northern Government and the Southern Continent Free Zone. Our hero, Akiyuki Takehara, lives on Sentain Island along with his mother Fusa. He is currently separated from his father, the town doctor Ryuzo, but the bond between father and son remains. One day, after taking Ryuzo the lunch that Fusa has made for him as usual, Akiyuki arrives at school, where he is caught up in an explosion along with his friends, Haru and Furuichi. The explosion produces a mysterious light, which enters Akiyuki's arm, causing him excruciating pain. He's given no time to understand it, however, as the white-haired girl who rode on the bus with him guides him to a power unlike anything he's ever known. -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- ONA - Jul 15, 2008 -- 119,082 7.68
Bounen no Xamdou -- -- Bones -- 26 eps -- Original -- Action Military Sci-Fi Adventure -- Bounen no Xamdou Bounen no Xamdou -- Sentan Island is a small island surrounded by the Yuden Sea. It exists in a state of dreamlike tranquility, cut off from the war between the Northern Government and the Southern Continent Free Zone. Our hero, Akiyuki Takehara, lives on Sentain Island along with his mother Fusa. He is currently separated from his father, the town doctor Ryuzo, but the bond between father and son remains. One day, after taking Ryuzo the lunch that Fusa has made for him as usual, Akiyuki arrives at school, where he is caught up in an explosion along with his friends, Haru and Furuichi. The explosion produces a mysterious light, which enters Akiyuki's arm, causing him excruciating pain. He's given no time to understand it, however, as the white-haired girl who rode on the bus with him guides him to a power unlike anything he's ever known. -- ONA - Jul 15, 2008 -- 119,082 7.68
Captain Tsubasa: Road to 2002 -- -- Group TAC, Madhouse -- 52 eps -- Manga -- Action Sports Shounen -- Captain Tsubasa: Road to 2002 Captain Tsubasa: Road to 2002 -- Tsubasa Oozora loves everything about soccer: the cheer of the crowd, the speed of the ball, the passion of the players, and the excitement that comes from striving to be the best soccer player he can be. His goal is to aim for the World Cup, and to do that, he’s spent countless hours practicing soccer, ever since the moment he could walk on two legs. Now, as he plays for the Barcelona team in a fierce game, it seems as though his dreams are on the verge of coming true. -- -- Captain Tsubasa: Road to 2002 tells the story of how Tsubasa climbed his way through the ranks, featuring his roots in the town of Nankatsu as well as his epic journey to master the art of soccer. -- TV - Oct 7, 2001 -- 43,226 7.40
Chitose Get You!! -- -- SILVER LINK. -- 26 eps -- 4-koma manga -- Comedy Romance School Seinen Slice of Life -- Chitose Get You!! Chitose Get You!! -- Chitose is an 11-year-old girl who is madly in love with an older guy named Hiroshi. He works at the town hall right next to the school and Chitose spends every day relentlessly pursuing him. Can Chitose ever convince Hiroshi to go out with her? -- TV - Jul 2, 2012 -- 18,214 6.25
Code:Realize - Sousei no Himegimi -- -- M.S.C -- 12 eps -- Visual novel -- Military Harem Historical Romance Fantasy Josei -- Code:Realize - Sousei no Himegimi Code:Realize - Sousei no Himegimi -- Within Cardia Beckford's hazy memories, she can recall her father Isaac and the home where she lives alone, feared as a monster by the townsfolk—for in her body, she carries a deadly substance. Embedded in her chest by her father, the eternally beating heart—also known as Horologium—has the capability to produce infinite power. However, it also makes her skin destroy anything it touches. -- -- Many in London seek the Horologium, including the terrorist organization Twilight, with whom Isaac is rumored to have close ties. To obtain the Horologium's power, the British military forces Cardia to leave her home as their prisoner. But on the road, she is whisked away by the gentleman thief Arsène Lupin, who says he will steal her heart. Joining Lupin and his companions, Cardia begins a journey to discover the truth behind Isaac's connection with Twilight, her missing memories, and the Horologium within her chest. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 67,910 6.65
Darkside Blues -- -- J.C.Staff -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Horror Mystery Psychological Sci-Fi -- Darkside Blues Darkside Blues -- The Persona Century Corporation has purchased nearly every parcel of land on earth. Dissension is not tolerated within the corporation's borders and those who oppose Persona are dealt with swiftly. Of those few places not yet under Persona's control is the free town of Kabuki-cho, also known as "The Dark Side of Tokyo". Within the town, under the leadership of a woman named Mai, is a small resistance group called Messiah. Into this world steps a man who takes the sobriquet of Kabuki-cho: Darkside. Sealed up in another dimension eighteen years ago by Persona Century, Darkside now returns to aid Messiah using his unique mystic power of renewal. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- Movie - Oct 8, 1994 -- 8,178 6.08
Da Shi Jie -- -- - -- 1 ep -- Original -- Psychological Thriller -- Da Shi Jie Da Shi Jie -- A hard rain is about to fall on a small town in Southern China. In a desperate attempt to find money to save his fiancée’s failed plastic surgery, Xiao Zhang, a mere driver, steals a bag containing 1 million from his boss. News of the robbery spreads fast within the town and, over the course of one night, everyone starts looking for Xiao Zhang and his money. -- -- (Source: Metacritic) -- Movie - Jan 12, 2018 -- 582 5.97
D.C.: Da Capo -- -- feel., Zexcs -- 26 eps -- Visual novel -- Drama Harem Magic Romance -- D.C.: Da Capo D.C.: Da Capo -- Hatsunejima abounds in mysteries—one of which is the town's unwithering cherry trees that are said to grant the most genuine wishes. There are also rumors of people possessing supernatural powers, like Junichi Asakura, who can see other people's dreams and create sweets out of nothing. Alongside his sister Nemu, he enjoys living in peace with his friends at Kazami Academy but chooses to shroud his identity in secrecy. -- -- His tranquil school life comes to a halt when he finds out that his childhood friend Sakura Yoshino has returned from America after six years. She is there for one purpose: to fulfill the promises she made long ago with Junichi. Little does anyone know, however, that Sakura's appearance is bound to change everyone's lives—for better or worse. -- -- TV - Jul 5, 2003 -- 68,645 6.76
Dragon Ball Z: Summer Vacation Special -- -- Toei Animation -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Action Adventure Comedy Super Power Martial Arts Fantasy Shounen -- Dragon Ball Z: Summer Vacation Special Dragon Ball Z: Summer Vacation Special -- One peaceful afternoon, the Son family and friends are spending the day out on the town shopping in West City. Meanwhile, two strangers enter the city and begin causing havoc, destroying nearly everything in their path. As the Son family is eating, the building they're in is suddenly attacked, as it turns out the two are after Son Goku. When Goku sees that innocent people are being attacked in his name, he becomes furious. Trunks comes to Goku’s aid, and the two lead the artificial humans out of the city. As the battle is moved elsewhere, Goku and Gohan, now dressed in white tuxes, return and land in West City. -- -- The two proceed to show clips and highlights from the preceding Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z movies. Goku of course doesn't much like being all dressed up, and by the end he powers up to change back into his typical dōgi. Gohan tries to do the same, but isn't powerful enough to get out of his tux. Goku says he’ll get there someday, and Gohan tells everyone to be sure to go see “Extreme Battle!! The Three Great Super Saiyans” in theaters. -- -- (Source: Kanzenshuu) -- Special - Jul ??, 1992 -- 10,356 6.60
Free! (Movie) -- -- Kyoto Animation -- 1 ep -- Original -- Slice of Life Sports Drama School -- Free! (Movie) Free! (Movie) -- At the end of final episode of Free! Dive to the Future, the movie was announced to premiere in Summer 2020. It has now been postponed to 2021. -- Movie - ??? ??, 2021 -- 33,274 N/AUzumaki -- -- Drive -- 4 eps -- Manga -- Dementia Horror Psychological Supernatural Drama Romance Seinen -- Uzumaki Uzumaki -- In the town of Kurouzu-cho, Kirie Goshima lives a fairly normal life with her family. As she walks to the train station one day to meet her boyfriend, Shuuichi Saito, she sees his father staring at a snail shell in an alley. Thinking nothing of it, she mentions the incident to Shuuichi, who says that his father has been acting weird lately. Shuuichi reveals his rising desire to leave the town with Kirie, saying that the town is infected with spirals. -- -- But his father's obsession with the shape soon proves deadly, beginning a chain of horrific and unexplainable events that causes the residents of Kurouzu-cho to spiral into madness. -- -- TV - ??? ??, 2021 -- 33,169 N/ALost Song -- -- Dwango, LIDENFILMS -- 12 eps -- Original -- Drama Fantasy -- Lost Song Lost Song -- Lost Song tells the stories of the cheerful Rin and the reserved Finis, two songstresses who are capable of performing magical songs. Rin grew up in a remote village with her family and was taught to keep her power secret, while Finis lives and performs in the royal palace. -- -- Rin's happy and peaceful life is shattered after she saves an injured knight named Henry Leobort with her song of healing. She was seen by soldiers who proceeded to attack her village in hopes of capturing her. With nowhere else to go, she and her inventor brother Al begin a journey to the capital. -- -- Finis finds herself falling in love with Henry and, knowing that the greedy and spiteful Prince Lood Bernstein IV desires her, must hide their relationship. She wants to help people with her songs, but with war on the horizon, she worries that Lood will order her to cast her magic in the battlefield. Only time will tell how her destiny and Rin's will intersect, as the two of them struggle to find their paths. -- -- 33,037 6.99
Futsuu no Joshikousei ga [Locodol] Yattemita. -- -- feel. -- 12 eps -- 4-koma manga -- Slice of Life Comedy Seinen -- Futsuu no Joshikousei ga [Locodol] Yattemita. Futsuu no Joshikousei ga [Locodol] Yattemita. -- In the town of Nagarekawa, Nanako Usami, an ordinary high school girl, is approached by her uncle to become a local idol or "Locodol," partnering with upperclassman Yukari Kohinata to form the idol unit, Nagarekawa Girls. As the girls use their talent to promote Nagarekawa and their businesses, they are joined by Yui Mikoze, who acts as the local mascot, and Mirai Nazukari, who serves as Yui's substitute. -- -- (Source: Wikipedia) -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- 39,153 6.89
Garo Movie: Divine Flame -- -- MAPPA -- 1 ep -- Original -- Action Demons Supernatural Magic Fantasy -- Garo Movie: Divine Flame Garo Movie: Divine Flame -- Leon, who has succeeded the name of Golden Knight "GARO," devotes himself to train a young Makai Knight for the next generation, together with Prince Alfonso of the Valiante Kingdom. Then, they receive an order to exterminate the most beautiful Horror in the world which resides in a neighboring country "Vazelia." At the same time, a young Makai Knight for the next generation is kidnapped by an unknown person. Leon desperately follows them, only to find that he is surrounded by his enemies at a dead end. Then, a Makai Knight Dario who was supposed to be missing for some time suddenly appears and rescues him. Under his guidance, Leon is led to the town where he meets up a totally unexpected person. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- Movie - May 21, 2016 -- 20,672 7.60
Garo Movie: Divine Flame -- -- MAPPA -- 1 ep -- Original -- Action Demons Supernatural Magic Fantasy -- Garo Movie: Divine Flame Garo Movie: Divine Flame -- Leon, who has succeeded the name of Golden Knight "GARO," devotes himself to train a young Makai Knight for the next generation, together with Prince Alfonso of the Valiante Kingdom. Then, they receive an order to exterminate the most beautiful Horror in the world which resides in a neighboring country "Vazelia." At the same time, a young Makai Knight for the next generation is kidnapped by an unknown person. Leon desperately follows them, only to find that he is surrounded by his enemies at a dead end. Then, a Makai Knight Dario who was supposed to be missing for some time suddenly appears and rescues him. Under his guidance, Leon is led to the town where he meets up a totally unexpected person. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- Movie - May 21, 2016 -- 20,672 7.60
Gift: Eternal Rainbow -- -- OLM -- 12 eps -- Visual novel -- Comedy Drama Harem Magic Romance School -- Gift: Eternal Rainbow Gift: Eternal Rainbow -- Amaumi Haruhiko is a high school student who attends Shimano Academy in a town called Narasakicho. Narasakicho contains an unknown rainbow which constantly overlooks the town and is related to granting a magical wish called "Gift." Gift is a once-in-a-lifetime present between two people. -- -- As a child, Haruhiko has been close with his childhood friend, Kirino, until he obtains a new non-blood sister by the name of Riko. Haruhiko develops a strong relationship with Riko until they sadly depart due to the fact Haruhiko's father could no longer support the two of them. -- -- After some times passes by, Riko finally returns to the town of Narasakicho, and along with Kirino, starts to attend Shimano Academy with Haruhiko. The series revolves around the relationship among these main protagonists and slowly reveals the story behind both Gift and the rainbow. -- TV - Oct 6, 2006 -- 28,911 6.61
Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka? -- -- White Fox -- 12 eps -- 4-koma manga -- Slice of Life Comedy -- Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka? Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka? -- Kokoa Hoto is a positive and energetic girl who becomes friends with anyone in just three seconds. After moving in with the Kafuu family in order to attend high school away from home, she immediately befriends the shy and precocious granddaughter of Rabbit House cafe's founder, Chino Kafuu, who is often seen with the talking rabbit, Tippy, on her head. -- -- After beginning to work as a waitress in return for room and board, Kokoa also befriends another part-timer, Rize Tedeza, who has unusual behavior and significant physical capabilities due to her military upbringing; Chiya Ujimatsu, a waitress from a rival cafe who does everything at her own pace; and Sharo Kirima, another waitress at a different cafe who has the air of a noblewoman despite being impoverished. -- -- With fluffy silliness and caffeinated fun, Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka? is a heartwarming comedy about five young waitresses and their amusing adventures in the town they call home. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- TV - Apr 10, 2014 -- 190,522 7.51
Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka? -- -- White Fox -- 12 eps -- 4-koma manga -- Slice of Life Comedy -- Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka? Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka? -- Kokoa Hoto is a positive and energetic girl who becomes friends with anyone in just three seconds. After moving in with the Kafuu family in order to attend high school away from home, she immediately befriends the shy and precocious granddaughter of Rabbit House cafe's founder, Chino Kafuu, who is often seen with the talking rabbit, Tippy, on her head. -- -- After beginning to work as a waitress in return for room and board, Kokoa also befriends another part-timer, Rize Tedeza, who has unusual behavior and significant physical capabilities due to her military upbringing; Chiya Ujimatsu, a waitress from a rival cafe who does everything at her own pace; and Sharo Kirima, another waitress at a different cafe who has the air of a noblewoman despite being impoverished. -- -- With fluffy silliness and caffeinated fun, Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka? is a heartwarming comedy about five young waitresses and their amusing adventures in the town they call home. -- -- TV - Apr 10, 2014 -- 190,522 7.51
Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka??: Dear My Sister -- -- production doA -- 1 ep -- 4-koma manga -- Slice of Life Comedy -- Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka??: Dear My Sister Gochuumon wa Usagi Desu ka??: Dear My Sister -- Cocoa visits her family, in the mountains, after quite some time again after her sister Mocha wrote her, through a letter, to come back soon. Her friends will have to spend a week in the town without her, while Cocoa has time with her family that she hasn't seen for a long time. But Chino, Cocoa's self proclaimed little sister, wants to go watch, with Cocoa and all her friends, the fireworks in the fireworks festival, which is coming up in less than a week. Cocoa decides to return early as she misses them all, but will she arrive in time for the climax of the festival? -- -- (Source: TMDB) -- Movie - Nov 11, 2017 -- 30,785 7.78
Hashi no Mukou -- -- Iyasakadou Film -- 1 ep -- - -- Historical Horror Supernatural -- Hashi no Mukou Hashi no Mukou -- There are old stories of children disappearing by the river's edge. This has haunted Otoha ever since her friend Jiro disappeared when she was seven years old and now she is back in her hometown covering the war between the government and the dissidents. When she gets separated from the squad, Otoha thinks someone seems to be leading her deeper into the back alleys of the town. -- ONA - Sep 21, 2012 -- 1,568 5.89
Higurashi no Naku Koro ni Gou -- -- Passione -- 24 eps -- Visual novel -- Dementia Horror Mystery Psychological Supernatural Thriller -- Higurashi no Naku Koro ni Gou Higurashi no Naku Koro ni Gou -- Rika Furude and her group of friends live in the small mountain village of Hinamizawa; in June 1983, they welcome transfer student Keiichi Maebara into their ranks, making him the only boy in their group. After school, they have fun playing games and spending each day living their lives to the fullest. Despite this seemingly normal routine, Keiichi begins noticing strange behavior from his friends, who seem to be hiding the town's dark secrets from him. -- -- Elsewhere, a certain person watches these increasingly unsettling events unfold and remembers all the times that this, and other similar stories, have played out. Using that knowledge, this person decides to fix these broken worlds. However, when certain variables change, the individual is faced with a horrifying realization: they have no idea what to expect or how to stop the impending tragedy. -- -- 176,218 7.17
Higurashi no Naku Koro ni Gou -- -- Passione -- 24 eps -- Visual novel -- Dementia Horror Mystery Psychological Supernatural Thriller -- Higurashi no Naku Koro ni Gou Higurashi no Naku Koro ni Gou -- Rika Furude and her group of friends live in the small mountain village of Hinamizawa; in June 1983, they welcome transfer student Keiichi Maebara into their ranks, making him the only boy in their group. After school, they have fun playing games and spending each day living their lives to the fullest. Despite this seemingly normal routine, Keiichi begins noticing strange behavior from his friends, who seem to be hiding the town's dark secrets from him. -- -- Elsewhere, a certain person watches these increasingly unsettling events unfold and remembers all the times that this, and other similar stories, have played out. Using that knowledge, this person decides to fix these broken worlds. However, when certain variables change, the individual is faced with a horrifying realization: they have no idea what to expect or how to stop the impending tragedy. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 176,218 7.17
Hoshi no Kirby -- -- Studio Comet, Studio Sign -- 100 eps -- Game -- Action Adventure Comedy Parody Fantasy -- Hoshi no Kirby Hoshi no Kirby -- A diminutive pink creature orbiting in space called "Kirby" crash lands into Dream Land. Once getting acquainted with the citizens who live there in Cappy Town, he begins to defend the town from the monsters that King Dedede, the self-proclaimed ruler of Cappy Town, orders from the evil Nightmare Enterprises. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- 4Kids Entertainment -- 23,844 6.78
Ie Naki Ko Remy -- -- Nippon Animation -- 23 eps -- Novel -- Adventure Slice of Life Historical Drama -- Ie Naki Ko Remy Ie Naki Ko Remy -- Remy, a cheerful and tender-hearted girl, lives with her mother in a French country town. One day her father returns to the town after a long period working away from home in a city. Her father tells Remy that she isn't their real daughter, and Remy is almost sold to an evil slave trader. It is Vitalis, a strolling entertainer, who helps Remy. Vitalis discovers her talent for singing and decides to take her in with his troupe. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- 16,049 7.93
Initial D First Stage -- -- Gallop, Studio Comet -- 26 eps -- Manga -- Action Cars Drama Seinen Sports -- Initial D First Stage Initial D First Stage -- Unlike his friends, Takumi Fujiwara is not particularly interested in cars, with little to no knowledge about the world of car enthusiasts and street racers. The son of a tofu shop owner, he is tasked to deliver tofu every morning without fail, driving along the mountain of Akina. Thus, conversations regarding cars or driving in general would only remind Takumi of the tiring daily routine forced upon him. -- -- One night, the Akagi Red Suns, an infamous team of street racers, visit the town of Akina to challenge the local mountain pass. Led by their two aces, Ryousuke and Keisuke Takahashi, the Red Suns plan to conquer every racing course in Kanto, establishing themselves as the fastest crew in the region. However, much to their disbelief, one of their aces is overtaken by an old Toyota AE86 during a drive back home from Akina. After the incident, the Takahashi brothers are cautious of a mysterious driver geared with remarkable technique and experience in the local roads—the AE86 of Mount Akina. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation, Tokyopop -- 242,578 8.28
Izumo: Takeki Tsurugi no Senki -- -- Studio Kyuuma, Trinet Entertainment -- 12 eps -- Visual novel -- Adventure Drama Fantasy Martial Arts Romance Supernatural -- Izumo: Takeki Tsurugi no Senki Izumo: Takeki Tsurugi no Senki -- Yagi Takeru has been living in the Touma family's house since his parents are gone. He was raised by Touma Rokunosuke, the head of the house. He is surrounded by many people such as Yamato Takeshi, his best friend-cum-rival from the kendo club, the Shiratori sisters, Kotono and Asuka, and his childhood friend, Oosu Seri. Life has been blissful until one day, an earthquake strikes the school and everything changes. Takeru awakens to find that the school looks as if it has been abandoned for centuries and reduced to ruins. He also realize that all the teachers and students have disappeared as well. He meets up with Seri and Asuka and they fled from the ruins, only to realize that the town they used to live in is completely empty. Subsequently, people wrapped in cloaks appear before him. They were told that they have been brought to another world. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Discotek Media -- TV - Apr 3, 2005 -- 10,895 6.22
Jigoku Shoujo Futakomori -- -- Studio Deen -- 26 eps -- Original -- Mystery Horror Psychological Supernatural -- Jigoku Shoujo Futakomori Jigoku Shoujo Futakomori -- Ai Enma and her companions continue to offer their service of revenge against those who have wronged others, and the price is as steep as ever—for damning the offender to hell, the person exacting vengeance is sent to the abyss as well. As they cast soul after soul into the darkness, a new sinister force is watching them: a little girl named Kikuri. -- -- While Ai continues her duties, she meets a boy named Takuma Kurebayashi, known as the "Devil's Child" because of the horrific events that occur around him. Unfortunately, Takuma's reputation leads the townspeople to use him as a scapegoat for those who have been ferried off to hell. When things quickly spiral out of control, Ai must find a way to bring an end to this senseless violence, as it poses a threat to her very existence. -- -- 136,905 7.93
Jigoku Shoujo Futakomori -- -- Studio Deen -- 26 eps -- Original -- Mystery Horror Psychological Supernatural -- Jigoku Shoujo Futakomori Jigoku Shoujo Futakomori -- Ai Enma and her companions continue to offer their service of revenge against those who have wronged others, and the price is as steep as ever—for damning the offender to hell, the person exacting vengeance is sent to the abyss as well. As they cast soul after soul into the darkness, a new sinister force is watching them: a little girl named Kikuri. -- -- While Ai continues her duties, she meets a boy named Takuma Kurebayashi, known as the "Devil's Child" because of the horrific events that occur around him. Unfortunately, Takuma's reputation leads the townspeople to use him as a scapegoat for those who have been ferried off to hell. When things quickly spiral out of control, Ai must find a way to bring an end to this senseless violence, as it poses a threat to her very existence. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- 136,905 7.93
JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken Part 4: Diamond wa Kudakenai -- -- David Production -- 39 eps -- Manga -- Action Adventure Comedy Supernatural Drama Shounen -- JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken Part 4: Diamond wa Kudakenai JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken Part 4: Diamond wa Kudakenai -- The year is 1999. Morioh, a normally quiet and peaceful town, has recently become a hotbed of strange activity. Joutarou Kuujou, now a marine biologist, heads to the mysterious town to meet Jousuke Higashikata. While the two may seem like strangers at first, Jousuke is actually the illegitimate child of Joutarou's grandfather, Joseph Joestar. When they meet, Joutarou realizes that he may have more in common with Jousuke than just a blood relation. -- -- Along with the mild-mannered Kouichi Hirose and the boisterous Okuyasu Nijimura, the group dedicates themselves to investigating recent disappearances and other suspicious occurrences within Morioh. Aided by the power of Stands, the four men will encounter danger at every street corner, as it is up to them to unravel the town's secrets, before another occurs. -- -- -- Licensor: -- VIZ Media -- 687,713 8.50
Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel: Kyun Kyun☆Tokimeki Paradise!! -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Game -- Magic -- Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel: Kyun Kyun☆Tokimeki Paradise!! Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel: Kyun Kyun☆Tokimeki Paradise!! -- Haruka Minazuki and Aoi Kannazuki are two students at St. Cherine academy. Haruka is always filled with bubbly energy while Aoi is more mature and a top student in all her classes - but despite their differences the two are the best of friends. The two girls look like any other girls, attending the academy, but the truth is they are hiding a little secret, that they can't let anybody know about... -- -- During the day they really are just students at St. Cherine academy, but they can also become the Twin Angel duo, and fight against the evils of the town! -- -- The lovely Angels are back, and it's time for them to get ready for some action! -- -- (Source: NicoNico) -- TV - Jul 5, 2011 -- 7,298 6.04
Kaze no Youjinbou -- -- Studio Pierrot -- 25 eps -- Original -- Action Mystery Drama Shounen -- Kaze no Youjinbou Kaze no Youjinbou -- In search for Araki Genzo, George Kodama finds himself in the small town of Kimujuku. George quickly realizes that he is unwelcome and is warned to leave as soon as possible. With two rival syndicates roaming the streets and a dark violent past, the town of Kimujuku isn't what it appears to be. George challenges the town of Kimujuku in order to reveal the towns dark hidden past and discover the truth. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Bandai Entertainment -- TV - Oct 2, 2001 -- 11,113 7.18
Kimetsu no Yaiba: Yuukaku-hen -- -- ufotable -- ? eps -- Manga -- Action Historical Demons Supernatural Shounen -- Kimetsu no Yaiba: Yuukaku-hen Kimetsu no Yaiba: Yuukaku-hen -- Tanjiro, Zenitsu and Inosuke aided by the Sound Hashira Tengen Uzui travel to Yoshiwara red light district to hunt down a demon that has been terrorizing the town. -- TV - ??? ??, 2021 -- 95,360 N/ADragon Ball Z Movie 11: Super Senshi Gekiha!! Katsu no wa Ore da -- -- Toei Animation -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Action Adventure Comedy Fantasy Martial Arts Shounen Super Power -- Dragon Ball Z Movie 11: Super Senshi Gekiha!! Katsu no wa Ore da Dragon Ball Z Movie 11: Super Senshi Gekiha!! Katsu no wa Ore da -- Jaga Bada, Mr. Satan's old sparring partner, has invited Satan to his personal island to hold a grudge match. Trunks and Goten decide to come for the adventure and Android #18 is following Satan for the money he owes her. Little do they know that Jaga Bada's scientist have found a way to resurrect Broly, the legendary Super Saiyan. -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- Movie - Jul 9, 1994 -- 95,297 5.88
Kimi no Iru Machi OVA -- -- Gonzo -- 2 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Drama Romance Shounen -- Kimi no Iru Machi OVA Kimi no Iru Machi OVA -- The limited-edition of the 26th manga volume will include an anime adaptation of the popular special flashback chapter "Uchi ga Kita Machi" (The Town Where I Arrived). The story reveals how Haruto, Akari, and Takashi first met during childhood, and serves as a prologue to the TV anime. -- -- The 27th limited-edition manga volume will include a special anime episode produced in full cooperation with Seo Kouji. This OVA will be the animation of the end of the manga. (Volume 27 is the final volume of the long-running series.) -- OVA - Jan 17, 2014 -- 16,696 7.07
Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Byouki no Kuni - For You -- -- Shaft -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Adventure Drama Fantasy -- Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Byouki no Kuni - For You Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Byouki no Kuni - For You -- After a long journey, Kino and Hermes finally arrive at their destination—a very beautiful and clean country with many skyscrapers. Unlike the other places they have visited so far, the country's landscape is a little peculiar. Although the countryside appears to be farmland, the area seems to be abandoned. Filled with old and damaged buildings, there is no sign of life. In contrast, the city is hidden within a mountain, confined under a fabricated sky that is generated by advanced technology. The highly developed city is focused on healthcare, practicing strict hygiene regulations and aiming to turn its citizens into the healthiest of people. -- -- However, despite being in a beautiful and clean environment, Kino cannot help but feel a sense of uneasiness. The town's air slightly contains a peculiar smell, and there are no birds to be seen flying in the skies, bringing a sense of mystery and dizziness to the scenery. After all, as an experienced traveler, Kino knows that looks can be deceiving and that the town may not be what they had initially expected. -- -- Movie - Apr 21, 2007 -- 42,187 7.71
Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Tou no Kuni - Free Lance -- -- A.C.G.T. -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Adventure Psychological Fantasy -- Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Tou no Kuni - Free Lance Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Tou no Kuni - Free Lance -- Waking up from a nap, Kino is relieved to see that a certain tower from afar is still proudly standing. Located in the heart of the Tower Country, the immensely tall tower stretches high into the sky, reaching seemingly infinite heights. The tower looks like something out of a dream, but the breathtaking construction is unmistakably real. Intrigued, the traveling partners Kino and Hermes—the talking motorcycle—journey to the tower to get a closer look at the building. -- -- Despite already being unbelievably tall, the tower is still being built by the townspeople to this day. Puzzled by the origins of the tower, Kino and Hermes ask around the town for information, but they fail to obtain any definitive answer. They continue to observe both the tower and the townspeople during their stay, hoping to understand the reasoning behind building a tower that requires so much effort. After all, there is always something to learn... even from the strangest of countries. -- -- Special - Oct 19, 2005 -- 33,066 7.60
Kishin Douji Zenki -- -- Studio Deen -- 51 eps -- Manga -- Action Comedy Drama Ecchi Fantasy Horror Magic Shounen -- Kishin Douji Zenki Kishin Douji Zenki -- In ancient times, a great battle was waged between a master mage, Enno Ozuno, and an evil demon goddess, Karuma. Unfortunately, Enno didn't have the strength to defeat her alone and was forced to call upon Zenki, a powerful protector demon. After Karuma was defeated, Enno sealed Zenki away in a pillar located inside his temple. -- -- 1,200 years after this epic battle, Enno's descendant, Chiaki, spends her days showing tourists around her hometown of Shikigami-cho and doing exorcisms to pay the bills. One day, two thieves enter the town in hopes of opening a seal in the Ozuno temple and releasing the hidden treasure from within. However, what actually pops out is a dark entity that attaches itself to the henchmen, transforming them into demonic beings. After this transformation, they begin a rampage through the temple, terrorizing poor Chiaki. -- -- It is now up to this young progeny to unleash her family's powers to summon Zenki and save Shikigami-cho from these demons, as well as the evil entities sure to follow in their footsteps. -- -- Licensor: -- Media Blasters -- 11,177 6.97
Level E -- -- David Production, Studio Pierrot -- 13 eps -- Manga -- Comedy Sci-Fi Shounen -- Level E Level E -- Tokyo-born schoolboy Yukitaka Tsutsui is moving to Yamagata Prefecture for high school on a baseball scholarship. Since he went to the top middle school in Japan for baseball, the townsfolk are very excited about his arrival. However, when he arrives in his apartment, he encounters a strange man nonchalantly reading and wearing his clothes! The stranger claims to be an alien who crash-landed on Earth and has nowhere to go. Revealing himself to be Baka Ki El Dogra, the crown prince of the planet Dogra, he is just one of the hundreds of aliens that have already made Earth their home. -- -- Despite his regal origins, the prince is an infamous intergalactic fool who thinks nothing of inconveniencing others for his own amusement. Whether he is running ridiculous tests on his subordinates, giving strange powers to random children, or just generally being a nuisance, nobody is safe from the idiot prince's antics! -- -- TV - Jan 11, 2011 -- 82,693 7.45
Lostorage Incited WIXOSS -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Card game -- Game Psychological -- Lostorage Incited WIXOSS Lostorage Incited WIXOSS -- High school student Homura Suzuko has returned to Ikebukuro, the town where she grew up. -- -- "We're friends forever!" She treasures her memories of her old friend from when she was little, Morikawa Chinatsu, and she's excited at the prospect of meeting her again. -- -- But when she gets to school, she finds she has trouble fitting in with the rest of the class. -- -- One day, she decides that if she learns to play the card game WIXOSS, she might be able to make some friends. She stops at a card shop on her way home and buys a deck set. When she takes the set home and opens it, the girl on one of the cards begins to move, and speak. -- -- "Welcome, Selector." -- -- Humans chosen as Selectors must battle for control of the five coins that hold all their memories. -- -- If they can retake all the coins, they win, and can leave the game. But if they lose, as a penalty— -- -- "Lostorage"—What will become of Suzuko as she's caught up in this insane game? -- -- And just like Suzuko, Chinatsu finds herself drawn into the game as well... -- -- (Source: Crunchyroll) -- -- Licensor: -- Crunchyroll -- 49,534 6.70
Machikado Mazoku 2nd Season -- -- - -- ? eps -- 4-koma manga -- Slice of Life Comedy Magic -- Machikado Mazoku 2nd Season Machikado Mazoku 2nd Season -- Second season of Machikado Mazoku. -- TV - ??? ??, ???? -- 16,976 N/A -- -- Slayers Gorgeous -- -- J.C.Staff -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Adventure Comedy Fantasy Magic Supernatural -- Slayers Gorgeous Slayers Gorgeous -- Sorceresses Lina Inverse and Naga the Serpent are enjoying a meal in a villiage when the residents suddenly retreat indoors and two armies - one of men and one of a young girl and a tribe of dragons. Although the ruler of the town originally tries to convince Lina that this is because of a dark legacy, in truth the dragon army is led by his daughter and their battles are over her allowance. Lina agrees to help the ruler while Naga joins his daughter, Marlene. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- ADV Films -- Movie - Aug 1, 1998 -- 16,918 7.33
Maison Ikkoku -- -- Studio Deen -- 96 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Comedy Drama Romance Seinen -- Maison Ikkoku Maison Ikkoku -- In the town of Clock Hill, there is an old boarding house called Maison Ikkoku. While the residence itself is fairly normal, most of its occupants are not. Yuusaku Godai, its most quiet tenant, has finally reached his limit with his neighbors' constant disruptions and boisterous partying. Wanting a calmer place to call home so that he can study in peace, he prepares to move away. -- -- However, his plans to leave are suddenly interrupted when he meets the new boarding house manager, Kyoko Otonashi. Falling madly in love with her, he decides that the boarding house may not be such a bad place to live after all. Unfortunately for him, Kyoko has her own romantic troubles: she is a widow whose husband died six months into their marriage. And despite her blossoming feelings for Godai, Kyoko still cherishes her dearly departed husband, and she believes that no other man could possibly fill the void in her heart. But with Godai's persistence and some help of the other eccentric tenants, she may experience true love once again. -- -- -- Licensor: -- VIZ Media -- 52,561 8.19
Majo no Takkyuubin -- -- Studio Ghibli -- 1 ep -- Novel -- Adventure Comedy Drama Magic Romance Fantasy -- Majo no Takkyuubin Majo no Takkyuubin -- Kiki, a 13-year-old witch-in-training, must spend a year living on her own in a distant town in order to become a full-fledged witch. Leaving her family and friends, Kiki undertakes this tradition when she flies out into the open world atop her broomstick with her black cat Jiji. -- -- As she settles down in the coastal town of Koriko, Kiki struggles to adapt and ends up wandering the streets with no place to stay—until she encounters Osono, who offers Kiki boarding in exchange for making deliveries for her small bakery. Before long, Kiki decides to open her own courier service by broomstick, beginning her journey to independence. In attempting to find her place among the townsfolk, Kiki brings with her exciting new experiences and comes to understand the true meaning of responsibility. -- -- -- Licensor: -- GKIDS, Walt Disney Studios -- Movie - Jul 29, 1989 -- 400,205 8.23
Majo no Takkyuubin -- -- Studio Ghibli -- 1 ep -- Novel -- Adventure Comedy Drama Magic Romance Fantasy -- Majo no Takkyuubin Majo no Takkyuubin -- Kiki, a 13-year-old witch-in-training, must spend a year living on her own in a distant town in order to become a full-fledged witch. Leaving her family and friends, Kiki undertakes this tradition when she flies out into the open world atop her broomstick with her black cat Jiji. -- -- As she settles down in the coastal town of Koriko, Kiki struggles to adapt and ends up wandering the streets with no place to stay—until she encounters Osono, who offers Kiki boarding in exchange for making deliveries for her small bakery. Before long, Kiki decides to open her own courier service by broomstick, beginning her journey to independence. In attempting to find her place among the townsfolk, Kiki brings with her exciting new experiences and comes to understand the true meaning of responsibility. -- -- Movie - Jul 29, 1989 -- 400,205 8.23
Monster -- -- Madhouse -- 74 eps -- Manga -- Drama Horror Mystery Police Psychological Seinen Thriller -- Monster Monster -- Dr. Kenzou Tenma, an elite neurosurgeon recently engaged to his hospital director's daughter, is well on his way to ascending the hospital hierarchy. That is until one night, a seemingly small event changes Dr. Tenma's life forever. While preparing to perform surgery on someone, he gets a call from the hospital director telling him to switch patients and instead perform life-saving brain surgery on a famous performer. His fellow doctors, fiancée, and the hospital director applaud his accomplishment; but because of the switch, a poor immigrant worker is dead, causing Dr. Tenma to have a crisis of conscience. -- -- So when a similar situation arises, Dr. Tenma stands his ground and chooses to perform surgery on the young boy Johan Liebert instead of the town's mayor. Unfortunately, this choice leads to serious ramifications for Dr. Tenma—losing his social standing being one of them. However, with the mysterious death of the director and two other doctors, Dr. Tenma's position is restored. With no evidence to convict him, he is released and goes on to attain the position of hospital director. -- -- Nine years later when Dr. Tenma saves the life of a criminal, his past comes back to haunt him—once again, he comes face to face with the monster he operated on. He must now embark on a quest of pursuit to make amends for the havoc spread by the one he saved. -- -- -- Licensor: -- VIZ Media -- 657,585 8.77
Mousou Dairinin -- -- Madhouse -- 13 eps -- Original -- Mystery Dementia Police Psychological Supernatural Drama Thriller -- Mousou Dairinin Mousou Dairinin -- The infamous Shounen Bat (Lil' Slugger) is terrorizing the residents of Musashino City. Flying around on his rollerblades and beating people down with a golden baseball bat, the assailant seems impossible to catch—much less understand. His first victim, the well-known yet timid character designer Tsukiko Sagi, is suspected of orchestrating the attacks. Believed only by her anthropomorphic pink stuffed animal, Maromi, Tsukiko is just one of Shounen Bat's many victims. -- -- As Shounen Bat continues his relentless assault on the town, detectives Keiichi Ikari and Mitsuhiro Maniwa begin to investigate the identity of the attacker. However, more and more people fall victim to the notorious golden bat, and news of the assailant begins circulating around the town. Paranoia starts to set in as chilling rumors spread amongst adults and children alike. -- -- Will the two detectives be able to unravel the truth behind Shounen Bat, or will the paranoia get to them first? -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation, Geneon Entertainment USA -- 300,144 7.68
Nasu: Andalusia no Natsu -- -- Madhouse, Telecom Animation Film -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Action Sports Seinen -- Nasu: Andalusia no Natsu Nasu: Andalusia no Natsu -- Pepe is a Spanish cyclist competing in an multi-stage Iberian cycling race similar to the Tour de France. He is a support rider for one of the teams competing in the race, and his role is to assist the team's top rider in winning the overall race. As the story unfolds, the racers are set to ride through Pepe's home town in Andalusia on the same day as the wedding of his elder brother Angel to his former girlfriend Carmen. Their relationship was a factor in his decision to leave the town to pursue professional cycling, and the wedding is a frustrating reminder that his career hasn't turned out as he would have liked. Now, with the sponsor planning to drop him from the team and his family and friends cheering him on, Pepe abandons his assigned role and strives for glory. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- Movie - Jul 26, 2003 -- 7,742 7.02
Natsume Yuujinchou Movie: Utsusemi ni Musubu -- -- Shuka -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Demons Drama Shoujo Slice of Life Supernatural -- Natsume Yuujinchou Movie: Utsusemi ni Musubu Natsume Yuujinchou Movie: Utsusemi ni Musubu -- Takashi Natsume and his spirit companion Madara, nicknamed "Nyanko," continue returning the names of spirits from the Book of Friends given by his late grandmother Reiko Natsume. -- -- On his way back from school one day, Takashi encounters a lurking spirit named Monmonbou, who recalls memories of Takashi's grandmother after hearing his name. Takashi's natural curiosity leads him to explore a mysterious town where his grandmother used to live. Befriending her old acquaintance Yorie Tsumura and Yorie's son Mukuo, Takashi unveils more of his grandmother's past. -- -- In the meantime, Nyanko detours for food and stumbles upon a suspicious "Spirit Seed," which miraculously sprouts into a fruit tree overnight. Giving in to temptation, Nyanko consumes the fruit, splitting him into three. Seeking a solution to Nyanko's predicament, Takashi and his friends lend a hand, unexpectedly uncovering more secrets the town holds in the process. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Aniplex of America -- Movie - Sep 29, 2018 -- 47,486 8.41
Natsume Yuujinchou Movie: Utsusemi ni Musubu -- -- Shuka -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Demons Drama Shoujo Slice of Life Supernatural -- Natsume Yuujinchou Movie: Utsusemi ni Musubu Natsume Yuujinchou Movie: Utsusemi ni Musubu -- Takashi Natsume and his spirit companion Madara, nicknamed "Nyanko," continue returning the names of spirits from the Book of Friends given by his late grandmother Reiko Natsume. -- -- On his way back from school one day, Takashi encounters a lurking spirit named Monmonbou, who recalls memories of Takashi's grandmother after hearing his name. Takashi's natural curiosity leads him to explore a mysterious town where his grandmother used to live. Befriending her old acquaintance Yorie Tsumura and Yorie's son Mukuo, Takashi unveils more of his grandmother's past. -- -- In the meantime, Nyanko detours for food and stumbles upon a suspicious "Spirit Seed," which miraculously sprouts into a fruit tree overnight. Giving in to temptation, Nyanko consumes the fruit, splitting him into three. Seeking a solution to Nyanko's predicament, Takashi and his friends lend a hand, unexpectedly uncovering more secrets the town holds in the process. -- -- Movie - Sep 29, 2018 -- 47,486 8.41
Okusama wa Mahou Shoujo -- -- J.C.Staff -- 13 eps -- Original -- Magic Romance -- Okusama wa Mahou Shoujo Okusama wa Mahou Shoujo -- Ureshiko Asaba, 26 years old, married. Few people know the fact that she is a magical girl named "Agnes", and she is actually the guardian of the town where she lives. One day she meets Sayaka Kurenai, aka "Cruje", another magical girl appointed by the magic realm as the legitimate sucessor to her position, but Agnes is reluctant in letting her assume because she knows that Cruje has orders to erase the whole place, including its human inhabitants with the purpose of creating a new one. To complicate matters, Ureshiko must deal with the growing distance between her and her husband, Tamotsu, her crescent feelings for Tatsumi Kagura, a young man who is now living as a tenant in her home, and the fact that in the moment she ever kisses a common human, she would lose her powers forever. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- 7,919 6.34
Omoide no Marnie -- -- Studio Ghibli -- 1 ep -- Novel -- Mystery Psychological Drama -- Omoide no Marnie Omoide no Marnie -- Suffering from frequent asthma attacks, young Anna Sasaki is quiet, unsociable, and isolated from her peers, causing her foster parent endless worry. Upon recommendation by the doctor, Anna is sent to the countryside, in hope that the cleaner air and more relaxing lifestyle will improve her health and help clear her mind. Engaging in her passion for sketching, Anna spends her summer days living with her aunt and uncle in a small town near the sea. -- -- One day while wandering outside, Anna discovers an abandoned mansion known as the Marsh House. However, she soon finds that the residence isn't as vacant as it appears to be, running into a mysterious girl named Marnie. Marnie's bubbly demeanor slowly begins to draw Anna out of her shell as she returns night after night to meet with her new friend. But it seems there is more to the strange girl than meets the eye—as her time in the town nears its end, Anna begins to discover the truth behind the walls of the Marsh House. -- -- Omoide no Marnie tells the touching story of a young girl's journey through self-discovery and friendship, and the summer that she will remember for the rest of her life. -- -- -- Licensor: -- GKIDS -- Movie - Jul 19, 2014 -- 200,826 8.10
One Piece: Nenmatsu Tokubetsu Kikaku! Mugiwara no Luffy Oyabun Torimonochou -- -- Toei Animation -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Adventure Comedy Historical Fantasy Shounen -- One Piece: Nenmatsu Tokubetsu Kikaku! Mugiwara no Luffy Oyabun Torimonochou One Piece: Nenmatsu Tokubetsu Kikaku! Mugiwara no Luffy Oyabun Torimonochou -- In an alternate reality world that resembles Edo Period Japan, Luffy acts as a member of the police. This is made up of two adventures: in the first, Buggy makes trouble in the town; in the second, a mysterious girl named Vivi appears (aired after Episode 253). This special contains several cameos from characters throughout the entire series. A second pair of episodes were aired after episode 290, continuing this story, as part of the New Year's special. -- Special - Dec 18, 2005 -- 26,429 7.24
One Piece: Romance Dawn Story -- -- Toei Animation -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Action Fantasy Comedy Super Power Shounen -- One Piece: Romance Dawn Story One Piece: Romance Dawn Story -- The Straw Hat Pirates, searching for the great passage "Grand Line", are in trouble when their food runs out! Luffy, searching for food on his own, finds a ship belonging to the pirate, Gary, and takes it over!! He lands at a nearby town... -- -- Luffy was attacked by a young girl, Silk, who mistook him for a member of the other pirate gang. As the two eat a meal, they tell their stories. Meanwhile, Gary and his band are burning with anger at Luffy, demanding payment from the town's defenseless citizens...!! -- -- (Source: jumpland.com/animetour/op/index_en.html) -- OVA - Nov 24, 2008 -- 39,720 7.38
Pokemon Movie 10: Dialga vs. Palkia vs. Darkrai -- -- OLM -- 1 ep -- Game -- Action Adventure Comedy Drama Fantasy Kids -- Pokemon Movie 10: Dialga vs. Palkia vs. Darkrai Pokemon Movie 10: Dialga vs. Palkia vs. Darkrai -- The beautiful Alamos Town is home to a pair of century-old structures known as the Space-Time Towers, built by the architect Godey to play orchestral music in the area. The towers are also home to the Alamos Town Contest Hall, which is the next destination for Hikari, Satoshi, and Takeshi in their journey through the Sinnoh region. A woman named Alice and her partner Chimchar are happy to guide Satoshi and his friends through the town and its hallmarks. -- -- But the tour is suddenly interrupted when Alice's friend Tonio notices a wave of dimensional disturbances throughout the town—all of which is blamed on an ominous Pokémon named Darkrai. The space-time disturbances continue to intensify as two legendary Pokémon, the Temporal Pokémon Dialga and the Spatial Pokémon Palkia, appear to duel each other, isolating the town and everyone present in it from the world into another dimension! -- -- As he learns that this event was foreseen long ago, Tonio finds that his great-grandfather left behind a way to stop the dueling Pokémon. Will Satoshi and his friends be able to use this last resort to save Alamos Town from vaporizing between the dimensions? -- -- -- Licensor: -- The Pokemon Company International, VIZ Media -- Movie - Jul 15, 2007 -- 86,536 7.26
Pokemon Movie 10: Dialga vs. Palkia vs. Darkrai -- -- OLM -- 1 ep -- Game -- Action Adventure Comedy Drama Fantasy Kids -- Pokemon Movie 10: Dialga vs. Palkia vs. Darkrai Pokemon Movie 10: Dialga vs. Palkia vs. Darkrai -- The beautiful Alamos Town is home to a pair of century-old structures known as the Space-Time Towers, built by the architect Godey to play orchestral music in the area. The towers are also home to the Alamos Town Contest Hall, which is the next destination for Hikari, Satoshi, and Takeshi in their journey through the Sinnoh region. A woman named Alice and her partner Chimchar are happy to guide Satoshi and his friends through the town and its hallmarks. -- -- But the tour is suddenly interrupted when Alice's friend Tonio notices a wave of dimensional disturbances throughout the town—all of which is blamed on an ominous Pokémon named Darkrai. The space-time disturbances continue to intensify as two legendary Pokémon, the Temporal Pokémon Dialga and the Spatial Pokémon Palkia, appear to duel each other, isolating the town and everyone present in it from the world into another dimension! -- -- As he learns that this event was foreseen long ago, Tonio finds that his great-grandfather left behind a way to stop the dueling Pokémon. Will Satoshi and his friends be able to use this last resort to save Alamos Town from vaporizing between the dimensions? -- -- Movie - Jul 15, 2007 -- 86,536 7.26
Pokemon Movie 13: Genei no Hasha Zoroark -- -- OLM -- 1 ep -- Game -- Action Adventure Fantasy Kids -- Pokemon Movie 13: Genei no Hasha Zoroark Pokemon Movie 13: Genei no Hasha Zoroark -- The shapeshifting Pokémon Zorua and Zoroark are captured by a mysterious group intent on using their illusory powers for their own gain. They unleash Zoroark on Crown City, forcing her beforehand to take the form of Suicune, Entei, and Raikou, the guardians of the town. -- -- As Satoshi and his companions visit Crown City to watch the much-anticipated Pokémon Baccer World Cup, they encounter Zorua, who managed to escape captivity. At the same time, Zoroark goes on a rampage, unaware of Zorua's breakout. Disguised as the Legendary Beast Trio, she starts destroying the city and terrorizing its inhabitants. -- -- Will Satoshi manage to stop the deranged Pokémon before Crown City perishes? Will the sudden arrival of long-unseen Celebi change the outcome of the seemingly inevitable clash between Zoroark and the impersonated Legendary Beasts? -- -- -- Licensor: -- The Pokemon Company International -- Movie - Jul 10, 2010 -- 54,630 6.87
Psycho-Pass Movie -- -- Production I.G -- 1 ep -- Original -- Action Military Police Sci-Fi -- Psycho-Pass Movie Psycho-Pass Movie -- Due to the incredible success of the Sibyl System, Japan has begun exporting the technology to other countries with the hope that it will one day be used all around the world. In order to test its effectiveness in a foreign location, the war-torn state of the South East Asian Union (SEAUn) decides to implement the system, hoping to bring peace and stability to the town of Shambala Float and keep the population in check. -- -- However, a group of anti-Sibyl terrorists arrive in Japan, and the Ministry of Welfare's Public Safety Bureau discovers significant evidence that the invaders are being aided by Shinya Kougami, a former Enforcer who went rogue. Because of their past relationship, Akane Tsunemori is sent to SEAUn to bring him back, but with their last meeting years in the past, their reunion might not go quite as planned. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- Movie - Jan 9, 2015 -- 218,101 7.73
Rance 01: Hikari wo Motomete The Animation -- -- Seven -- 4 eps -- Visual novel -- Fantasy Hentai Magic -- Rance 01: Hikari wo Motomete The Animation Rance 01: Hikari wo Motomete The Animation -- The barbaric warrior Rance loves nothing more than the company of beautiful women. Traveling around the continent with his faithful slave Sill Plain, Rance takes on odd jobs for a chance to appease his insatiable libido. Although his perverted instincts often land him in hot water, people from far and wide nevertheless laud his heroic feats. -- -- While undertaking a request to locate a missing noble girl, Rance and Sill arrive in the majestic Kingdom of Leazas. As they split up to investigate several leads, Rance finds himself aiding the townsfolk with various problems, from rescuing a kidnapped barmaid to purging an undead outbreak. Amassing both fortune and females, the warrior eventually uncovers a dark secret within the kingdom that only he can stand against. -- -- OVA - Dec 26, 2014 -- 28,355 7.62
Sakurada Reset -- -- David Production -- 24 eps -- Light novel -- Mystery Super Power Supernatural School -- Sakurada Reset Sakurada Reset -- Kei Asai lives in the oceanside city of Sakurada—a town where the inhabitants are born with strange abilities. On the school rooftop one day, he meets Misora Haruki, an apathetic girl with the power to reset anything around her up to three days prior. While no one knows when she has reset, not even Haruki, Kei can retain everything before the reset thanks to his own ability: photographic memory. After they successfully help someone by combining their powers, they join the Service Club to aid others in their town. -- -- However, their club becomes involved with and begins completing missions for the mysterious Administration Bureau—an organization that focuses on managing the abilities in Sakurada and manipulating the town's events for their own ends. They may find out that there are more things at work in Sakurada than the machinations of the uncanny organization. -- -- 121,387 7.36
Seikimatsu Occult Gakuin -- -- A-1 Pictures -- 13 eps -- Original -- Sci-Fi Mystery Comedy Supernatural School -- Seikimatsu Occult Gakuin Seikimatsu Occult Gakuin -- The story revolves around Maya, the daughter of the former Headmaster of Waldstein Academy, and a time traveling agent Fumiaki Uchida. In the year 2012, the world had been invaded by aliens and time travelers were sent back to the year 1999 in order to find and destroy the Nostradamus Key, which Nostradamus Prophecy foretold as what would bring about the apocalypse. The series then turns to the year 1999, where Maya returns to the Academy with the intention of destroying the Academy by superseding her late father's position as the principal. Her plan was interrupted when she meets Fumiaki and learns of the forthcoming destruction. Despite being distrusting towards Fumiaki, they form a pact to look for the Nostradamus Key. -- -- In order to find the Nostradamus Key, time agents were provided with specially created cell phones. When a user finds an object of interest, by thinking of destroying it and taking a photo, and if the resulting image is that of a peaceful world, then the subject is the Nostradamus Key. Conversely, if the subject is not the Nostradamus Key, then the photo displays destruction. By using the phone, Maya and Fumiaki investigates occult occurrences as they occur in the town. -- -- (Source: Wikipedia) -- 91,327 7.07
Shijin no Shougai -- -- - -- 1 ep -- Original -- Drama Fantasy Psychological -- Shijin no Shougai Shijin no Shougai -- A worker is fired from a factory for demanding a wage increase. His mother, worn thin by poverty, is caught in her own spinning wheel. Then a strange storm buries the town in snow, freezing rich and poor alike. Another short film by Kihachiro Kawamoto -- Movie - Jan 1, 1974 -- 1,227 5.70
Shingeki no Kyojin Season 3 Part 2 -- -- Wit Studio -- 10 eps -- Manga -- Action Drama Fantasy Military Mystery Shounen Super Power -- Shingeki no Kyojin Season 3 Part 2 Shingeki no Kyojin Season 3 Part 2 -- Seeking to restore humanity's diminishing hope, the Survey Corps embark on a mission to retake Wall Maria, where the battle against the merciless "Titans" takes the stage once again. -- -- Returning to the tattered Shiganshina District that was once his home, Eren Yeager and the Corps find the town oddly unoccupied by Titans. Even after the outer gate is plugged, they strangely encounter no opposition. The mission progresses smoothly until Armin Arlert, highly suspicious of the enemy's absence, discovers distressing signs of a potential scheme against them. -- -- Shingeki no Kyojin Season 3 Part 2 follows Eren as he vows to take back everything that was once his. Alongside him, the Survey Corps strive—through countless sacrifices—to carve a path towards victory and uncover the secrets locked away in the Yeager family's basement. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 1,244,399 9.11
Shinreigari -- -- Production I.G -- 22 eps -- Original -- Sci-Fi Mystery Psychological Supernatural -- Shinreigari Shinreigari -- Strange things are happening around the town of Suiten. The daughter of a priest begins to see strange visions, spirits have started to roam the mountains, and Tarou Komori is having unsettling dreams. Due to the trauma of being kidnapped 11 years ago, he has repressed most of the memories that could shed light on what really happened all those years ago. But they return in his sleep, combined with encounters beyond the realm of dreams. -- -- In Shinreigari: Ghost Hound, the supernatural and psychological collide, as three children struggle to face their demons and repair the breach between the spiritual and corporeal worlds. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- TV - Oct 18, 2007 -- 123,364 7.45
Shinreigari -- -- Production I.G -- 22 eps -- Original -- Sci-Fi Mystery Psychological Supernatural -- Shinreigari Shinreigari -- Strange things are happening around the town of Suiten. The daughter of a priest begins to see strange visions, spirits have started to roam the mountains, and Tarou Komori is having unsettling dreams. Due to the trauma of being kidnapped 11 years ago, he has repressed most of the memories that could shed light on what really happened all those years ago. But they return in his sleep, combined with encounters beyond the realm of dreams. -- -- In Shinreigari: Ghost Hound, the supernatural and psychological collide, as three children struggle to face their demons and repair the breach between the spiritual and corporeal worlds. -- -- TV - Oct 18, 2007 -- 123,364 7.45
Shinsekai yori -- -- A-1 Pictures -- 25 eps -- Novel -- Drama Horror Mystery Psychological Sci-Fi Supernatural -- Shinsekai yori Shinsekai yori -- In the town of Kamisu 66, 12-year-old Saki Watanabe has just awakened to her psychic powers and is relieved to rejoin her friends—the mischievous Satoru Asahina, the shy Mamoru Itou, the cheerful Maria Akizuki, and Shun Aonuma, a mysterious boy whom Saki admires—at Sage Academy, a special school for psychics. However, unease looms as Saki begins to question the fate of those unable to awaken to their powers, and the children begin to get involved with secretive matters such as the rumored Tainted Cats said to abduct children. -- -- Shinsekai yori tells the unique coming-of-age story of Saki and her friends as they journey to grow into their roles in the supposed utopia. Accepting these roles, however, might not come easy when faced with the dark and shocking truths of society, and the impending havoc born from the new world. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- 636,563 8.34
Slayers Gorgeous -- -- J.C.Staff -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Adventure Comedy Fantasy Magic Supernatural -- Slayers Gorgeous Slayers Gorgeous -- Sorceresses Lina Inverse and Naga the Serpent are enjoying a meal in a villiage when the residents suddenly retreat indoors and two armies - one of men and one of a young girl and a tribe of dragons. Although the ruler of the town originally tries to convince Lina that this is because of a dark legacy, in truth the dragon army is led by his daughter and their battles are over her allowance. Lina agrees to help the ruler while Naga joins his daughter, Marlene. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- Movie - Aug 1, 1998 -- 16,918 7.33
Slayers Premium -- -- Hal Film Maker -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Adventure Comedy Fantasy Magic Shounen -- Slayers Premium Slayers Premium -- Lina and Gourry travel to a seaside town named Acassi, where octopus tentacle is a delicacy. However, the octopus meat carries a curse that dooms the eater to only speak Takogo (octopus language). Amelia, Zelgadiss, and Xelloss all show up, and the main four characters (Lina, Gourry, Ameria, Zelgadiss) get cursed. The octopi enlist the power of a mazoku to get rid of the humans once and for all. The white sorceress Ruma must learn the cure to the curse from her long-lost master in order to save the town. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- ADV Films -- Movie - Dec 22, 2001 -- 17,282 7.20
Slayers Premium -- -- Hal Film Maker -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Adventure Comedy Fantasy Magic Shounen -- Slayers Premium Slayers Premium -- Lina and Gourry travel to a seaside town named Acassi, where octopus tentacle is a delicacy. However, the octopus meat carries a curse that dooms the eater to only speak Takogo (octopus language). Amelia, Zelgadiss, and Xelloss all show up, and the main four characters (Lina, Gourry, Ameria, Zelgadiss) get cursed. The octopi enlist the power of a mazoku to get rid of the humans once and for all. The white sorceress Ruma must learn the cure to the curse from her long-lost master in order to save the town. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- Movie - Dec 22, 2001 -- 17,282 7.20
Sora no Aosa wo Shiru Hito yo -- -- CloverWorks -- 1 ep -- Original -- Drama -- Sora no Aosa wo Shiru Hito yo Sora no Aosa wo Shiru Hito yo -- High school student Aoi Aioi lives with her elder sister, Akane, after a tragic accident took their parents away 13 years ago. Because Akane has since been taking care of her single-handedly, Aoi wants to move to Tokyo after her graduation to relieve her sister's burden and pursue a musical career, inspired by Akane's ex-boyfriend Shinnosuke "Shinno" Kanamuro. Shinno was part of a band until he left for Tokyo to become a professional guitarist after the sisters' parents passed away, and he was never to be seen again. -- -- One afternoon, while Aoi practices her bass in a guest house, she gets startled by the 18-year-old version of Shinno from 13 years ago! As if by coincidence, the current 31-year-old Shinno also returns to the town, but he has changed drastically. There are now two Shinno's in existence, but why is the Shinno from the past present? -- -- Sora no Aosa wo Shiru Hito yo revolves around these four individuals as they confront their inner feelings toward each other and make decisions that will affect their lives from here on out. -- -- Movie - Oct 11, 2019 -- 60,630 7.53
SSSS.Gridman -- -- Trigger -- 12 eps -- Original -- Action Sci-Fi Mecha -- SSSS.Gridman SSSS.Gridman -- Yuuta Hibiki wakes up in the room of Rikka Takarada and notices two things: he has no memories, and he can hear a mysterious voice calling his name from a nearby room. On further inspection, he finds a robot—which introduces itself as Hyper Agent Gridman—behind the screen of an old computer. Much to Yuuta's surprise, Rikka cannot hear Gridman, nor can she see the ominous monsters looming over a thick fog as it envelopes the town outside. -- -- Another giant monster materializes in the city and proceeds to wreak havoc. Amidst the confusion, Yuuta is once again drawn to the old computer and merges with Gridman. Suddenly, he appears in the middle of the battle and is forced to fight the monster. Together with Rikka and fellow classmate Shou Utsumi, Yuuta forms the "Gridman Alliance" to defeat the monsters plaguing the city and find whoever is responsible for their emergence. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 213,180 7.17
Taiyou no Ouji: Horus no Daibouken -- -- Toei Animation -- 1 ep -- Other -- Adventure Drama Magic -- Taiyou no Ouji: Horus no Daibouken Taiyou no Ouji: Horus no Daibouken -- Horus is a boy that one day, hunted by silver wolves, found the sword of the sun. The day his father died he left his home to find the people from the town his father told him. Together with a small bear named Koro he starts the journey and runs into a great adventure fighting against Grunwald and his subordinates who want to rule the world. -- -- (Source: AniDB) -- -- Licensor: -- Discotek Media -- Movie - Jul 21, 1968 -- 6,791 6.52
Tales of Vesperia: The First Strike -- -- Production I.G -- 1 ep -- Game -- Action Adventure Fantasy Magic Military -- Tales of Vesperia: The First Strike Tales of Vesperia: The First Strike -- Ten years after the Great War against the demon-beasts, the empire rules over the world and prosperity relies on the massive use of aer. -- -- Yuri Lowell and Flynn Scifo are two young men who have just enrolled the ranks of the prestigious Imperial Knights. One day, they are sent to the town of Ceazontania, where abnormal aer activity has reportedly caused the proliferation of horribly mutated beasts, with serious threat for the whole region. -- -- Meanwhile, the Knights Supreme Commander Alexei Denoia and the naive Princess Estellise are involved in a behind-the-curtains struggle for power in the capital. The situation in Ceazontania deteriorates as the garrison of Imperial Knights finds that they cannot expect any immediate support from the capital. -- -- Then, Niren Fedrok, commander of the Imperial Knights in Ceazontania, takes an unexpected decision that is going to change Yuri and Flynn's destiny forever. -- -- What are the secrets behind the extraordinary events that are happening around Yuri and Flynn? Will they be able to defend the innocent people of Ceazontania and stay true to their beliefs? -- -- (Source: Funimation) -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- Movie - Oct 3, 2009 -- 44,388 7.61
Uzumaki -- -- Drive -- 4 eps -- Manga -- Dementia Horror Psychological Supernatural Drama Romance Seinen -- Uzumaki Uzumaki -- In the town of Kurouzu-cho, Kirie Goshima lives a fairly normal life with her family. As she walks to the train station one day to meet her boyfriend, Shuuichi Saito, she sees his father staring at a snail shell in an alley. Thinking nothing of it, she mentions the incident to Shuuichi, who says that his father has been acting weird lately. Shuuichi reveals his rising desire to leave the town with Kirie, saying that the town is infected with spirals. -- -- But his father's obsession with the shape soon proves deadly, beginning a chain of horrific and unexplainable events that causes the residents of Kurouzu-cho to spiral into madness. -- -- TV - ??? ??, 2021 -- 33,169 N/A -- -- Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Tou no Kuni - Free Lance -- -- A.C.G.T. -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Adventure Psychological Fantasy -- Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Tou no Kuni - Free Lance Kino no Tabi: The Beautiful World - Tou no Kuni - Free Lance -- Waking up from a nap, Kino is relieved to see that a certain tower from afar is still proudly standing. Located in the heart of the Tower Country, the immensely tall tower stretches high into the sky, reaching seemingly infinite heights. The tower looks like something out of a dream, but the breathtaking construction is unmistakably real. Intrigued, the traveling partners Kino and Hermes—the talking motorcycle—journey to the tower to get a closer look at the building. -- -- Despite already being unbelievably tall, the tower is still being built by the townspeople to this day. Puzzled by the origins of the tower, Kino and Hermes ask around the town for information, but they fail to obtain any definitive answer. They continue to observe both the tower and the townspeople during their stay, hoping to understand the reasoning behind building a tower that requires so much effort. After all, there is always something to learn... even from the strangest of countries. -- -- Special - Oct 19, 2005 -- 33,066 7.60
Uzumaki -- -- Drive -- 4 eps -- Manga -- Dementia Horror Psychological Supernatural Drama Romance Seinen -- Uzumaki Uzumaki -- In the town of Kurouzu-cho, Kirie Goshima lives a fairly normal life with her family. As she walks to the train station one day to meet her boyfriend, Shuuichi Saito, she sees his father staring at a snail shell in an alley. Thinking nothing of it, she mentions the incident to Shuuichi, who says that his father has been acting weird lately. Shuuichi reveals his rising desire to leave the town with Kirie, saying that the town is infected with spirals. -- -- But his father's obsession with the shape soon proves deadly, beginning a chain of horrific and unexplainable events that causes the residents of Kurouzu-cho to spiral into madness. -- -- TV - ??? ??, 2021 -- 33,169 N/A -- -- Towa no Quon 2: Konton no Ranbu -- -- Bones -- 1 ep -- Original -- Action Sci-Fi Mystery Super Power Supernatural -- Towa no Quon 2: Konton no Ranbu Towa no Quon 2: Konton no Ranbu -- The story follows a boy named Quon and others who suddenly wake up with supernatural powers. -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- Movie - Jul 16, 2011 -- 32,999 7.37
Uzumaki -- -- Drive -- 4 eps -- Manga -- Dementia Horror Psychological Supernatural Drama Romance Seinen -- Uzumaki Uzumaki -- In the town of Kurouzu-cho, Kirie Goshima lives a fairly normal life with her family. As she walks to the train station one day to meet her boyfriend, Shuuichi Saito, she sees his father staring at a snail shell in an alley. Thinking nothing of it, she mentions the incident to Shuuichi, who says that his father has been acting weird lately. Shuuichi reveals his rising desire to leave the town with Kirie, saying that the town is infected with spirals. -- -- But his father's obsession with the shape soon proves deadly, beginning a chain of horrific and unexplainable events that causes the residents of Kurouzu-cho to spiral into madness. -- -- TV - ??? ??, 2021 -- 33,169 N/AKakurenbo -- -- Yamato Works -- 1 ep -- Original -- Horror Psychological Supernatural -- Kakurenbo Kakurenbo -- Among the high rises of steel pipes, meshed power lines, and faded neon lights, exists a game that children dare to play within the ruins of the old city. -- -- "Otokoyo," a secret game of hide-and-seek, one where all who play wear fox masks and only begins when seven have gathered. But it is no normal game, as all who have played it have gone missing. Many whisper it is the work of demons, but that is just a rumor... or is it? -- -- Kakurenbo follows the story of seven children as they play Otokoyo for the first time and discover why if you play, you never return. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Central Park Media -- Movie - Sep 1, 2004 -- 32,995 6.74
Uzumaki -- -- Drive -- 4 eps -- Manga -- Dementia Horror Psychological Supernatural Drama Romance Seinen -- Uzumaki Uzumaki -- In the town of Kurouzu-cho, Kirie Goshima lives a fairly normal life with her family. As she walks to the train station one day to meet her boyfriend, Shuuichi Saito, she sees his father staring at a snail shell in an alley. Thinking nothing of it, she mentions the incident to Shuuichi, who says that his father has been acting weird lately. Shuuichi reveals his rising desire to leave the town with Kirie, saying that the town is infected with spirals. -- -- But his father's obsession with the shape soon proves deadly, beginning a chain of horrific and unexplainable events that causes the residents of Kurouzu-cho to spiral into madness. -- -- TV - ??? ??, 2021 -- 33,169 N/ANihon Animator Mihonichi -- -- Khara, Studio Colorido, Trigger -- 35 eps -- Original -- Action Dementia Ecchi Fantasy Mecha Military Music School Sci-Fi Space Supernatural -- Nihon Animator Mihonichi Nihon Animator Mihonichi -- Nihon Animator Mihonichi is a collaborative series of standalone anime shorts with the support of various directors and studios. Aiming to expose new animators to a worldwide audience, these small works offer a glimpse into the future of the industry, featuring rising talents, cutting-edge techniques, and experimental aesthetic designs. -- -- ONA - Nov 7, 2014 -- 32,294 7.39
Wonder Egg Priority Special -- -- CloverWorks -- 1 ep -- Original -- Psychological Drama Fantasy -- Wonder Egg Priority Special Wonder Egg Priority Special -- Special episode serving as the conclusion to the anime series. -- Special - Jun 30, 2021 -- 49,876 N/A -- -- Lostorage Incited WIXOSS -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Card game -- Game Psychological -- Lostorage Incited WIXOSS Lostorage Incited WIXOSS -- High school student Homura Suzuko has returned to Ikebukuro, the town where she grew up. -- -- "We're friends forever!" She treasures her memories of her old friend from when she was little, Morikawa Chinatsu, and she's excited at the prospect of meeting her again. -- -- But when she gets to school, she finds she has trouble fitting in with the rest of the class. -- -- One day, she decides that if she learns to play the card game WIXOSS, she might be able to make some friends. She stops at a card shop on her way home and buys a deck set. When she takes the set home and opens it, the girl on one of the cards begins to move, and speak. -- -- "Welcome, Selector." -- -- Humans chosen as Selectors must battle for control of the five coins that hold all their memories. -- -- If they can retake all the coins, they win, and can leave the game. But if they lose, as a penalty— -- -- "Lostorage"—What will become of Suzuko as she's caught up in this insane game? -- -- And just like Suzuko, Chinatsu finds herself drawn into the game as well... -- -- (Source: Crunchyroll) -- -- Licensor: -- Crunchyroll -- 49,534 6.70
Yoake Tsugeru Lu no Uta -- -- Science SARU -- 1 ep -- Original -- Adventure Music Supernatural Fantasy -- Yoake Tsugeru Lu no Uta Yoake Tsugeru Lu no Uta -- Kai, a young middle schooler, lives in Hinashi Town, a lonely fishing village, with his father and his grandfather, a sun-umbrella maker. He used to live in Tokyo, but after his parents divorced he moved back to his parent's home town. Kai has trouble telling his parents the complicated feelings he has for them, and he's lonely and pessimistic about his school life. One of his joys is uploading songs he writes to the internet. -- -- One day, his classmates Kunio and Yuuho invite him to join their band, "SEIRÈN." As he reluctantly follows them to Merfolk Island, their practice spot, they meet Lu, the mermaid girl. Lu sings merrily and dances innocently. As Kai begins to spend time with her, he starts to be able to say what it is that he's really thinking. -- -- But since ancient times, the people of Hinashi Town have thought that mermaids brought disaster. Something happens that puts a huge rift between Lu and the townspeople. And then, the town is in danger. Will Kai's cry for the heart be able to save the town? -- -- (Source: Fuji Creative Corporation) -- -- Licensor: -- GKIDS, NYAV Post -- Movie - May 19, 2017 -- 36,923 7.43
Yozakura Quartet -- -- Nomad -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Action Magic Comedy Super Power Supernatural Shounen -- Yozakura Quartet Yozakura Quartet -- The world of Yozakura Quartet is actually not one, but two worlds: one of humans, and one of youkai. Despite appearing mostly human, youkai may have animal like physical traits, along with a number of special abilities. Normally youkai are confined to their world, but some have found their way into the realm of humanity. As a symbol of peace, and a bridge between the two realms, a city was constructed within the protective barrier of seven magical trees, otherwise known as the Seven Pillars. This city of Sakurashin is home to both humans and youkai, with the peace between them maintained by the Hizumi Life Counseling Office. -- -- The director of this office is Akina Hiizumi, a teenager with the inherited family ability to perform “tuning,” which can send harmful youkai back to their world permanently. He is aided by a group of girls, including the town’s 16 year old youkai mayor, Hime Yarizakura, their town’s announcer and resident telepath, Ao Nanami, and Kotoha Isone, a half-youkai who can summon objects just by stating the object’s name. -- -- As new residents enter and mysterious events begin to take place, this quartet of protectors and their closest friends must continue to guard the city of Sakurashin, and maintain the fragile balance of peace between humans and youkai. -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- TV - Oct 3, 2008 -- 122,344 6.83
Yozakura Quartet -- -- Nomad -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Action Magic Comedy Super Power Supernatural Shounen -- Yozakura Quartet Yozakura Quartet -- The world of Yozakura Quartet is actually not one, but two worlds: one of humans, and one of youkai. Despite appearing mostly human, youkai may have animal like physical traits, along with a number of special abilities. Normally youkai are confined to their world, but some have found their way into the realm of humanity. As a symbol of peace, and a bridge between the two realms, a city was constructed within the protective barrier of seven magical trees, otherwise known as the Seven Pillars. This city of Sakurashin is home to both humans and youkai, with the peace between them maintained by the Hizumi Life Counseling Office. -- -- The director of this office is Akina Hiizumi, a teenager with the inherited family ability to perform “tuning,” which can send harmful youkai back to their world permanently. He is aided by a group of girls, including the town’s 16 year old youkai mayor, Hime Yarizakura, their town’s announcer and resident telepath, Ao Nanami, and Kotoha Isone, a half-youkai who can summon objects just by stating the object’s name. -- -- As new residents enter and mysterious events begin to take place, this quartet of protectors and their closest friends must continue to guard the city of Sakurashin, and maintain the fragile balance of peace between humans and youkai. -- TV - Oct 3, 2008 -- 122,344 6.83
Yozakura Quartet: Hana no Uta -- -- Tatsunoko Production -- 13 eps -- Manga -- Action Comedy Super Power Supernatural Magic Shounen -- Yozakura Quartet: Hana no Uta Yozakura Quartet: Hana no Uta -- Hundreds of years ago, the borders between the worlds of humans and youkai temporarily overlapped, resulting in many residents of both crossing over to the other side. In the years since this event, the city of Sakurashin has become a central hub for all inter-dimensional affairs—a result of both the sacred Seven Pillars around the city serving as a beacon for the youkai, and the efforts of the Hiizumi Life Counseling Office in keeping the townsfolk happy. This office is composed of Hime Yarizakura, the young mayor of the city; satori Ao Nanami, who can read people's minds; half-youkai Kotoha Isone, who can summon anything by speaking a word; oni siblings, Kyousuke and Touka Kishi; and the office director Akina Hiizumi, who inherited his family's ability to force youkai back to their world. -- -- Besides volunteer and arbitration work, the Life Counseling Office also suppresses any Strikes: rare occurrences where humans are suddenly infused with youkai powers and go on a rampage. But the appearance of a sinister man signals trouble as Strikes become increasingly common, political rivals make their moves, and malicious individuals descend upon the city. As the self-appointed defenders of Sakurashin, it's up to the Life Counseling Office to protect the idyllic city they call home! -- -- TV - Oct 6, 2013 -- 104,811 7.50
Yozakura Quartet: Tsuki ni Naku -- -- Tatsunoko Production -- 3 eps -- Manga -- Action Magic Comedy Super Power Supernatural Shounen -- Yozakura Quartet: Tsuki ni Naku Yozakura Quartet: Tsuki ni Naku -- "Tsuki ni Naku" will take the story content from volume 11 of the manga, which features a visit to a onsen by the members of the Hiizumi Life Councelling Office, while the town's police force have to deal with a new youkai-hunter threat. -- -- This OVA is bundled with the limited edition of the manga (14th, 15th, and 16th). -- OVA - Oct 9, 2013 -- 24,590 7.50
Ys -- -- Tokyo Kids -- 7 eps -- Game -- Action Adventure Demons Drama Fantasy Magic -- Ys Ys -- Mythical beasts lay siege on the people of Esteria, who have raised an army to fight back. The beasts are relentless and seemingly have no end to their numbers, while the population of defenders dwindle in every skirmish. Even in the town of Minea, where the people are safely nestled behind castle walls, the constant attacks have left them hopeless. It is then that a prophecy is made, proclaiming the arrival of a brave young soul that could be the one who will bring their salvation. -- -- Ys follows Adol Christin, an adventurer driven by wanderlust towards the island of Esteria, who washes up on shore after a shipwreck. Following the guidance of the fortuneteller Sarah Tovah, he and his allies will travel the island in search of the legendary tomes known as the Books of Ys. It will be a long and perilous journey, but if fate is truly at work then Adol will certainly be the hero who returns peace to Esteria. -- -- Licensor: -- Media Blasters -- OVA - Nov 21, 1989 -- 6,790 6.48
Zoids Genesis -- -- Shogakukan Music & Digital Entertainment -- 50 eps -- - -- Action Adventure Comedy Mecha Military -- Zoids Genesis Zoids Genesis -- Natural disasters have devastated planet Zi, killing off almost all life. A thousand years later humans have gradually re-established civilization, salvaging ancient Zoids through diving and mining efforts. In a village whose most previous item is a giant sword which they worship as a holy symbol. A teenage boy discovers an ancient Liger-type Zoid while on a deep water salvage operation. Suddenly the village is attacked by skeletal Bio-Zoids intent on stealing a powerful generator located in the village. Our teenage hero awakens the Liger and discovers that the town`s sacred sword is the Liger`s weapon, together they fight off the mysterious Bio-Zoids. At least for now... -- -- (Source: AniDB) -- -- Licensor: -- VIZ Media -- TV - Apr 10, 2005 -- 13,965 7.23
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:"Broken_Fireplace",_Older_Granddaughter_of_Iowa_Indian_Chief_White_Cloud,_Right,_Makes_Fringe_for_a_Shawl_at_the_Indian_Center_in_the_Town_of_White_Cloud,_Kansas...10-1974_(4012362384).jpg
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Shittim_tree_at_Jaffa,_in_the_Mohammedan_Cemetery_north_of_the_town,_close_to_the_sea._Represented_at_the_hour_of_sunset,_the_time_of_evening_prayer_(NYPL_b10607452-80648).jpg
All Over the Town
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