classes ::: website, social media,
children :::
branches ::: twitter
see also :::

Instances - Definitions - Quotes - Chapters - Wordnet - Webgen

class:social media

twitter stats:

Integral Yogin Twitter Stats

--- PEOPLE I FOLLOW (label for who is a main quoter)
Ramakrishna Mission [1244] ::: Ramakrishna Mission, Delhi is part of the worldwide Ramakrishna Math and Ramakrishna Mission, Belur Math, Howrah, West Bengal, India.

--- DONE [740] [721] [683] [675] [678] [695] [566] [481] "Parousia" [295] [122] [170]




./krumbbumm - tweet-report.csv

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twittered ::: imp. & p. p. --> of Twitter

twittering ::: p. pr. & vb. n. --> of Twitter ::: n. --> The act of one who, or that which, twitters.
A slight nervous excitement or agitation, such as is caused by desire, expectation, or suspense.

twitter ::: n. --> One who twits, or reproaches; an upbraider.
The act of twittering; a small, tremulous, intermitted noise, as that made by a swallow.
A half-suppressed laugh; a fit of laughter partially restrained; a titter; a giggle.
A slight trembling or agitation of the nerves. ::: v. i.

Twitter "messaging" A free {Internet} service for posting short messages, known as "tweets", via a central server, which are then sent to all users who have chosen to follow you or to a specific user. A variety of {client} programs are available in addition to the {website}. Launched in about 2008. {Twitter home (}. (2009-06-10)

twire ::: n. --> A twisted filament; a thread. ::: v. i. --> To peep; to glance obliquely; to leer.
To twinkle; to glance; to gleam.
To sing, or twitter.

QUOTES [686 / 686 - 1424 / 1424]

KEYS (10k)

  167 Kobayashi Issa
  162 Ogawa
  112 Matsuo Basho
  103 Buson
   15 Shiki
   12 Ikkyu
   9 Sora
   7 Saint Thomas Aquinas
   5 Chiyo-ni
   5 Dogen Zenji
   4 Kyorai
   3 Taigu Ryokan
   3 Soseki
   3 Onitsura
   3 Etsujin
   3 Kabir
   2 Yoka Daishi
   2 Uko
   2 Tosei
   2 Tendo Shogaku
   2 Sogi
   2 Sogen
   2 Saigyo
   2 Rihaku
   2 Mumon
   2 Misato
   2 Jinul
   2 Boncho
   2 Banto
   1 Yubai
   1 Yoshihide
   1 Yoka Diashi
   1 Tilopa
   1 Sosan
   1 Soha
   1 Shogaku
   1 Shen-hsiu
   1 Seijyo
   1 Saiko
   1 Ryutan
   1 Rotsu
   1 Princess Shikishi
   1 Nichiren
   1 Muju
   1 Moritake
   1 Manyoshu
   1 Mansei Manyoshu
   1 LaoTzu
   1 Kyoshi
   1 Kikaku
   1 Kazo
   1 Kautilya
   1 Kasho
   1 Kakuan
   1 Kakei
   1 Jijun
   1 Ise
   1 Ichiyu
   1 Huikai
   1 Hoshi
   1 Hakuen
   1 Gigen
   1 Etusjin
   1 Ekai
   1 Ejo
   1 Eisho
   1 Eicho
   1 Doko
   1 Daie
   1 Bunrin
   1 Bryan Del Monte
   1 Lao Tzu
   1 Bodhidharma


   37 Anonymous
   21 Biz Stone
   16 Nir Eyal
   15 Nick Bilton
   13 Jack Dorsey
   12 Gary Vaynerchuk
   11 Guy Kawasaki
   10 Jon Ronson
   10 Jen Kirkman
   10 Hillary Rodham Clinton
   9 Roxane Gay
   9 Kenneth Goldsmith
   9 Julie James
   8 Neil Gaiman
   7 Steven Johnson
   7 Recep Tayyip Erdogan
   7 Jalaluddin Rumi
   6 Peter Thiel
   6 Mira Gonzalez
   6 Mindy Kaling

1:Let reality be reality. ~ LaoTzu, @BashoSociety
2:for eternal peace
~ Kasho, @BashoSociety
3:A caged bird
now flying among
the clouds of heaven
~ Eicho, @BashoSociety
4:who love
~ Kabir, @BashoSociety
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety

like dew
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
7:If you love, love openly.
~ Muju, @BashoSociety
has a
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
9:straight undecorated words
~ Yubai, @BashoSociety
from being
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
11:true robes of our bodies
~ Yoka Daishi, @BashoSociety
are divine gifts
~ Kautilya, @BashoSociety
13:in my
autumn sunset
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
14:no need
to cling
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
15:only one
poem matters
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
16:alone with a
gold star
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
17:a tree
has fallen
autumn sky
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
18:Give yourself the gift of your true self. ~ Jinul, @BashoSociety
the fallen leaves
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
20:a withered tree
a flower blooms
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
is an act
of becoming
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
22:a cicada's
last song
to autumn
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
23:cold air
falling with
the rain
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
24:the full moonrise
at evening

~ Kikaku, @BashoSociety
under the stars
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
26:we live
we heal
we are reborn
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
27:You must not let it collect dust
~ Shen-hsiu, @BashoSociety
28:at the end
of a journey
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
is your time
for dancing
~ Ichiyu, @BashoSociety
peace on earth
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
31:home is
a presence
not a place
~ Boncho, @BashoSociety
all sorrows
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
33:the ache
in your heart
is holy
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
in the rain
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
35:What you are, so is your world.
~ Yoka Daishi, @BashoSociety
36:a butterfly
is also made
of dust
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
37:a full moon
a full heart
at dawn
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
under a dark moon
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
39:is this rain
falling only
on me?
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
the weight
of empathy
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
41:Words, by themselves, do not represent truth. ~ Mumon, @BashoSociety
42:a fox
trotting over
morning frost
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
43:greeting my
with love
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
44:horses trotting
in the snowy mist

~ Soha, @BashoSociety
45:sipping tea
waiting for
the stars
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
in the rain
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
in the early
autumn frost
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
red dusk
familiar faces
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
at the bridge
autumn sunset
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
in the cool evening
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
51:in the dawn
a dewy blue
flax field
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
in being alone
autumn evening
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
into one
an amazing night
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
54:the cloud
that never moved
is gone
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
55:the glitter
of the stars
night rain
~ Uko, @BashoSociety
so very young
newlywed stars
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
57:all rivers
become one
with the ocean
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
58:an old well
a fish leaps
dark sound
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
59:for a moment
darkness over
the moon
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
60:Give yourself the gift of your true self.
~ Jinul, @BashoSociety
61:peace within
the depths
of the lake
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
with easy hearts
~ Etsujin, @BashoSociety
walking in
the cold night
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
the lake is gloomy
autumn moon
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
65:a scarecrow
casting a
moon shadow
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
66:autumn frost
the insects
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
67:dewy grass
crying into
the dying sun
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
68:know the way
few actually walk it
~ Bodhidharma, @BashoSociety
for a moment
then clouds
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
carried off
by the night wind
~ Kyorai, @BashoSociety
in shallow fields
autumn sun
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
72:the princess
lily's heart
at peace
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
73:along the
busy road
flowers blooming
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
74:altar flowers
discarded in
the rain
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
the fallen leaves
an old frog
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
76:at dawn
walking through
yellow fields
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
77:cloudless sky
a white moon
~ Kyorai, @BashoSociety
in moonlight
tea pot steam
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
on amber maple
late autumn wind
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
for tomorrow
evening swallows
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
81:to be alive
is a wonder
autumn herbs
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
82:two or three
red leaves
autumn frost
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
love poetry
on fallen leaves
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
84:A green spider
crawling on
a red rose
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
85:A mirror
facing a mirror
nowhere else
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
86:a morning
of steady rainfall
hot tea
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
87:a star poem
forever written
on his arm
~ Hoshi, @BashoSociety
88:for a moment
the darkness
is forgotten
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
89:great earth
limitless sky
autumn fades
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
90:lantern light
in the autumn mist
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
91:leaves with
poems on them
are falling
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
and hiding
in harvested fields
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
93:under the stars
is my home
autumn wind
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
within a shadow
an autumn moon
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
95:after dinner
they gather
cumulus clouds
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
happy faces
happy time
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
in sunset
red leaves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
98:my heart
wanders like a
migrating bird
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
99:never doubt
your ability
to be loved
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
100:new moon
a gift of tea
along my journey
~ Sogi, @BashoSociety
the sun flooding
a yellow maple
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
102:peach leaves falling
in a field
of mums
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
103:something in us
always wants to
cry out
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
104:still singing
the insects
drifting away
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
105:the moon
missing from
the dark cold sky
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
106:the river that
flows in you
flows in me
~ Kabir, @BashoSociety
107:the soul's cry
draws near
autumn night
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
of moonlight
dazzling the eyes
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
109:with tonight's
moon we begin
to dance
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
110:Words, by themselves, do not represent truth.
~ Mumon, @BashoSociety
111:a cicada shell
sang itself
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
112:a small crab
in the rain
climbing a pine
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
113:a world healing
moon prayers
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
receiving relief
from heaven
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
in raindrops
sleepless night
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
116:late roses
in the clover
a sacred space
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
117:loving under a
crescent moon
autumn dusk
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
has returned
autumn darkness
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
holding hands
at evening
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
120:mulberry leaves
gathered for
a bookmark
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
121:my book
is not worm infested
autumn wind
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
in candle light
my lover's face
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
123:sleeping while
on a journey
willow shade
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
sleep if you please
at my house
~ Jijun, @BashoSociety
125:the river
of heaven runs
through my body
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
beginning to feel
the autumn wind
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
in great pleasure
autumn evening
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
128:a bonfire
in a frosty field
morning light
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
129:a dark moon
over the mountain
autumn rain
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
I have lost my way
autumn darkness
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
131:autumn rain
the night begins
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
132:breaking open
the fragrance
of a plum
~ Chiyo-ni, @BashoSociety
133:Confronting the unknown is a condition of life.
~ Eisho, @BashoSociety
134:first leaf falls
then another
in the wind
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
135:following clouds
torn apart
autumn wind
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
on a pure night
the river of heaven
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
the autumn mist
refreshing our souls
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
138:many different ways
to have been
in love
~ Boncho, @BashoSociety
139:quietly sipping
my lucky tea
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
140:Slowly drink your tea without a thought of the future. ~ Sogen, @BashoSociety
141:this world
a fading
mountain echo
~ Taigu Ryokan, @BashoSociety
142:To remember you
I carve true words
in stone
~ Ejo, @BashoSociety
is left in the
maple leaves
~ Chiyo-ni, @BashoSociety
144:after the rain
garden sparrows
autumn mist
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
145:a kitten
prancing with
an acorn
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
at low tide
along the river
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
147:a moment
of brief eternity
autumn sunset
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
148:a pillow
of fallen leaves
autumn afternoon
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
149:at dawn
no clouds are seen
yet rain drops
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
is forming along
the river of heaven
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
151:hope is the
of possibilities
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
152:moonlight from
a tree's shadow
forest walk
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
has again returned
autumn darkness
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
lighting slicing
the autumn night
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
155:the moon
above the sea
lives again
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
156:the mountains
are as isolated
as the moon
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
157:the silence
of glittering stars
evening rain
~ Uko, @BashoSociety
the cool rain
dry autumn fields
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
draws nearer
wildflowers in bloom
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
160:a dark moon
passing through
new beginnings
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
161:a field
of yellow flowers
in a early frost
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
sleeping through
a cold autumn night
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
163:a house
without wine
evening frost
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
164:alone dancing
at the festival
autumn dusk
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
wondering and lost
seeing this moon
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
166:an alter
of meadow grass
summer coolness
~ Bunrin, @BashoSociety
167:an autumn rainbow
over the lake
fades away
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
168:a silhouette
of wild geese
across the moon
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
169:at dawn
a feral cat
cries for love
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
the morning rain
autumn journey
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
171:every morning
my tea tastes
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
a woman's wisdom
~ Kyorai, @BashoSociety
tears that stain
fallen leaves
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
174:how much longer
is my life?
a brief night
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
175:in the dark autumn
a wise person
stays home
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
176:I wonder
if the blossoms
are soft and fluffy
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
177:last of the cicadas
in the forest
dark moon
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
178:leaves falling in
honor of our
simple love
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
walking alone
viewing the moon
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
180:short lived
dreams of
a summer moon
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
181:their face
by the glow
of an unsteady light
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
182:Where the
great gods live
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
183:a bird's voice
carried over
the water
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
184:a fragrance
from the past
almost forgotten
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
185:a hill
without a name
veiled in mist
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
186:a spider's
voice crying
autumn wind
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
187:early darkness
slowly creeps in
autumn wind
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
188:ending their flight
one by one
crows at dusk
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
189:feeling safe
with a person
under a dark moon
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
190:listening to
ancient oaks
in the autumn wind
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
after truth is a
very noble passion
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
192:midnight in a
forest of dreams
moon viewing
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
holding hands
autumn evening
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
for cherry blossoms
in deep autumn
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
195:not a devil
not a saint
just a slug
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
to the crescent moon
autumn cicadas
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
fireflies glowing
over deep water
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
198:walking alone
graffiti on a wall
autumn dusk
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
under a full moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
200:whose skin
will they touch
rouge flowers
~ Chiyo-ni, @BashoSociety
201:writing poetry
on the back
of dried leaves
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
202:a harvest moon
coming twice
in a year
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
203:a moonlit hideout
in the pine forest's
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
204:by the lamp
of the moon
she reads her letter
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
205:Crossing over
a summer stream
sandals in hand
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
206:eating bitter herbs
alone i bear
my feelings
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
207:fragile twigs
breaking off
autumn wind
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
208:giving thanks
to the flowers
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
before dawn
is a bonfire
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
210:his smile
last night
was a farewell
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
than last year
this autumn evening
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
212:misty rain
hibiscus sky
summer weather
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
213:morning rain
falling upon a
bonfire of leaves
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
214:sleepy after
a wasted night
as the rain falls
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
215:stand in your center
and be flooded
with joy
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
216:The full moon
ringed with stars
deep green sk
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
217:the hometown
that I abandoned
in late autumn
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
218:the wind through
the forest among
the trees
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
219:Through the fields
a spring breeze
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
220:through the window
a bright moon
late autumn
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
221:unable to settle
a wandering heart
new moon
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
222:warm sun
mild wind
song of the nightingale
~ Kakuan, @BashoSociety
223:with the moonlight
comes the cold
late autumn
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
224:a cicada chorus
marks the time
to take my bath
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
225:a hundred hearings
cannot surpass
one seeing
~ Ryutan, @BashoSociety
226:a mulberry
leaf poem
for the festival
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
227:a pure sky
at high noon
walking alone
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
228:a strange evening
for falling leaves
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
229:autumn wind
to which hell
am I going?
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
robbing my honey
dewdrops vanish
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
231:Cold rain on moss
a quiet memory
of happy days
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
still in bloom
withered by frost
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
233:fragile twigs
breaking off
autumn wind
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
on a iron kettle
has a cold voice
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
235:fruitless blossoms
bear no shame
autumn seeds
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
236:her shadow walking
through the house
new moon
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
is where
that rainbow began
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
238:late autumn
rain and clouds
start in the east
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
without a candle
in the darkness
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
illuminating a dry field
evening sky
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
241:migrating birds
flocking in the
temple forest
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
but a calm heart
and cool air
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
243:on horseback
in a silent village
a thin mist
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
244:since the
cresent moon
I have been waiting
~ Chiyo-ni, @BashoSociety
245:sparrows singing
of the next life
morning dew
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
246:the birds praising
the final flowers
at sunset
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
247:the dewy grass
silently crying
summer sunrise
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
248:the frost
sleeps with
an orphaned child
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
249:the path ends
in fragrant blossoms
wild roses
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
in my warm tears
autumn frost
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
the clouds
drifting to sleep
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
252:waves of heat
hovering over
dried grass
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
253:where will they

moon watch tomorrow?
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
254:with lightning
one is not
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
255:a finger
pointing westward
autumn air
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
256:a finger
pointing westward
autumn wind
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
257:a heron
undisturbed nobility
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
258:a long day
tears of joy
flowing freely
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
259:a long day
tears of joy
rolling down
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
260:a strange morning
for falling leaves
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
261:Birds hushed
asleep by the silence
of the lake
~ Rotsu, @BashoSociety
262:birds singing
as the east
turns light
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
263:crying "father"
in the dead of
the autumn night
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
264:deep autumn
what is my neighbor
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
265:even for the mums
autumn ends
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
266:fading roses
in pale thin clover
a sacred space
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
maple leaves
suspended in the sunset
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
but also hopeful
a green orange
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
269:giving birth
to love she
adorns herself
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
270:if I am
to be alone
the moon will be my friend
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
271:in the young grass
are forgotten roots
a willow
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
a bright moon
in the falling sleet
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
273:on a leaf
an insect
sleeps on a journey
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
274:red leaves
perfectly silent
a temple of prayer
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
275:resting easy
the cat sleeps too....
autumn rain
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
276:sailing down
the waterfall
red leaves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
yellow flowers
blooming out of season
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
278:the moon over
my hometown
brings tears
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
no time for sleep
moon viewing
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
280:totally alone
in great pleasure
autumn twilight
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
281:after a year of drought
small flowers
are a gift
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
282:a kitten
dancing in
the fallen leaves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
an orphan bird
in the autumn dusk
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
284:along the river
friends for
moon viewing
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
285:an open sky
at high noon
walking alone
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
286:at sunrise
the stray cat
cries for love
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
287:autumn butterflies
have no desire
to young again
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
288:a willow
in morning light
is a wonder
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
289:birds still singing
into the night
autumn wind
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
290:bright moon
where are the clouds
flying off to?
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
291:cicadas undressing
the treetops along
the river
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
play with me
little orphan sparrow
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
293:dying in song
the meadow ends
in autumn darkness
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
294:geese flying
under the cover
of the morning mist
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
295:low tide
in a soft rain
darkness coming
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
296:moonlight over
my hometown
then clouds
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
297:my arm
as its pillow
a butterfly sleeps
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
298:ry step I take
is my home
~ Dogen Zenji, @BashoSociety
299:Slowly drink your tea without a thought of the future.
~ Sogen, @BashoSociety
300:songs fading
in the wild fields
autumn darkness
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
being born human
autumn evening
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
upon people's faces
autumn wind
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
303:sunset taking
the place of
a cloudburst
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
304:through the fields
we wander
a butterfly and I
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
305:a crescent moon
on a clear night
migrating geese
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
306:a kitten
dancing with
the falling leaves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
drinking tea
a butterfly stops by
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
gazing at wildflowers
summer moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
on the road as
autumn evening comes
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
310:alone gazing
at wildflowers
summer moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
311:a moon
with no clouds
together through the night
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
312:a naked body
possessed by a god
the summer dance
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
313:asleep on a boat
floating down
the river of heaven
~ Ise, @BashoSociety
314:at every home
a celebration
summer moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
315:autumn leaves
on a rainy evening
rusting deep red
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
316:a woodpecker
bathed in sunset
red leaves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
317:Before the flowers
the knife hesitates
a moment
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
318:distant days
recalling memories
of the deep past
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
319:like you
growing old
autumn butterfly
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
320:peach orchard
leaves falling
in a field of mums
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
321:rain dripping
from the roof
sound of loneliness
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
322:Rain falling
in a nameless river
fear has no name
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
323:small birds
with happy sounds
on a wooden bridge
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
324:some stayed behind
in the colored leaves
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
325:Spring rain
telling stories
an umbrella walks by
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
tears shine in
a frog's eyes too
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
327:tea smoke
in the shadows
falling leaves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
328:the sound of water
lingering autumn
star gazing
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
329:thorny roses
remind me of a path
in my hometown
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
330:totally alone
great pleasure
in autumn twilight
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
we only speak of
autumn wind
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
332:a bonfire
in the deep forest
naked souls dancing
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
333:a clear sky
in the noon sun
walking alone
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
334:a dragonfly
unable to perch
in the grass
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
335:a firefly on a
blade of grass
evening dew
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
336:after the rain
over the mountain
an autumn rainbow
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
337:a hundred summer days
writing poetry
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
338:an oak in autumn
peace of memories
of the deep past
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
339:a storm of dried
leaves blowing over
a scarecrow
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
340:a summer night at
the edge of the ocean
a bonfire
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
by lightning
yellow flowers
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
342:autumn dew
the pale blue sky
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
343:a warm sun
on a secluded house
in a withered field
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
344:a yellow rose
almost hidden
in deep grass
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
345:beneath which star
is my home?
autumn sky
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
346:birds huddling
along the eaves
cold autumn morning
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
dropping from the sky
as autumn deepens
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
348:dawn moon
in rain drops
the geese depart
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
349:dew from a lotus
used to brew
morning tea
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
350:Dusk rain
the moon peeking
in and out the clouds
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
351:fallen leaves flying
from everywhere
late autumn
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
leaning into the sun
summer rain
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
353:For three days
a bright moon
in a cloudless sky
~ Etusjin, @BashoSociety
354:in a field of grass
each flower
a victory
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
sparrows singing
to a silent river
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
356:passing through the gate
I have become
a wanderer
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
357:rain on the beach
the bonfire
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
358:red blossoms
spread over the loneliness
of my bed
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
359:still singing
the insects
drifting away
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
360:The highest achievement in this life is truly know who you are. ~ Banto, @BashoSociety
361:unable to settle
a wandering heart
new moon
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
362:very alone
in the fallen leaves
my friend the moon
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
363:a clear sky
when evening comes
autumn wind
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
364:A flash of lightning
between the trees
spring rain
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
365:a full moon over
my home town
brings tears
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
366:alone with a
bonfire of leaves
autumn rain
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
367:a low tide
in a soft rain
autumn darkness
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
368:An open window
a bright moon
singing frogs
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
369:autumn has arrived
what is the prophet's
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
370:autumn wind
quietly burning
an alter lamp
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
371:aware of life
passing like dew
they play in the sun
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
372:drinking tea
not knowing
the winds of autumn
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
373:everyday life
sleeping through
an cold autumn night
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
374:five or six
drinking tea
around a fireplace
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
375:intimate autumn
under the stars
on bearskin
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
376:late autumn
a single quilt
close to my body
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
377:late autumn
wanting to hide
inside a flower
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
378:maple trees
tipped with stars
a lone bell rings out
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
379:red clouds above
the butterfly
autumn dusk
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
a current from the divine
flooding your body
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
381:the colors of dawn
have changed
to autumn
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
382:the morning glories
have strong karma
autumn frost
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
383:The sound
of a waterfall
through the young leaves
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
384:two lovers
crossing together
the river of heaven
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
385:under young green leaves
white water
yellow barley
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
386:unknown lights
in an autumn forest
a fox's wedding
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
387:warm afternoon sun
in the autumn wind
upon my face
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
388:will I grow
old like you?
autumn butterfly
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
389:with the tide
small shells
mixed with clover
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
390:yellow flowers in
the drizzling rain
fallen leaves
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
391:a butterfly only
flies in a field
of sunshine
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
392:a crescent moon over
a penniless town
dead end road
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
393:a friend departing
looks lonely
autumn wind
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
394:after a frost
some wildflowers
still in bloom
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
395:a gathering
in the red leaves
mountain deer
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
396:a lark singing
as a woman is
facing sunset
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
397:an empty nest
how lonely
the house next door
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
398:avoid being like me
like a melon
split in two
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
399:dancing at night
red leaves falling
into the bonfire
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
400:drinking tea
not knowing
the winds of autumn
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
falling from a tree
a cicada shell
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
402:fields of cotton
as if the moon
has flowered
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
disappearing at dawn
behind a wall
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
404:in the morning dew
the butterfly's attitude
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
405:is it but a dream?
the bloom lasted
only seven days
~ Hakuen, @BashoSociety
silently falling
suddenly it is cold
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
407:Lighthing a candle
from another candle
spring sunset
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
stars falling
from the river of heaven
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
409:low tide
in a soft rain
evening approaches
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
410:making my lawn
a vacation spot
summer trees
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
411:my hands as a pillow
loving myself
under a hazy moon
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
412:one by one
collecting dew drops
brewing tea
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
413:pine wind
through the house
departing autumn
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
even the insects
stifled in the heat
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
seems to wash
the summer mountains
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
416:take me too
wherever you want
beach turtle
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
417:the dark sound
of mosquitoes
in summer heat
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
418:the early sun
reaches the valley
autumn wildflowers
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
419:you must rise
above the clouds
to see the sun
~ Taigu Ryokan, @BashoSociety
under the fallen leaves
my ancestors
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
421:a path
that no one travels
an autumn departure
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
a bottle breaks
in a night of frost
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
a scarecrow's clothes
midnight frost
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
424:brutal heat
my mind wanders
listening to the thunder
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
425:even at dawn
autumn fog hovers
over the sallow river
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
426:evening shadows
enjoying the company
of old friends
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
427:hunter moon
clear autumn night
everywhere a new sign
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
428:if your heart is pure
then all things
are pure
~ Taigu Ryokan, @BashoSociety
429:in a withered field
a fox carrying messages
trots by
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
430:incense smoke in
the peace temple
cold rain
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
431:in my withered field
the surprise of
flowering grass
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
432:just a whisper
a flock of birds
takes flight
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
an ancient promise
moon at the gate
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
434:mist rising
silence over the water
the day has ended
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
435:My love ending
in hopelessness
empty cicada shells
~ Saigyo, @BashoSociety
436:nothing else
can compare
to the cresent moon
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
437:passing through
I have become a nomad
autumn darkness
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
438:the dragonfly too
folds his hands
in prayer
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
439:the lake is filled
with a flash
of fireworks
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
440:The most powerful force in the universe is silence.
~ Tendo Shogaku, @BashoSociety
441:the mountains
in silence
nurture the spirit
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
442:The river's water
enters the ocean
never to return
~ Rihaku, @BashoSociety
443:The sound of rain
is my companion
in my lonely place
~ Saigyo, @BashoSociety
444:walking on frost
it hurts me
to see him leave
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
445:a broken wall
an autumn moon's
grand entrance
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
446:a butterfly
softly landing
in my tea kettle
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
447:a grassy meadow
my resting place
summer moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
448:a journey
for moon viewing
departs at sunrise
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
449:an owl happy
in her solitude
autumn evening
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
450:a path
that no one travels
an autumn departure
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
451:a peach tree
still with it's leaves
autumn wind
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
452:as the moon
recedes in the west
purple dawn
~ Mansei Manyoshu, @BashoSociety
a scarecrow's clothes
midnight frost
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
454:dew drops breaking
into a thousand jewels
moon viewing
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
455:drifting clouds
seem to change
the moonlight
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
456:easily emerging
now uncertain
an overcast moon
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
457:for love and hate
I swat a fly and
offer it to an ant
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
458:Having slept
in the temple
solemnly I watched the moon
~ Tosei, @BashoSociety
459:in a warm bed
everything is forgotten
autumn evening
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
460:Midnight moon
high over the village
wandering around
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
461:moon in the
autumn dawn
lanterns on the eaves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
through the clouds
as we drift up the river
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
463:no return poem
from a departed lover
painful birdsong
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
464:people's faces
quickly grown dark
autumn wind
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
465:sunset as if
it was the last
thank you for the morning
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
466:the bright sun
touching my face
walking in the forest
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
467:the divine
without humanity
is a force without poetry
~ Misato, @BashoSociety
468:the falling sun
passing through
dying stalks of grain
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
469:there is nothing
after the mums
except turnips
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
to a strange land
just to watch the sunset
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
the stars are shining
above withered fields
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
472:winter prayers
for courtesans
in moonlight
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
473:a bird perched
on a bare branch
autumn evening
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
474:a brief moonlit
wedding night
insects singing
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
475:a dandelion
the dream of a butterfly
~ Chiyo-ni, @BashoSociety
476:all sound disappears
in the rivers meeting
clear water
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
477:Along a moonlit river
our thoughts move
with the wate
~ Etsujin, @BashoSociety
478:a misty moon
in the the pines
passing through
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
479:a night of flowing flowers
and flowing water
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
480:an old pond
floating upside-down
an empty cicada shell
~ Shiki, @BashoSociety
481:a silk tree
beauty in the rain
a sleeping flower
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
482:a window's light
climbs to the tree tops
golden leaves
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
483:come here
I am also lonely
this autumn evening
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
484:early autumn
horses grazing
in flowering grass
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
485:flashing smiles
the best of spirits
two stars
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
486:in the shade
of a green willow
a warrior woman
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
487:it is time to arrange
flowers into a vase
autumn mums
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
488:mushrooms gathering
on an old maple stump
autumn rain
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
489:picking autumn fruit
my hands are
once again fragrant
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
490:Sailing on a lake
of lotus blooms
breaking into the sky
~ Doko, @BashoSociety
491:Sleepy spring days
how long ago were
those "Old Times"
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
492:sparrows perched
on an old plum tree
returning to sleep
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
493:tea smoke
hesitantly rising into
the autumn morning sky
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
494:the moon in east
the sun in the west
yellow wildflowers
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
495:there is a moon yet
something is missing
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
496:the river's
farewell to autumn
a bright moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
497:the soul of autumn
this evening endures
into the next
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
498:through a frosty window
an autumn moon
sleep time bliss
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
499:unexpected moonlight
shining through my
bedroom window
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
500:yellow wildflowers
among tea drinkers
autumn festival
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
501:A bird lives
in my bedroom wall
spring evening
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
502:a cold wind
sharpens the rocks
between the trees
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
503:after a long day
even getting in a bath
is work
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
504:after the demons
have runaway
a brilliant moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
505:a house for sale
very peaceful
withered roses
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
506:alone again
gazing at wildflowers
summer moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
drinking wine
without flowers or the moon
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
508:a single
leaf falling
increases the darkness
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
509:autumn wind
fragrance from
a late blooming flower
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
510:Broken to pieces
by a winter storm
new moon in the sky
~ Kakei, @BashoSociety
511:early autumn
the ocean and the fields
all green
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
512:everyone has
something to say
morning swallows
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
513:ivy clinging
to an old bridge
body and soul together
~ Etsujin, @BashoSociety
514:leaves floating
upon a lotus pond
autumn festival
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
515:migrating birds
woven into the clouds
embroidered silk
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
516:mountain path
beginning to feel
the autumn wind
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
517:newborn bamboo
climbing straight
up to the sun
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
518:now gathering
now scattering
fireflies over the river
~ Soseki, @BashoSociety
519:open the door
let the moonlight
enter your temple
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
520:patiently waiting
for the sunset
a willow tree
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
greetings from heaven
midsummer heat
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
522:rainy afternoon
the autumn world
of a small town
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
523:try it on
clothe yourself
with a robe of flowers
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
alive with dragonflies
making love
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
525:without thought
without feeling
everything disappears
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
526:yellow wildflowers
an early frosty night
a deer's voice
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
527:a butterfly emerges
then flys aways
morning moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
528:a mosquito
divinely protected
in the autumn wind
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
529:an autumn night
completely spent
in conversation
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
530:an early sun
reaches the valley
roses of Sharon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
531:as the night fades
through the blossoms
a glimpse of dawn
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
532:at the tavern
all is forgotten
autumn evening
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
533:even a fly
bathing in ashes
has hopes and dreams
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
534:fireworks reflected
in the teahouse pool
autumn moonlight
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
535:fresh cut grass
sticking to my shoes
autumn rain
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
536:how hot
the spider's webs look
hanging in summer trees
~ Onitsura, @BashoSociety
537:in the dark autumn
the mountain sparrows
return to sleep
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
538:into the ocean
I throw my sandals
rain on my head
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
539:I walk everyday
five or six miles
in search of you
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
540:leaves blowing
in the autumn wind
frost on the ivy
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
541:life's journey
plowing the fields
back and forth
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
542:looking back
at her home
disappearing into mist
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
543:My only prayer is to be firm in my determination in pursuing the truth. ~ Daie, @BashoSociety
I stood in the surge
of their sweet smell
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
545:pine tree wind
through the house
autumn departing
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
546:Spring breeze
blowing through
the hair of a caterpillar
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
547:The boat of compassion is almost never rowed over pure water.
~ Shogaku, @BashoSociety
548:The highest achievement in this life is truly know who you are.
~ Banto, @BashoSociety
549:The plum tree's
heart is peacefully
leafing out
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
550:the sound
of the sunset bell
autumn wildflowers
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
551:through the short night
the guard never slept
an old dog
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
552:warming my hands
over a cup of tea
morning frost
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
553:watching the bridge
as evening falls
autumn sky
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
554:without looking back
leaving one home
for the next
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
555:across the river
a column of lightning
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
556:a red leaf
flutters down
the last of the cicadas
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
557:Before my bed
moonlight glitters
like dew upon the ground
~ Rihaku, @BashoSociety
558:do not forget
that in the thicket
there are flowers
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
559:hazing night
wine is flowing
waterfall and moon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
divinely pure
upon the sand of the beach
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
561:mountain sparrows
and an old plum tree
returning to sleep
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
562:The mountains
reflected in the eye
of a dragonfly
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
563:trusting in the Gods
a little butterfly
in autumn
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
564:a narrow path
through thick grass
dew on the flowers
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
565:an autumn moon
at the feet of the
Goddess of Mercy
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
566:as autumn deepens
a black bird rests
in a harvested field
~ Tosei, @BashoSociety
567:a sparrow
happy with the grain
left at the back door
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
568:autumn moon
wherever you are
somebody is not happy
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
569:a young couple
filled with hope
little butterflies
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
570:blooming again
in the autumn frost
roses of sharon
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
571:dragonfly please
don't be stunned
by the cold air
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
572:drawing close
then suddenly lonely
autumn leaves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
573:hovering in the streets
golden yellow fog
a human shadow
~ Soseki, @BashoSociety
574:In spring
your bag shall be filled
with cherry-blossoms
~ Yoshihide, @BashoSociety
575:morning fog
the castle's shutters
suddenly opening
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
576:on the beach
twilight pours out
across the waves
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
577:peering out
from the willow tree
the face of a fox
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
578:the alter lanterns
are blown out again
autumn wind
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
579:the day is short
as is the life of
the dragonfly
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
580:the half moon
drifting with the tide
a little boat
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
581:the river's fog
adds to the mist
a secluded temple
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
582:upon purple clouds
when do I set sail?
western sea
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
583:after the lighting
the sound of water
dripping off of bamboo
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
584:a full moon in
the autumn dawn
prayers and incense
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
585:an abandoned garden
becomes a home
to a swarm of butterflies
~ Sogi, @BashoSociety
586:geese calling in
the coldest rain
in harvested fields
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
587:high noon
the reed thrush
sings to a silent river
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
588:miracle is not to walk on water.
The miracle is walk on earth .
~ Gigen, @BashoSociety
589:red leaves falling
just to be swept
away tomorrow
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
590:Resting with a
visiting butterfly
by a warm spring
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
591:teasing all day
the horse's ear
a little butterfly
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
592:the butterfly I passed
two miles back
is ahead now
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
593:the day is fleeting
as is the life
of a dragonfly
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
594:this tree born
in the time of the gods
now in autumn
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
595:upon purple clouds
when do I set sail?
western sea
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
596:walking through
a mountain village
on a cold autumn night
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
597:writing something
pulling it apart
missing someone
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
598:a bird
singing a lullaby
to the spirit of the willow
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
599:allow me
to wipe your tears
with these fallen leaves
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
600:a rainbow over the mountain
reflected on the lake
autumn wind
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
601:autumn wind
singing in the reeds
how many insects?
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
602:brief summer night
the dream and reality
are the same thing
~ Kyoshi, @BashoSociety
603:could there ever be
a more wonderful story
than your own?
~ Nichiren, @BashoSociety
604:not leave a trace
do not follow a path
~ Dogen Zenji, @BashoSociety
605:nowhere to perch
in the middle of a field
a bird sings
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
606:Perfect obedience as
the blossoms speak
to the inner ear
~ Onitsura, @BashoSociety
607:pressing my lips
I wept invisibly
among the yellow foliage
~ Misato, @BashoSociety
all the flowers withered
dropping of the seeds
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
609:The half moon moves
across standing water
spring air
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
610:the voice of two bells
softly speaking
from twilight temples
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
611:under a pine tree
viewing the moon
thinking all night
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
612:under a pine tree
watching the moon
thinking all night
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
613:after the lightning
the sound of dew dripping
off of bamboo
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
614:a hot bath in
a secluded house
cicadas in the forest
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
615:a sad moon
while telling the story
of a soldier's wife
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
616:a tranquil morning
of sleeping and eating
autumn dew
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
617:autumn night
by a quiet window
recalling my departed friends
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
618:a world of dew
within every drop
a world of struggle
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
619:Clouds drifting by
providing rest for
the moon viewers
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
620:dreams drifting
over fertile fields
whispering as they pass
~ Onitsura, @BashoSociety
621:gazing at the mountains
gazing at the sea
autumn dusk
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
622:in the dead of night
moonlight strikes the
middle of the pond
~ Soseki, @BashoSociety
623:mountain trail
beginning to feel
the cool autumn air
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
624:on a journey
traveling with the gods
numbering the days
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
625:summer noon
the reed sparrows
sing to a silent river
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
626:watching the river
through a window of tress
autumn rain falls
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
627:a long life
and a cold night
moonlight through bamboo
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
628:what is the heart?
wind in the forest
in a forgotten painting
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
629:in which direction are
the hidden footprints
in the autumn night
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
630:moonlight drifting
through the clouds
as we ascend up the river
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
631:not yet a butterfly
as autumn approaches
a caterpillar
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
632:Under the cherry tree
blossoms have gathered
chatting together
~ Kyorai, @BashoSociety
633:What divine instinct
has taught these birds
to build their homes
~ Sora, @BashoSociety
634:a butterfly hovers
in front of her face
how long will she sleep?
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
635:a flash of lightning
towards the darkness
a bird's voice
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
636:a fool in darkness
grabbing thorns
instead of fireflies
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
637:a green willow
owned by neighbors
a tea drinking bridge
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
638:my home
surrounded by thick foliage
pregnant with autumn
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
639:standing inside me
naked infinite love
opening my dreaming heart
~ Ikkyu, @BashoSociety
640:the wind of autumn
cucumbers and apples
our simple dinner
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
641:with awareness the
appearance of conflict
disappears into unity
~ Tilopa, @BashoSociety
642:a happy morning
amoung the tall grasses
swallows flying
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
643:butterflies and birds
frantically fly up
a cloud of flowers
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
644:butterflies dancing
everything is forgotten
for a while
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
645:Falling blossoms
returning to the branch
watching butterflies
~ Moritake, @BashoSociety
646:if a mirror ever makes
you sad, remember that
it does not know you
~ Kabir, @BashoSociety
647:in the long night
writing poetry with the
broken edge of the moon
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
648:the moon sails
down the river of heaven
into a forest of stars
~ Manyoshu, @BashoSociety
649:the voices of two bells
speaking from the tops
of twilight temples
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
650:drifting here and there
like fallen willow leaves
in clear water
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
is intimacy
with all things
~ Dogen Zenji, @BashoSociety
652:It is wisdom to know about others, it is enlightenment to know oneself.
~ Lao Tzu, @BashoSociety
653:the winds of autumn
scattered randomly
in a field of reeds
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
654:we will
always be
disturbed by the truth
~ Dogen Zenji, @BashoSociety
655:when all thoughts
are exhausted I escape
into the forest and gather
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
656:disconnected by clouds
a goose lives apart
from his partner
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
657:Seaside temple
incoming tide flows with
the sound of the holy flute
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
658:sharing shade
with a butterfly
friends in a previous life
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
659:the entire family
walking canes and grey hair
visiting graves
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
660:a flash of lightning
holding in the darkness
a paper candle
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
661:every morning
my tea taste better
the fog is finally lifting
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
662:what to do?
like waves crashing
shattered in unknown love
~ Princess Shikishi, @BashoSociety
663:above everything
a sweet acorn tree
standing in a summer Grove
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety
664:morning tea
among yellow flowers
until the ten o'clock bell
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
665:You left in the morning
this evening my heart
is in a thosand pieces
~ Buson, @BashoSociety
666:down the river
is the gate of knowledge
the red leaves of sunset
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
667:giving a fellow voyager
my place at the fire
first morning light
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
668:a gathering of stars
children, grandchildren,
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
669:It is not sufficient to acknowledge suffering; it must be understood and changed.
~ Seijyo, @BashoSociety
670:Our life is not a one-time event, but rather it is merely one moment in the course nature. ~ Kazo, @BashoSociety
671:from my hand
she took a piece of fruit
knowing that our time was not forever
~ Saiko, @BashoSociety
672:do not view the moon
from the scale of
the human mind
~ Dogen Zenji, @BashoSociety
673:prostitute and priest
sleeping under the same roof
moon in a field of clover
~ Matsuo Basho, @BashoSociety

The best season of your life is when your mind is not clouded by unnecessary things.
~ Huikai, @BashoSociety
675:The soul is perfected by knowledge and virtue ~ Saint Thomas Aquinas, (ScG 2.79).…, @Aquinas_Quotes,
676:The worlds of the universe are like foam on the ocean and poets and the wise appear like lightning. ~ Yoka Diashi, @BashoSociety
677:When the mind is calm and undisturbed, nothing can offend. When something can no longer offend, it ceases to exist.
~ Sosan, @BashoSociety
678:The Eucharist is the sacrament of love and ecclesial unity ~ Saint Thomas Aquinas, (Commentary on 1 Cor. 11).…, @Aquinas_Quotes,
Ultimately, the only way the universe can be understood is not by thought or by deed, but in the experience of oneness.

~ Ekai, @BashoSociety
680:The unity or community of human nature, however, is not a thing, but only a consideration ~ Saint Thomas Aquinas, (ST 1.39.4ad3).…, @Aquinas_Quotes,
681:This is good because it bans something I disagree with ~ Saint Thomas Aquinas, (it would be bad if it was something I agreed with)…, @Aquinas_Quotes,
682:The highest Truth is seen by all the blessed in various degrees ~ Saint Thomas Aquinas, (ST 1.62.9)., @Aquinas_Quotes,
683:Passion is not power. Passion is like a storm beating wildly upon a rock while true power is like the rock itself, remaining silent and unmoved.
~ Tendo Shogaku, @BashoSociety
684:A fruit is something that proceeds from a source as from a seed or root ~ Saint Thomas Aquinas, (ST 1-2.70.3)., @Aquinas_Quotes,
685:Anselm desired to dry up the marrow of his body through the fullness of his devotion ~ Saint Thomas Aquinas, (In Sent., @Aquinas_Quotes,
686:Bryan Del Monte (Author | Entrepreneur | Advertising & Marketing Expert | April 26, 2016
That's like asking - what's considered a good day... it's so broad it depends.

That said, here's some realities about website traffic generally...
  Under 10K unique visitors a month, it's very hard to draw any meaningful conclusions from your analytics. You're just way too small.
  Around 100K a month, you'll be able to really spot some decent trends in your analytics that will allow you to make better content...
  If you're drawing a million unique visitors a year, you're rapidly approaching the top 2% of all websites in the world.
  If you're at 5-10M a year in unique visitors, you're a name brand site in your niche that is routinely visited. It also means you probably have 1000's of articls that are drawing a few hundred visits a month through SEO.
  To be in the top 1/2 1% - you need to draw over 10M unique views a month. If you're at that level... you're on the level of Drudge, Facebook, Amazon, Pintrest, Twitter, etc...
  Most websites have less than 3000 visitors a month... and by most I mean like 98%.

Putting all the aggregate stuff aside, here are some things to think about:

  New/Returning matters. Do people find your content useful or not? Anything under 80% is a win... which is the average bounce rate.
  A thousand true fans can lead to a successful website - it's not all about aggregate stats. (see Kevin Kelly's post - The Technium: 1,000 True Fans ~ Bryan Del Monte, Quora,

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Twitter is the world. ~ Jack Dorsey,
2:I'm not a fan of Twitter. ~ Alan Cumming,
3:I think Twitter is great. ~ Chris Hughes,
4:I don't use Twitter for bad. ~ Kevin Hart,
5:Twitter is a human seismograph ~ Brian Solis,
6:~ Jalaluddin Rumi…,
7:~ Jalaluddin Rumi…,
8:Everything on Twitter is true. ~ Jonathan Chait,
9:I don't have a Twitter account. ~ Anna Chlumsky,
10:I got Twitter identity theft. ~ Elizabeth Banks,
11:I think I’m an alright twitterer. ~ Todd Snider,
12:Twitter is a global town square. ~ Dick Costolo,
13:Twitter is part of our social fabric ~ Joel Comm,
14:Twitter花3000萬美元收購初創公司Niche,幫社交明星找廣告主 ~ Anonymous,
15:Le compte Twitter du " Monde " piraté ~ Anonymous,
16:Twitter is the Devil's playground. ~ Albert Brooks,
17:You won't see Moonves on Twitter. ~ Leslie Moonves,
18:I've seen people twitter in haiku only. ~ Biz Stone,
19:Twitter should ban my mother. ~ Frances Bean Cobain,
20:I Twitter (or Facebook) therefore I am ~ Jayce O Neal,
21:Being on Twitter is like having a fern. ~ Steve Martin,
22:Screw you and your 38,000 twitter followers! ~ CM Punk,
23:I don't have a Facebook or Twitter account. ~ Dev Patel,
24:I stay on [Twitter] because I deserve to. ~ Jen Kirkman,
25:I'm much nicer in person than on Twitter. ~ Chrissy Teigen,
26:I love when people on Twitter give advice. ~ Jake M Johnson,
27:I don't use Twitter. I'm a serious person. ~ Paolo Sorrentino,
28:I have a Twitter handle, but I never sign on. ~ Adepero Oduye,
29:The ton will be all atwitter about last night ~ Loretta Chase,
30:Twitter? No, I'd rather use phone and texts. ~ Domenico Dolce,
31:How?" Leo asked. "Start a flame war on twitter? ~ Rick Riordan,
32:Life is like Twitter: nobody wants to sign off. ~ Paulo Coelho,
33:Stupid quotes are only Twitters in disguise. ~ Shannon L Alder,
34:Twitter, for all its good, is a hate amplifier. ~ Kathy Sierra,
35:Twitter! It's like being stalked by committee! ~ David Tennant,
36:Use Twitter Search to act as your bionic ears. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
37:A late lark twitters from the quiet skies. ~ William Ernest Henley,
38:Sex on Twitter can't hurt you - unless you fall off. ~ Woody Allen,
39:The scroll is coming back (Twitter is a scroll.) ~ Margaret Atwood,
40:My Twitter reflects what's going on with me in my life. ~ Kevin Hart,
41:There is now a scourge that is called Twitter ~ Recep Tayyip Erdogan,
42:Twitter is my main tool for ensuring news balance. ~ Ethan Zuckerman,
43:Twitter is the limit of me putting myself out there. ~ Matthew Lewis,
44:I don't Twitter, I don't MyFace, I don't Yearbook... ~ Bill Belichick,
45:Twitter is more a cultural than a technological change. ~ Chris Sacca,
46:With Twitter, it's as easy to unfollow as it is to follow. ~ Biz Stone,
47:Twitter. You know what it is? Termites with microphones. ~ Meg Wolitzer,
48:I don't take Twitter too seriously in the physical world. ~ Ilana Glazer,
49:Twitter marketing in 4 words: Listen. Learn. Care. Serve. ~ Laura Fitton,
50:Can't say no one makes money from Twitter now. The NBA does. ~ Mark Cuban,
51:I don't Twitter, although sometimes I think that I should. ~ Parker Posey,
52:I'm active on Twitter, and I love my iPad and my Kindle. ~ Evgeny Morozov,
53:Twitter's popularity and usefulness are mysteries to me. ~ David Harsanyi,
54:I refresh Twitter as thoughtlessly as some twirl their hair. ~ Lena Dunham,
55:I understand Twitter much more than I understand Tumblr. ~ Rowan Blanchard,
56:My house is full of traps.” Twitter would look like this: ~ Randall Munroe,
57:We have even managed to turn into a Twitter trending topic. All ~ Gene Kim,
58:I actually I don't feel a lot of hate on Twitter very often. ~ Grace Phipps,
59:I think Twitter has brought something totally new to the table. ~ Biz Stone,
60:If Shakespeare were alive today, he might be writing on Twitter. ~ Ai Weiwei,
61:Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. It’s the fourth time today that ~ C L Taylor,
62:Twitter is a place where there is extreme vitriol at all times. ~ Trevor Noah,
63:You don't get fewer followers saying outrageous stuff on Twitter. ~ Van Jones,
64:You get reactions and you connect to people and I love Twitter. ~ Lena Dunham,
65:Twitter gives people an illusionary sense of leadership. ~ Mokokoma Mokhonoana,
66:Twitter! Never have lives been less lived and more chronicled! ~ Dennis Miller,
67:For the most part, I don't have a Facebook page; I don't Twitter. ~ Teddy Sears,
68:I fell in love with Twitter. Fathers, lock up your deadlines. ~ David Edelstein,
69:I personally never got the gist of Facebook and Twitter. ~ Helena Bonham Carter,
70:This is America. We don't have adult discussions. We have Twitter. ~ Bill Maher,
71:Had Twitter been invented earlier, my books would have been shorter. ~ Tom Peters,
72:I went from rotary phone to Twitter. And was appalled at the notion. ~ Jeff Perry,
73:Want more Twitter followers? Take care of the ones you have FIRST! ~ Laura Fitton,
74:He said at last, when Miss Gilchrist had twittered into silence: ~ Agatha Christie,
75:I have a Facebook page for me and my friends and a Twitter page. ~ Maisie Williams,
76:Some people really like to get into Twitter, but it's not my thing. ~ Vince Vaughn,
77:Whatever you do, do it always carefully. ~ The Mother…,
78:I dont spend much time on Twitter. I joined because I found it funny. ~ Tahar Rahim,
79:twittering among themselves in some obscure but vehement argument. ~ Steven Erikson,
80:Twitter is my happy place. I am not there to overthink 140 characters. ~ Roxane Gay,
81:Twitter, twatter, fudder, motherfucker, I don’t care what it’s called. ~ L H Cosway,
82:140characters is twitter's simple way of saying 'know your limits ~ Prajakta Mhadnak,
83:I’ve never considered joining Twitter, nor do I know why anybody would. ~ Nick Saban,
84:these twitterers can tell one a lot if one just lets them—twitter! ~ Agatha Christie,
85:Twitter is not a good place for people who feel they're being followed. ~ Dana Gould,
86:First full day as Twitter COO tomorrow. Task #1: undermine the CEO, ~ Jeffrey Pfeffer,
87:I was pretty damn sure there was a Twitter hashtag that said #NanHater. ~ Abbi Glines,
88:Little known Max fact: I invented the word TWIRGIN (a Twitter virgin). ~ Max Cummings,
89:I was the first person Donald Trump threatened to sue on Twitter. ~ Lawrence O Donnell,
90:Twitter. Honestly, that's all I really have to say to explain insanity. ~ Corey Taylor,
91:I have a Twitter, but I'm not a tweeter... if that really makes sense. ~ Kiernan Shipka,
92:Some people are sass monsters on twitter. Like honey, you need to chill. ~ Ashton Irwin,
93:Twitter is a real addiction, like the color of it, the process of it. ~ Earl Sweatshirt,
94:If I had a girlfriend I would write her letters instead of using Twitter. ~ Bill Kaulitz,
95:What’s a social worker, is it someone whose job it is to go on Twitter? And ~ Jack Cheng,
96:I would not have a career without Facebook and Twitter. That's the truth. ~ Billy Eichner,
97:Twitter lets me hear from a lot of people in a very short period of time. ~ Robert Scoble,
98:We are drawn to Twitter the way we are drawn to the scene of an accident. ~ Vincent Canby,
99:I try to avoid Twitter. I occasionally can't resist the siren call of email. ~ Diablo Cody,
100:Twitter's designed to reduce the language, directly out of 1984! It's Ingsoc! ~ Alex Jones,
101:When you've got 5 minutes to fill, Twitter is a great way to fill 35 minutes. ~ Matt Cutts,
102:I breeze through Twitter - I look at the mentions, the pictures, the videos. ~ Adam Lambert,
103:Twitter freaks me out. You have followers? It feels so obsessive and proprietary. ~ Mos Def,
104:We can't have a Twitter president. This is serious stuff, this governing. ~ Charles Schumer,
105:Is it rude to Twitter during sex? To go "omg, omg, wtf, zzz"? Is that rude? ~ Robin Williams,
106:The ease and immediacy of twitter is no match for the patient labor of prayer. ~ Tony Reinke,
107:The UN is all screams and twitters, like a ladies’ room when a guy barges in. A ~ Herman Wouk,
108:Twitter is unspeakably irritating. Twitter stands for everything I oppose. ~ Jonathan Franzen,
109:I log out of Twitter on my computer so I have to log in and then I log back out. ~ Jen Kirkman,
110:I'm not against Twitter or Facebook. I'm not against anything. Never say never. ~ Lily Collins,
111:I think Twitter is kind of boring, to be honest. To me, it's not even real life. ~ Jen Kirkman,
112:I have Twitter so I can tell people what I want them to buy and they give me money. ~ Louis C K,
113:I make sure to use both Twitter and Facebook a lot which helps me connect to the fans. ~ Avicii,
114:I'm a little bit awkward on Twitter; like, I'm never really sure what to say. ~ Maisie Williams,
115:It (Twitter) closes the six degrees of separation to one degree of separation ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
116:#Twitter: proudly promoting ghastly grammar and silly misspelling since 2006. ~ E A Bucchianeri,
117:we’d focused ourselves on doing more than trending for a few hours on Twitter. ~ Michelle Obama,
118:~ Jalaluddin Rumi #quote#poetry #mysticpoetry(pic: @everydayspirit1)…,
119:Twitter, Facebook and YouTube have to respect the Turkish Republic's laws ~ Recep Tayyip Erdogan,
120:We want to get to a point where Twitter highlights lead to purchase of a live game ~ Adam Silver,
121:Twitter is fun - I'm a tech guy, I love anything new, I'm big on all that stuff. ~ Steven Levitan,
122:If I were to read about me purely on Twitter, I wouldn’t know what to make of me. ~ Jeremy Scahill,
123:If she was friends with them on Twitter that was equal to being besties in real life. ~ Lucy Sykes,
124:I have a Twitter and have followers from all over the world. It's pretty overwhelming. ~ Dot Jones,
125:Twitter is most suitable for me. In the Chinese language, 140 characters is a novella. ~ Ai Weiwei,
126:Twitter is not art. But it inspires me in the way that art used to inspire me. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
127:In this age of Twitter and Snark every misstep gets posted online in twelve seconds. ~ Howard Kurtz,
128:There's no difference between my persona on Twitter and Instagram and in real life. ~ Lili Reinhart,
129:They came to me with this case of Twitter ignoring case of smeared housewife ~ Recep Tayyip Erdogan,
130:We did Twitter, and Twitter grew so fast, and in 2006 we spun it out into Twitter, Inc. ~ Biz Stone,
131:Anyone who follows me on Twitter knows that I am a massive Frank [Turner] fanboy. ~ Timothy Omundson,
132:I do use texting as a great way to communicate quickly, but I dont Twitter or anything. ~ Dave Gahan,
133:I'm kind of new to Twitter. I'm about one year in, so I'm a little late to the party. ~ Josh Charles,
134:I think we have the attention span of a gnat. You know, with cell phones and Twitter. ~ Jeff Daniels,
135:Twitter, Facebook, Google + are the trifecta of marketing for authors (and bloggers). ~ Guy Kawasaki,
136:You need to react. That's the absurdity of Twitter. You can react without thinking now. ~ Raoul Peck,
137:As a world of shared ideas, Twitter is a kind of Inscape in and of itself, and a good one. ~ Joe Hill,
138:I don't know if I've learned anything about people, but I've learned about Twitter. ~ Martha Plimpton,
139:I think Twitter is the future of communications and Square will be the payment network. ~ Jack Dorsey,
140:live your eyeliner, breathe your lipstick, and kill for each other -Lady Gaga via twitter ~ Lady Gaga,
141:On Twitter at last, and can't think of a thing to say. Some writer I turned out to be. ~ Stephen King,
142:The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; and gathering swallows twitter in the skies. ~ John Keats,
143:To me everything is fun. I've started Twittering or tweeting recently and that's been fun. ~ Stan Lee,
144:Twitter can no more produce analysis than a monkey can type out a work of Shakespeare. ~ Eric Schmidt,
145:Twitter is your window to relevance , but Facebook is your home page for the Social Web ~ Brian Solis,
146:Being on Twitter, live tweeting some of the episodes, I get direct feedback from people. ~ Emmy Rossum,
147:I am not on Facebook. I'm not on Instagram. I only use Twitter, which I wish I didn't. ~ Michael Schur,
148:In summation, like your beloved pet rock, Twitter is useful only in your imagination. ~ David Harsanyi,
149:I think Facebook, Twitter and YouTube are the cornerstones of any social media strategy. ~ Chad Hurley,
150:Twitter is not a technology. It's a conversation and it's happening with or without you. ~ Charlene Li,
151:A funny thing is that you can't search me on Twitter because Adam Levine dominates there. ~ Adam DeVine,
152:At Twitter, mobile is in our DNA ... For us, it's all about mobile, and it always has been. ~ Biz Stone,
153:I think, like, Twitter is somewhat difficult sometimes, and it can be kind of negative. ~ Chrissy Teigen,
154:live your eyeliner, breathe your lipstick, and kill for each other
-Lady Gaga via twitter ~ Lady Gaga,
155:Twitter is an amazing thing, because people follow each other and they can make friends. ~ Courtney Love,
156:Twitter makes you a comedian in the same way that digital cameras make you a photographer ~ Ken Jennings,
157:Twitter," said Manny, waving his hand. "You know what that is? Termites with microphones. ~ Meg Wolitzer,
158:Twitter,” said Manny, waving his hand. “You know what that is? Termites with microphones. ~ Meg Wolitzer,
159:Why do I have to follow CNN on Twitter? If I want to follow CNN, I can follow them on CNN. ~ Jon Stewart,
160:Facebook is where you lie to your friends, Twitter is where you tell the truth to strangers. ~ Jon Ronson,
161:I cannot understand how sensible people still defend Facebook, YouTube and Twitter ~ Recep Tayyip Erdogan,
162:I would consider...Google Plus a push technology. It's closer to Twitter than to Facebook. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
163:Make no mistake: E-mail, Facebook, and Twitter checking constitute a neural addiction. ~ Daniel J Levitin,
164:Whether or not Twitter makes you stupid, it certainly makes some smart people sound stupid. ~ Bill Keller,
165:I don't do Twitter, Facebook; none of that. My email I do from my Blackberry or my iPhone. ~ Penelope Cruz,
166:It's annoying when people tag my name in their conversation with someone else [on Twitter.] ~ Casper Smart,
167:Facebook: What's on your mind? ..Twitter: What's happening? Myspace: Where did everybody go? ~ Will Ferrell,
168:I believe in the age of the Internet, Facebook and Twitter, that relationships are everything. ~ Tom Peters,
169:Tempted to type meaningless twaddle all the time on Twitter...with alliteration, no less! ~ E A Bucchianeri,
170:We killed 5 terrorists, one committed twicide, The other 2 have been blocked by twitter. ~ Joseph Ole Lenku,
171:Don't incriminate yourself. You got the Twitter. I hate twitter. It should be some exclusivity. ~ Sean Price,
172:Don't you love it that Prince doesn't use Twitter? Don't you think he's somewhere on a unicorn? ~ Bruno Mars,
173:Join our weekly twitter chat, Sunday Aug 2 at 9amET ~ On New Foundations ~ #SpiritChat,
174:Join our weekly twitter chat - Sunday, July 19 at 9amET ~ “On Healing with Play” ~ w/@AjmaniK in #SpiritChat,
175:The qualities that make Twitter seem inane and half-baked are what makes it so powerful. ~ Jonathan Zittrain,
176:We can break news really fast. When an earthquake happens, there are people Twittering about it. ~ Biz Stone,
177:Everybody think they're famous when they get 100,000 followers on Instagram and 5,000 on Twitter. ~ Meek Mill,
178:I don't view Twitter as a promotional tool but as a really, really, really cool cocktail party. ~ Kurt Busiek,
179:LinkedIn is 277 percent more effective for lead generation than Facebook and Twitter combined. ~ John Jantsch,
180:there was no backup of Twitter. “If the database goes down right now, we would lose everything, ~ Nick Bilton,
181:A lot of people are living their lives online in much more public ways with Facebook and Twitter. ~ Dan Savage,
182:I am not leaving twitter. If the mindless few defeat the thoughtful majority we are all doomed. ~ Gary Lineker,
183:I initially signed up for Twitter just to do jokes I wasn't going to do in my stand-up routine. ~ Jim Gaffigan,
184:Twitter is the people’s tool, the tool of the ordinary people, people who have no other resources. ~ Ai Weiwei,
185:Sometimes I look [ on trolls on Twitter], but even one ignorant comment can make me go, "Oh god." ~ Jen Kirkman,
186:Twitter has 300 million active users, but 40 per cent of people just use Twitter to read not tweet. ~ Anonymous,
187:Twitter is good. Why say a lot to a few people when you can say virtually nothing to everyone? ~ Jerry Seinfeld,
188:ere the hour of the twattering of bards in the twitterlitter between Druidia and the Deepsleep Sea ~ James Joyce,
189:Facebook is where everyone lies to their friends. Twitter is where they tell the truth to strangers. ~ Matt Haig,
190:I avoid Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter, and if I need to communicate with someone, I email direct. ~ Martin Parr,
191:I think Twitter is a fabulous tool. Crowd-sourcing by Twitter is useful in getting early warnings. ~ Bill Keller,
192:Twitter's a lot of work! That's the first thing I would say. There's so much pressure to be funny. ~ Ari Graynor,
193:If you're on Twitter, what you're saying is, 'I'm important enough for you to care what I think.' ~ Donald Glover,
194:I hear YouTube, Twitter and Facebook are merging to form a super Social Media site - YouTwitFace. ~ Conan O Brien,
195:It feels like every day or two, people on Twitter and the Internet are outraged about something. ~ Demetri Martin,
196:A brand not responding on Twitter is like hanging up the phone on customers. With millions watching. ~ Dave Kerpen,
197:Facebook is for people, Twitter is for perspective, Google+ is for passion, LinkedIn is for pimping ~ Guy Kawasaki,
198:The psychic being is the soul developing in the evolution. ~ Sri Aurobindo.#SriAurobindo,
199:... there is a constant aspiration of the heart towards the truthabove. ~ Sri Aurobindo.,
200:Twitter does have an effect on everything - things you put out there, they are out there for good. ~ Donald Glover,
201:My office is on Twitter. I don't tweet myself - at least, not intentionally, but I probably should do. ~ Tony Blair,
202:The longer a person's twitter @username is, the harder it is to argue with them … on twitter. ~ Mokokoma Mokhonoana,
203:I know what Twitter is; I don't use it. I don't use Facebook, so luckily, it does zero to my ego. ~ Richard Armitage,
204:I want to be one of those cool people that's like, "What is Twitter?" and just be totally blind to it. ~ Jen Kirkman,
205:Join our weekly twitter chat, Sunday Sep 6 at 9amET ~ A Spiritual Homecoming… ~ in #SpiritChat,
206:I'm not a Twitterer, I'm not a twerker, I'm not a Facebooker. I am a ... nothin' ... I'm old school. ~ Michael Jordan,
207:The press pass and the a title of “journalist” had been replaced by a smart phone and a Twitter account. ~ Nick Bilton,
208:You have to make sure there's a lock on your phone because people can hack into your Twitter so fast. ~ Jordan Francis,
209:In Sunday's 10am ET hour, join a timeless #meditation with #SantRajinderSingh ~ #spiritchat…,
210:Oh, I’m following President Obama on Twitter. I like my black history in 140 characters or less. ~ Baratunde R Thurston,
211:Twitter fascinates me because it's real. It feels kind of unreal, but it makes very real things happen. ~ Amanda Palmer,
212:I actually credit Twitter with fine-tuning some joke-writing skills. I still feel like I'm working at it. ~ Steve Martin,
213:I'm certainly not computer savvy, at all. I joined Twitter kicking and screaming, and very reluctantly. ~ Guillermo Diaz,
214:Join our weekly twitter chat, Sunday July 26 at 9amET ~ The Magic of Slowing Down ~ in #SpiritChat,
215:The beauty of Twitter is that more and more people are flocking to it because it's shrinking their world. ~ Dick Costolo,
216:What I love most about achieving whatever Ive achieved is that the Seattle Seahawks follow me on Twitter! ~ Ross Mathews,
217:You must make grow in you the peace that is born of the certitude of victory. ~ Sri Aurobindo.,
218:You should see some of the things people tweet me. There have been death wishes on my Twitter timeline. ~ Ashley Madekwe,
219:But then, apart from politicians and the pope, why does anyone else use Twitter? Perhaps to feel important. ~ Umberto Eco,
220:Jack Dorsey, founder of Twitter and Square, tweeted to his 2 million followers: “Success is never accidental. ~ Anonymous,
221:Many on Twitter wondered if Trump had violated the platform’s terms of service by threatening nuclear war. ~ Bob Woodward,
222:My favourite people to follow on Twitter are... my fans. They make me laugh so much and keep me smiling. ~ Ellie Goulding,
223:She went in the pool," she finished for me. "Ohmigod. She was killed while tweeting. It was Twittercide! ~ Gemma Halliday,
224:The last thing I needed was for a horde of Justin Bieber fans to take over my Twitter feed with death threats. ~ R S Grey,
225:Thought for the day: Twitter...140 character limit...must be a great tool for fortune cookie writers... ~ E A Bucchianeri,
226:You and I will be around a lot longer than Twitter, and nothing substitutes face to face.” —Rob Delaney It ~ Austin Kleon,
227:Twitter is about following (and possibly getting to know), people you would never meet in real life. ~ Daniel Post Senning,
228:Twitter is the perpetual cocktail party where everyone is talking at once but nobody is saying anything. ~ Teresa Medeiros,
229:The reason it's hard for me to tweet is I don't want to pronounce anything, and Twitter is for pronouncing. ~ Jonathan Ames,
230:Today! Join our weekly twitter chat, Sunday Sep 6 at 9amET ~ A Spiritual Homecoming… ~ in #SpiritChat,
231:“Come out of the circle of time and into the circle of Love.” ~ Jalaluddin Rumi #SpiritChat (A1)…,
232:If there's ever an example of the importance of making bold bets and focusing on what you love, it's Twitter. ~ Dick Costolo,
233:I'm an instant responder. Somebody told me I'm a living Twitter. I'm quick to respond and quick to fill air. ~ Sheila Nevins,
234:Linkedin is for people you know. Facebook is for people you used to know. Twitter is for people you want to know. ~ Jay Baer,
235:Narcissism really spreads its wings and soars on twitter. It's like watching a dragon hatch and learn to fly. ~ Dave Anthony,
236:Poets think in short lines. Unless you're Samuel Beckett, Twitter might be more difficult for novelists. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
237:I sometimes wonder: If you add together his time spent on golf, Twitter and cable news, what’s left? ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
238:Join our weekly twitter chat, Sunday Sep 27 at 9amET ~ Towards Peace Supreme ~ w/@AjmaniK in #SpiritChat,
239:People, alas, don't document things with any kind of precision. They fill Twitter with blurry photos. ~ Maria Dahvana Headley,
240:Social media is its own sort of thing: Twitter and Facebook have changed the way everyone perceives everything. ~ Steve Kazee,
241:If you look at my Twitter feed it is 99% links, but 1% is me responding and 1% of a big number is a big number. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
242:RT @AjmaniK:“Thou art That" and "That is ALL there Is" ~ #universality #oneness 🙏🏽☺️❤️ #SpiritChat…,
243:There will be more words written on Twitter in the next two years than contained in all books ever printed. ~ Christian Rudder,
244:Twitter is a marketer’s dream come true because it allows you to initiate a relationship with your customer. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
245:Wednesday night. Faber shared the news on Twitter, announcing that the deal would be made on Thursday morning. The ~ Anonymous,
246:But there's a bigger trend I'm seeing: people who used to enjoy blogging their lives are now moving to Twitter. ~ Robert Scoble,
247:I get a lot of abuse on Twitter. It's mostly homophobic, but what can you do? I just either ignore it or laugh. ~ Clare Balding,
248:It is incredible to me that my Twitter feed is a source of 'news' for every rock news outlet around the world. ~ Sebastian Bach,
249:I use Twitter a lot. That's how I communicate with international fans. Everyone's always really, really nice. ~ Maisie Williams,
250:The lazy blogosphere has given up on journalism and now trolls Twitter for their on-the-record in-depth articles. ~ Kurt Sutter,
251:I can't think of a bigger waste of police time than chasing somebody who has said something offensive on Twitter. ~ Tony Parsons,
252:In the past, history was always written by the victors. But in the age of Twitter, history is written by everyone. ~ Nick Bilton,
253:[Twitter] certainly doesn't hurt me. I'm not in any pain over any of the things I see. I'm just more disappointed. ~ Jen Kirkman,
254:Twitter is a serious writing distraction.
As are grapefruits.
The two have nothing else in common. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
255:Twitter is my bar. I sit at the counter and listen to the conversations, starting others, feeling the atmosphere. ~ Paulo Coelho,
256:[Twitter] is not totally where I go anymore to sell myself as a concept, as a comedian, because it moves too fast. ~ Jen Kirkman,
257:Basically, me and Ed Sheeran are kind of Twitter friends - well, I say that. He probably just thinks I'm weird. ~ Maisie Williams,
258:I have a severe Google Reader habit. I think people will use blog forms and twitter to contrive fiction. ~ Patrick Nielsen Hayden,
259:Join us for our weekly twitter chat on Sunday Aug 23 at 9amET ~ Spiritual Return to School ~ in #SpiritChat,
260:The internet, Facebook and Twitter have created mass communications and social spaces that regimes cannot control. ~ Shimon Peres,
261:Bullhorns are overrated: having ten times as many Twitter followers generates approximately zero times as much value. ~ Seth Godin,
262:For me, Twitter has given me a direct line to the world - it gave me an opportunity to be like, "This is my voice. ~ Laura Benanti,
263:I did a rendition of Billie Jean which is on my Soundcloud. I put it on Twitter, and it got about 3000 hits that day. ~ Idris Elba,
264:Nearly 7 in 10 Fortune 500 companies have a corporate Facebook page, and more than that have active Twitter accounts. ~ Clara Shih,
265:She has given me sight to hear the Robin's twitter. The signature is, Butler, and , Kate, is her wonderful name. ~ Ibrahim Ibrahim,
266:There is no shame in not watching news. There is no shame in not going on Twitter. There is no shame in disconnecting. ~ Matt Haig,
267:I don't even have Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. Why would I ever want to be viral when I'm not even on the Internet? ~ Mila Kunis,
268:If you're famous, I don't - for the life of me - I don't understand why any famous person would ever be on Twitter. ~ George Clooney,
269:I'm not actually pop culture or social media savvy. I really didn't know what Twitter was when I created an account. ~ Misha Collins,
270:Make a statement, stake out a position, establish a voice—this is how you successfully jab your Twitter followers. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
271:On twitter, you may have a zero follower; but in real life, this is not possible because everyone has a shadow! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
272:Twitter, Facebook and Reddit, that’s not journalism. That's gossip. Journalism was invented as an antidote to gossip. ~ Scott Pelley,
273:2006, I started 'WineLibrary TV.' To build 'WineLibrary TV,' I started using Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter in 2008. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
274:Join host @llake on Monday July 13 at 7pm EDT in #SoulNestingChat ~ Your Soul is Calling ~ // #SpiritChat…,
275:Keep up with social media. Twitter and Facebook are both great ways to get your music out, especially internationally. ~ Dia Frampton,
276:Playing the villain gets you higher ratings on reality TV and saying outrageous stuff on Twitter gets you more followers. ~ Van Jones,
277:Sometimes I get scared that I’m going to enter a web address into Twitter thinking it was my browser. That would be bad. ~ John Mayer,
278:The only work that spiritually purifies us is that which is done without personal motives. ~ Sri Aurobindo.,
279:Today! Join us Sunday Aug 23 at 9amEDT / 630pm India for our weekly twitter chat ~ Heart of Silence #spiritchat,
280:When Trump and North Korean leader Kim Jong Un amped up the rhetoric, he was warned, “Twitter could get us into a war. ~ Bob Woodward,
281:A soft answer turns away wrath and a gentle tongue is the tree of life, but a snarky Twitter Bible only leads to trouble. ~ Jana Riess,
282:For a long while, I was really against Twitter. I mean, who cares if I'm in an airport or had broccoli for dinner? ~ Shantel VanSanten,
283:That's what social media is, that's what Twitter is, that's what Facebook posts are. It's just really anti-intellectual. ~ David Cross,
284:Today! Join us Sunday Aug 16 at 9amEDT / 630pm India for our weekly twitter chat ~ Finding our Own Path #spiritchat,
285:We're so very focused on ourselves and on self-promotion. It goes on all day with Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. ~ Nancy Jo Sales,
286:As somebody back then wrote, “Facebook is where you lie to your friends, Twitter is where you tell the truth to strangers. ~ Jon Ronson,
287:MarkBaynard: Twitter is the perpetual cocktail party where everyone is talking at once but nobody is saying anything. ~ Teresa Medeiros,
288:President Obama finally has his own personal Twitter account. Even John McCain said, 'Welcome to the Internet, grandpa.' ~ Jimmy Fallon,
289:«Que debes dar prioridad a aumentar tus seguidores en las redes sociales (Instagram, FB, Twitter, Snapchat, YouTube). ~ Timothy Ferriss,
290:Sunday at 10amET ~ a wonderful event for #GuruPurnima today ~ do join if you are available 🙏🏽😇💜 #SpiritChat…,
291:Thinks that twitter is like facebook's slutty cousin. It does everything dumb and whore-ish you're too responsible to do ~ Jessica Park,
292:When someone says something in an interview, the beauty of Twitter is that it's a platform for instantaneous response. ~ Damon Lindelof,
293:I don't think of Twitter as a social network. I think of it as a messaging system that has a lot of social components to it. ~ Biz Stone,
294:I'm not motivated to entertain people through Twitter, so just by having Twitter and not saying anything, I make people mad. ~ Louis C K,
295:I wake up and check my Instagram to see what I missed out on last night. Then I check my Twitter. Then I check my Tumblr. ~ Domo Genesis,
296:Join our weekly twitter chat, Sunday June 14 at 9amET/ 630pm India ~ On Spirituality and #Privilege ~ #SpiritChat,
297:The human race is faced with a cruel choice: work or daytime twittering - anon Twitter has raised writing to a new low. ~ Samuel Goldwyn,
298:It was genuinely horrible. I stopped using Twitter for a while because I got so much s**t about being anorexic. And Im not. ~ Alexa Chung,
299:There is something decidedly faux about the camaraderie of Facebook, something illusory about the connectedness of Twitter. ~ Bill Keller,
300:Today! Join us Sunday Sep 13 at 9amEDT / 630pm India for our weekly twitter chat ~ On Light and Lightness #spiritchat,
301:For reasons that I don't fully understand, Twitter is a place where I don't feel ashamed to say my most shameful thoughts. ~ Mira Gonzalez,
302:His eyes were locked on me. We looked like Bambi and Faline, twitterpated, unable to be around normal people, at least I did. ~ Tara Brown,
303:I take all the best parts of YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook, and combine them into a whole new service called … YouTwit-face. ~ Mark Frost,
304:One of the great uses of Twitter and Facebook will be to prove at the Last Day that prayerlessness was not from lack of time. ~ John Piper,
305:The silence was gone now, and the night was filled with voices—a chirp, a growl, a twitter—a burst of high-pitched laughter. ~ Lois Duncan,
306:he didn't like Nan. Neither did the rest of the world. I was pretty damn sure there was a Twitter hashtag that said #NanHater. ~ Abbi Glines,
307:Join us for our weekly twitter chat, Sunday June 14 at 9amET / 630pm India ~ On Spirituality and #Privilege ~ w/@AjmaniK in #SpiritChat 🙏🏽💜😌,
308:More than 80% of our revenue comes from people viewing ads on mobile devices. Inside Twitter, we talk and think mobile first. ~ Shailesh Rao,
309:Re-tweeting is a pretty common practice on Twitter, but on an average day, we see maybe one out of 20 posts is a re-tweet. ~ Ethan Zuckerman,
310:Twitter taught me how to become better at writing jokes because it forces you to chip away at all the extraneous words. ~ Peter Serafinowicz,
311:It seems unfair that anyone can set up on Twitter using my name, or the name of any famous person, without any checks at all. ~ Shirley Eaton,
312:I was in Shanghai recently, where Twitter is blocked, and yet there were ads and billboards across town with hashtags on them. ~ Dick Costolo,
313:, ~ Jalaluddin Rumi,#love,, ~ Jalaluddin Rumi,#love,#stranger,, ~ Jalaluddin Rumi,#want,
314:The use of the internet, the use of Twitter, the way protest movements developed...This is a different world. ~ Gus O Donnell Baron O Donnell,
315:Today at 11amET, Join this wonderful meditation and lecture with #SantRainderSingh ~ #FF @SOSmeditate #spiritchat…,
316:Today! Join us Sunday July 12 at 9amEDT / 630pm India for our weekly twitter chat ~ On Time and HeartSpace ~ #spiritchat,
317:Twitter is really a hyper-distilled version of how the internet should work - short bursts of relatively useful information. ~ Chris Hardwick,
318:, ~ Jalaluddin Rumi,#love,, ~ Jalaluddin Rumi,#love,#stranger,, ~ Jalaluddin Rumi,#want,
319:En enero de 2013, Jack Dorsey, fundador de Twitter y Square, tuiteó a dos millones de seguidores: «El éxito nunca es accidental». ~ Peter Thiel,
320:Friends, haters, it's Twitter poll time. What do you think most holds back justice and equality for women? All thoughts welcome! ~ Olivia Wilde,
321:I found that when I was putting my own music out, with my Twitter feed as the pure marketing budget, I'm preaching to the choir. ~ Trent Reznor,
322:I've seen rock stars agonize over the fact that another artist has far more Facebook 'likes' and Twitter followers than they do. ~ Neil Strauss,
323:People are writing shorter jokes. The style I've started with was almost trying to keep jokes under 140 characters before Twitter. ~ Nick Thune,
324:Sometimes @BrookeShields rolls into your party dressed as a Christmas tree, carrying a bucket of KFC. ~ Willie Geist,
325:The biggest mistake we see companies make when they first hit Twitter is to think about it as a channel to push out information. ~ Tim O Reilly,
326:The girl starts crying even harder, but helpful posts in 140 characters or less don’t appear. Life should be more like Twitter. ~ Janet Gurtler,
327:Today! Join us Sunday June 7 at 9amEDT / 630pm India for our weekly twitter chat ~ On Spiritual #Restoration ~ #spiritchat,
328:What I find interesting is that the people that follow your Twitters are called 'followers.' Talk about false idolatry, right? ~ Emilio Estevez,
329:Writing is one long session of insecurity and fear punctuated by occasional elation. Which is why so many of us are on Twitter. ~ Kelli Stanley,
330:I put my filter on, though, and I only see things people I follow [on Twitter] write now. So, I don't even know anymore [ trolls]. ~ Jen Kirkman,
331:I stopped using Twitter for a while just because I got sick of it and I started using it again, but I don't check the "mentions." ~ Michael Schur,
332:I was informed yesterday that there's a Twitter account for my laugh. Very hard to get used to things like that. Pretty amazing. ~ Tom Hiddleston,
333:There is a trouble called Twitter, the finest lies are here. Nowadays, social media is actually the headache of societies. ~ Recep Tayyip Erdogan,
334:Twitter is like Ozymandias' wall of tv's in Watchmen. You don't read every tweet, but from the whole you can absorb the zeitgeist. ~ Mike Pohjola,
335:Twitter is so short, it's safe. I don't want my bosses to be like, 'Hey, your script is due and we saw you wrote four blog pages.' ~ Mindy Kaling,
336:Twitter, to me, works if you're funny. Twitter doesn't work as a promotional tool unless you do it very, very, very occasionally. ~ Albert Brooks,
337:@RonanFitz: So this is Twitter. Can’t say I’m impressed.

@Tomsouthernchef: @RonanFitz Oh, go drink some prune juice, Granddad. ~ L H Cosway,
338:The Facebook of China, however, is Renren, launched in 2005. (The Google of China is Baidu, and the Twitter of China is Sina Weibo.) ~ Clay Shirky,
339:Bridget. Sleeping with a twenty-nine year old off Twitter on the second date is not 'rather like in Jane Austen's day'." (Talitha) ~ Helen Fielding,
340:If Twitter, Youtube & Facebook will be honest; if they'll stop being so immoral, stop attacking families, we'll support them ~ Recep Tayyip Erdogan,
341:I love Twitter. My favorite thing to do these days is to Tweet things that seem very questionable as to whether I’m joking or not. ~ Max Greenfield,
342:The best way to engage honestly with the marketplace via Twitter is to never use the words "engage," "honestly," or "marketplace. ~ Jeffrey Zeldman,
343:Twitter is very impulsive and impermanent and you only have 140 characters. There is no greater 'Emperor' of Twitter than Stephen Fry. ~ David Tang,
344:We hired a CSR person at Twitter, years before we hired our first sales person, to make sure we had a culture and impact of doing good. ~ Biz Stone,
345:As for being on Twitter, I enjoy it tremendously, and it is wonderfully overwhelming to see people not just digging it and liking it. ~ David Mandel,
346:I am literally obsessed with Lena Dunham. She's, like, my favorite person in the world. I follow her on Twitter; I read her every day. ~ Emma Watson,
347:I'll just let the hair speak for itself. It's got a Twitter account, so it actually does more speaking than I probably do on Twitter. ~ Milos Raonic,
348:Optimism: That effervescent, blindingly- bright, perky, chipper, twittering quality you want to squash out of annoying people. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
349:Twitter provides a great amount of timely information, but we still need those people to fill out the rest of the story and the context. ~ Biz Stone,
350:Elizabethan Twitter feed; they carried news quickly, spread it widely, and their relationship to the truth was similarly easy-going. ~ Neil MacGregor,
351:I was a little late in the game for Twitter and Facebook and everything because I thought, 'Oh, I don't know. I just don't have time. ~ Stacy Keibler,
352:The more angels we have in Silicon Valley, the better. We are funding innovation. We are funding the next Facebook, Google, and Twitter. ~ Ron Conway,
353:The thing that excites me, and the thing that excited me about Twitter, is the idea of a flock of birds moving around an object in flight. ~ Biz Stone,
354:Today! Join us Sunday May 17 at 9amEDT / 630pm India for our weekly twitter chat ~ On Spiritual Grounding ~ #Grounding #spiritchat,
355:Anybody who follows me on Twitter or Facebook knows that I'm super into fantasy sports. I like to make money on my sports knowledge basically. ~ Slaine,
356:...if you've got writer's block, you aren't empty - maybe it's just like Twitter - overwhelmed, and loading seems to be taking a while... ~ John Geddes,
357:I'm disappearing from twitter for a while. Need a break from the bile. Local prejudice just seems to bring out the worst in some people. ~ Gary Lineker,
358:I stay on [Twitter] as Jen Kirkman, a person. It's just a way for me to connect with what I know and read everything and catch all areas. ~ Jen Kirkman,
359:Politics move, as fast as Twitter, and for everyone to think that in four years America was going to be perfect is ridiculous. ~ Cedric the Entertainer,
360:The Internet kept the joke going. was devoted to updating the actor's status, as was @AbeVigodaUpdate, a Twitter account. ~ Audie Cornish,
361:I don't look at Twitter between events because it's a distraction but I will ring my fiance and parents to let them know how it's going. ~ Jessica Ennis,
362:It’s the pull to visit YouTube, Facebook, or Twitter for just a few minutes, only to find yourself still tapping and scrolling an hour later. ~ Nir Eyal,
363:I am not a fan of Facebook or Twitter. They both allow too much information to be available and they make privacy a thing of the past. ~ Kirsty Gallacher,
364:If Mrs. Roosevelt were writing today, she might put it this way: Don’t let any single cable network or Twitter feed tell you what to think. ~ Jon Meacham,
365:I say the stupidest stuff, all the time, off of Twitter, and so I think Twitter is good way for people to get to know the stupid side of me. ~ Kris Allen,
366:Thanks to social media such as Facebook and Twitter, a far wider range of people take part in gathering, filtering and distributing news. ~ Lionel Barber,
367:The only people I ever get irritated with are the ones who announce, using my Twitter handle, that they are no longer following me and why. ~ Neil Gaiman,
368:Very sad, very upset, very glad I did not have to hear about this though Twitter. Probably going to be taking some time off it for a while. ~ Mara Wilson,
369:All the people who follow me on Twitter know my sense of humor. I sometimes forget the blogosphere will give it more weight than I intended. ~ Kurt Sutter,
370:At its core Twitter is about sharing, and I think that in life we never feel better or more energized than when we're giving to someone else. ~ Demi Moore,
371:Everyone starts out with nobody listening to them and nobody to listen to. How and who you add determines what Twitter will become for you. ~ Laura Fitton,
372:I talk to friends who get their feelings hurt when they read Twitter mentions. I have an amazing solution - don't read Twitter mentions. ~ Sarah Silverman,
373:SocialPoster is a gem that allows you easily post to different social networks. Supported networks are: Facebook Twitter Livejournal Vkontakte ~ Anonymous,
374:I remember reading somewhere that the chemicals produced in the brain by a lengthy Twitter session are similar to those produced by cocaine. ~ Marian Keyes,
375:The fashion industry now has a direct relationship with its customers. Thanks to things like Twitter, ideas can be shared and circulated. ~ Stefano Gabbana,
376:There are athletes and celebrities that are out there and they Twitter and they constantly try to drum up press because they're narcissists. ~ Geoff Stults,
377:We have to be successful at the cutting-edge industries of the future like Twitter. But we also have always been a country that makes stuff. ~ Barack Obama,
378:A similar sound, especially light, tremulous speech or laughter.” This is it, he thought. “Agitation or excitement; flutter.” A verb. Twitter. ~ Nick Bilton,
379:I would say is that kids know about Bernie Sanders and they`re off the radar.In the same way kids knew about Twitter before their parents did. ~ Killer Mike,
380:...some say Twitter seems trite and lacks weightiness - but in actuality, it lends itself to poetry - it can be very compressed and intense... ~ John Geddes,
381:Strapping, blue-eyed brothers, harvesting corn in 2012! No incessant Instagramming, no real-time Twitter updates: Jacob’s got the reins, FML. ~ Kent Russell,
382:Anthony Weiner and his wife, Huma, have given birth to a baby boy. He posted a photo of the new baby on Twitter, but people are afraid to open it. ~ Jay Leno,
383:I hate writing about personal stuff. I don't have a Facebook page. I don't use my Twitter account. I am familiar with both, but I don't use them. ~ Elon Musk,
384:I'm starting to get a following on Twitter. That's a really awesome power to have. It gives me the opportunity to make any kind of art I want. ~ Ansel Elgort,
385:I suggest that people make an effort to reach out to five people a month. Not just by Facebook or email or Twitter. I'm talking hard-copy note. ~ Dana Perino,
386:“I trust the unfamiliar Close to the stranger As far away I put my hands in yours.” ~ Hannah ArendtLeonardo da Vinci (circa 1478)…,
387:NC passed law against global warming science, therefore it's not happening. So I'm ignoring Twitter's 140-character limit, so it's not happ ~ Stephen Colbert,
388:No matter your sector, chances are that people are already twittering about your products, your brand, your company or at least your industry. ~ Tim O Reilly,
389:What do you think Jesus would twitter, 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone' or 'Has anyone seen Judas? He was here a minute ago.' ~ Chris Cornell,
390:I particularly like Twitter, because it's short and can be very funny and informative. It's a little bit like having your own radio program. ~ Margaret Atwood,
391:she hopped and darted to and fro like a bird in a berry bush, trilling and twittering a series of notes as liquidly bright as a cardinal’s song, ~ Philip Roth,
392:The past one year saw people turning Twitter into a battlefield of clashing opinions by creating hashtags against the enemy and making them trend. ~ Anonymous,
393:I’m awesome, Sam. Have you not gotten the memo recently? It’s supposed to go out every Friday morning with Twitter alerts. #Logansawesomenooneforgetit. ~ Tijan,
394:Twitter seems like a busman's holiday: just more writing. I have no plans to do it. I'll just stick with my 24/7 webcam. I'm old-fashioned that way. ~ Tina Fey,
395:When I see Twitter feeds, when I see words that are people are using to describe Donald Trump, it is incredibly disrespectful to the office. ~ Kellyanne Conway,
396:I communicate with fans on Twitter. I enjoy the ability to impulsively write something and ship it out to the fans and fellow tweeters out there. ~ Neil Diamond,
397:I'm very active on Twitter and Instagram. I'm always posting pictures from set, and little clues and teasing people with fun things. It's awesome! ~ Tyler Posey,
398:The plague that every person carries with them is transmitted as much in the breath of our words as in a cough or sneeze. ~ A. Camus…,
399:Did you hear that? I think a dog is talking. Someone grab a camera, hit record, and we’ll be trending on Twitter if you post it. It’s a miracle. ~ Laurann Dohner,
400:I got Twitter like two months ago, checked it out a bit more, and I concluded the only thing Twitter I'm interested in following is Nick Stoller. ~ Evan Goldberg,
401:The effects of Twitter and Facebook and all those things on people's psychologies is a really interesting question to which nobody knows the answer. ~ Paul Bloom,
402:Twitter has been my life's work in many senses. It started with a fascination with cities and how they work, and what's going on in them right now. ~ Jack Dorsey,
403:According to reporting by the New York Times, the going rate for fake people on Twitter in early 2018 was $225 for the first 25,000 fake followers. ~ Jaron Lanier,
404:I'm a friend of the CEO of Twitter and he showed me how to be on it, but it causes such an uproar if what you post is perceived in a negative light. ~ Dana Carvey,
405:I think it will be very challenging for someone who has not been in prominent public life in the age of Twitter to go out on the campaign trail. ~ Daniel Pfeiffer,
406:I've had moments of thinking maybe I should go on Twitter. It's something that I've been shy about, and I've thought that maybe I should do it. ~ Michelle Dockery,
407:#SoulNestingChat (A5) ”With life as short as half-taken breath, don’t plant anything but love.” ~ Jalaluddin Rumi#poetry #mysticpoetry…,
408:The garden of #love is green w/o limit & yields many fruits other than sorrow & #joy. ~ Jalaluddin Rumi #JoyTrain RT @VegyPower,
409:Any celebrity that goes on Twitter and spouts off, as if we should care what they say, is opening himself or herself up to ridicule by anyone else. ~ Joshua Malina,
410:Fuck Twitter yo. I hate Twitter. I love Twitter. I need it to get through a day, but it is also systematically messing with my health and sanity. ~ Gabourey Sidibe,
411:Nah. I got the Zeus Berger charm going on. Somewhere under all these feelings and the fucking fairy princesses twitterpating that muscle in my chest. ~ Pippa Grant,
412:What's cool about Twitter is that you can make a joke about something very of-the-moment or random that I wouldn't be able to joke about in stand-up. ~ Aziz Ansari,
413:When Taylor had called Mark to explain the situation, Facebook's CEO had given clear instructions to shut Twitter down the second it tried to launch. ~ Nick Bilton,
414:You young people with your twittering and your creating of content. Or what is it - queefing? I don't know what you young people are calling it. ~ Janeane Garofalo,
415:For startups, SM is now crucial: it has never been cheaper and easier to reach one's customers. Entrepreneurs should thank God for Twitter, Facebook. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
416:I try and stay away from my comment section on Twitter. But for the most part, the response that I get usually is very positive - and so it's nice. ~ Candice Patton,
417:A bird may twitter a better song.
But should you consider abortion wrong
or that the quacks ask too high a fee,
come to this wall, and see. ~ Joseph Brodsky,
418:Twitter is one of those dangerous toys that if it gets in the hands of the wrong person you'll have the mind of a 12-year-old masquerading as an adult. ~ Colin Quinn,
419:With Twitter people oddly feel accountable for what they write. When someone is unkind, the community rallies like you wouldn't believe to shut it down. ~ Demi Moore,
420:I love social media and the ability to connect to new people through Twitter and Facebook and share my real time experiences with my mommy network. ~ Soleil Moon Frye,
421:I'm never, I hope, stupid enough to believe that Twitter or blogging or any of this stuff is a substitute for actually doing the work or writing a book. ~ Neil Gaiman,
422:I've been told that I'm the best looking brother. Yeah I'm pretty sure the other day some girl tweeted that I was the best looking Subban on Twitter. ~ Malcolm Subban,
423:I ended my Twitter account a week after I got on the show. I felt like, "This is not a good tool for me to keep my narcissism at bay," so I cut it off. ~ Mireille Enos,
424:Espero la cosecha de mi sueño sirva como inspiracion a todos!” he enthused via Twitter. “I hope the harvest of my dream serves as inspiration to all! ~ Gustavo Arellano,
425:I'm on Facebook and Twitter, and occasionally I will tweet something. Somehow my problem is that I don't think I have anything interesting to tweet about. ~ Gordon Bell,
426:In this Sunday 10amET hour on #InternationalYogaDay join a special online #meditation event with #SantRajinderSinghJiMaharaj ~ ~ #SpiritChat…,
427:Turn all things to honey; this is the law of divine living. ~ Sri Aurobindo.ஒவ்வொன்றையும் இனிமையாக மாற்றுங்கள்; தெய்வீக வாழ்வின் சட்டம் இதுவே.,
428:“But listen to me. For one moment quit being sad. Hear blessings dropping their blossoms around you.” ~ Jalaluddin Rumi #poetry #mysticpoetry…,
429:Every successful business, even Google, Facebook, Twitter, started with a combination of manual improvements and friends of the founders using the site. ~ James Altucher,
430:In 15mins at 9amET, join guest host Elisa @womenandbiz as she steps up to host the weekly #SpiritChat ~ Topic: Essence of Self Love #SelfLove…,
431:It's Twitter's combination of simplicity and complexity that is astonishing in the same way that minimalist sculpture was inspiring and enlightening. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
432:Participation in our democracy seems to be driven by the instant-gratification worlds of Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and the twenty-four-hour news cycle. ~ Bill Clinton,
433:I mentioned Ellen Page on Twitter in a tweet. It was like, "I met Ellen Page last night and she's so beautiful and lovely!" So then we started talking. ~ Evan Rachel Wood,
434:The creative part of oneself finds its way out. In this case, I got interested particularly in the medium of Twitter and looked for ways to use it creatively. ~ Teju Cole,
435:An abundance of Twitter users believe they can troll and rant with impunity, no matter how debasing or even threatening their 140-character posts pose. ~ Jonathan Capehart,
436:Jack had continued to see Twitter as a way to talk about what was happening to him. Ev was starting to see it as a view into what was happening in the world. ~ Nick Bilton,
437:Well, really, how would you like to make love with someone who kept twittering about his pure mystic modality and wanted to stick flowers in your navel? ~ Malcolm Bradbury,
438:“When I am silent I fall into that place where everything is music.” ~ Jalaluddin Rumi#poetry #mysticpoetry#silence #meditation#SpiritChat (A1)…,
439:Like Twitter, which faced much skepticism early on, Jelly has plenty of folks raising an eyebrow in its direction while trying to figure out what it’s good for. ~ Anonymous,
440:Always beware of the fact, that the only thing hindering an all out revolution is your fear of losing the scraps they throw at you.--Twitter post, July 29, 2012 ~ Gore Vidal,
441:Twitter brings you closer. I mean, we see this over and over again from our users. It brings them closer to the action. It brings them closer to their heroes. ~ Dick Costolo,
442:Here's what I know: if you wait upon the Lord, you will always, without fail get what you're waiting on: the Lord Himself.
Beth Moore Twitter Account 07062018 ~ Beth Moore,
443:I am not on Facebook and on Twitter because the purpose of my life is to avoid messages. I receive too many messages from the world, and so I try to avoid that. ~ Umberto Eco,
444:"No eres una gota en el océano.Eres el océano en una gota."- ~ Jalaluddin Rumi ❤️💐vía @ramblingsloa @PardueSuzanne @Havenlust @GajHaj @adrianare78…,
445:When you're a woman, you have to work harder to get a laugh... I follow so many hilarious women on Twitter. It's a daily reminder that women get to be funny. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
446:Fred wasn't convinced, telling Charlie that such a service would never work and that other companies that had tried to make Twitter-like products had all failed. ~ Nick Bilton,
447:If Twitter ceased operations tomorrow, not only would Trump not be able to tweet, obviously, but also I believe he’d become a nicer, better person at all hours. ~ Jaron Lanier,
448:The big success stories - Facebook, Zynga and Twitter - are leading to investing in ideas on a napkin, because no one wants to miss out on the next big thing. ~ Eric Lefkofsky,
449:The main mistake most marketers make is to use Twitter primarily as an extension of their blog, a place to push a link to content they have posted elsewhere. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
450:Back in the day, I used to call them names when someone pissed me off. Now, I just unfollow them on twitter. That’ll show those motherfuckers! -Mercy to Miller ~ Lani Lynn Vale,
451:The fear of missing out. It’s the affliction that drives obsessive checking of Twitter feeds, Facebook updates, Instagram stories, WhatsApp groups, and news apps. ~ Jason Fried,
452:BP wants Twitter to shut down a fake BP account that is mocking the oil company. In response, Twitter wants BP to shut down the oil leak that's ruining the ocean. ~ Jimmy Fallon,
453:Don't text or twitter during the show. Just live your life. Don't keep telling people what you're doing. Just, because also - also - it lights up your big dumb face. ~ Louis C K,
454:I hate to break this to you: One of these days I'm going to die. I expect that when I croak I'll no longer be using Twitter, unless I can do it from the grave. ~ Margaret Atwood,
455:in 2004 declaring that the world was flat, Facebook didn’t even exist yet, Twitter was still a sound, the cloud was still in the sky, 4G was a parking space, ~ Thomas L Friedman,
456:From the follower side of the equation, the more Twitter users curate the list of people they follow, the better the service will be at delivering interesting content. ~ Nir Eyal,
457:If you're interested in expanding your network, you can't go wrong with Twitter. You don't need to be a celebrity to have fun and grow your network with Twitter. ~ Raymond Arroyo,
458:Viewers all over the world, whatever medium you are using to view us, on Emmanuel TV, Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, I command a new dream to come true, in Jesus' name! ~ T B Joshua,
459:Hundreds of social networks and websites such as Facebook and Twitter are trying to weaken people's morale and decrease their participation in the elections. ~ Mahmoud Ahmadinejad,
460:I don't even know why somebody's Twittering as me. I don't understand it, and I wish that it would stop. But there's nothing that can be done. It's so terrible. ~ Janeane Garofalo,
461:I think Twitter is becoming remarkably intolerant and heavily liberal. As in, anything that is perceived as being "pro Trump" is scolded and mocked. ~ Christopher Michael Cillizza,
462:I think we definitely want to focus on the simplicity aspect because it's something that's built into the culture even here at Twitter. Constraints inspire creativity. ~ Biz Stone,
463:all busy with his fake life in his fucking gadgets, tinderokcupidinstagramtwitterfacebookvinebullshitnarcissism incorporatedonlinepetitionsfantasyfuckingfootball. ~ Caroline Kepnes,
464:I think if you use Twitter and social media as your main source of information you are an idiot, but I think most people who use it know better, so I kind of enjoy it. ~ Dave Barry,
465:I've never gone on Facebook and am not sure I understand it. The same goes for Twitter. I have someone sending tweets and pretending to be me, but I don't know why. ~ David Sedaris,
466:People on Twitter can follow tech if they're interested in tech, or business if they're interested in business, or they can follow celebrities that they're fans of. ~ Jonah Peretti,
467:There was no Twitter when I was in high school, so I can't even imagine the pressures or the expectations of pursuing likes or living life in that kind of mentality. ~ Tyler Oakley,
468:On Twitter, Donald Trump has called me a "poor journalist, stupid, a very dumb guy, the dumbest political commentator on television, and the dumbest man on TV." ~ Lawrence O Donnell,
469:There's certainly a portion of my brain that is always tuned to making wry observations about the world, but that portion of my brain was alive and well before Twitter. ~ Roxane Gay,
470:The young are of age when they twitter like the old; they are driven through school to learn the old song, and, when they have this by heart, they are declared of age. ~ Max Stirner,
471:Time spent chatting with other people on Twitter is one of the best investments you can make in your publishing business. It’s free, it’s fun, and it’s super-effective. ~ Rayne Hall,
472:We didn't have anything before Twitter that allowed a group of people roaming around a city to communicate instantly, in real time, and in a coordinated way, in a group. ~ Biz Stone,
473:[According to Twitter] 24 percent of American Twitter users are African-American. That's about twice as high as African-Americans are represented in the population. ~ Ethan Zuckerman,
474:I think at all social networks, be it Facebook or Twitter or whatever it is, there's an ecosystem that exist there. But there's also an ego system that exists there. ~ Ashton Kutcher,
475:I've been trolled lots on Twitter. But I understand trolls for what they are and I don't let them get to me. They take my bait, so I'm in charge of the discourse. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
476:Learn more about Marcus Phillips, CTO and Head of Instruction at Hack Reactor Learn more about Hack Reactor. Learn more about the Twitter Chat on this topic on 2/12/2014. ~ Anonymous,
477:Twitter is about the democratization of access to a platform that allows anyone in the world - who has a mobile phone and access to SMS - to have a voice and be heard. ~ Shailesh Rao,
478:With Twitter and other social networking tools, you can get a lot of advice from great people. I learn more from Twitter than any survey or discussion with a big company. ~ Daniel Ek,
479:The idea of Twitter started with me working in dispatch since I was 15 years old, where taxi cabs or firetrucks would broadcast where they were and what they were doing. ~ Jack Dorsey,
480:Twitter allowed me to talk about parenting in short snippets and find out what I really wanted to say about it, which is that I'm a dad who had no idea what he's doing. ~ Jim Gaffigan,
481:Twitter is a deliberate abstention. Somehow I hate the idea of there always being, in the back of my mind, this little voice saying: 'Oh, I should tweet about this.' ~ George Saunders,
482:forecasts, far short of the 1billion once expected. Consulting firm eMarketer suggests that Twitter's user growth will plateau in major developed markets within five years. ~ Anonymous,
483:I'm a jokester, so when I was joking on Twitter, it kinda rubbed people the wrong way. And I was like, I didn't make these up. I'm just letting you know they're there. ~ Gilbert Arenas,
484:In these exciting times for people who thrive on chaos, Trump had emerged from the polluted waters of Twitter like a mutant fish, and the world could not believe its eyes. ~ Jon Ronson,
485:I see a lot of comments on Twitter and stuff about how ugly I am, how bad I am at the drums, how awkward I look, and I'm like, yeah, I agree with most of those things. ~ Patrick Carney,
486:It was a heartbreaking story. He closed his eyes tightly as he told it, so I took the opportunity to quickly check Twitter. I hate not knowing what’s happening on Twitter. ~ Jon Ronson,
487:~ Jalaluddin Rumi: Very little grows on jagged rock. Be ground. Be crumbled, so that wildflowers will come up where you are. #poetry #mysticpoetry #humility…,
488:I'd spent five minutes looking at Twitter once and felt I'd wandered into a poker game where everyone immediately displayed their hands against the cool green of the felt. ~ Jeff Abbott,
489:If we compare the two, Facebook is currently a superior place to market a product like Slide. Twitter is more like a general distribution agent. It's like broadcast radio. ~ Max Levchin,
490:I'm glad that as a 33-year-old working mother, I can still choose to wear a Hello Kitty T-shirt or stay up late scrolling through the Twitter feed of my junior-high crush. ~ Diablo Cody,
491:Me gusta analizar lo que Seth no hace tanto como lo que sí hace. Seth no tiene comentarios en su blog, no presta atención a las analíticas y no usa Twitter ni Facebook ~ Timothy Ferriss,
492:“Subtract the (play of the) infinite from the infinite, and the infinite remains” ~ Upanishad ~ yes, true of love, and of the energy of play 🙏🏽💜😇 #SpiritChat…,
493:"I am not a man, nor a poet, nor a leaf, but a wounded pulse that senses the beyond." ~ Federico Garcia LorcaAssassinated by the fascists on this day, in 1936…,
494:When a plane lands in the Hudson and there's a Twitter user on the ferry taking a picture of it, Boom. That's it. The water is still splashing. Here's the photo of the thing. ~ Biz Stone,
495:If you do a joke that's really old, then what happens is people on Reddit and Twitter just go, 'Real original, you're just doing old jokes!' But bands do it all the time. ~ Chris Hardwick,
496:"Las brisas al amanecer tienen secretos que contarte. ¡No vuelvas a dormir!"- ~ Jalaluddin Rumi ✅vía @ramblingsloa @PardueSuzanne @Havenlust @GajHaj @ma_martin…,
497:Now I have close to a million followers on Twitter, which is crazy because I don't even know how to spell. But it definitely forces me to think more about the "we" factor. ~ Misha Collins,
498:I see a lot of young kids hit me on Twitter all the time, like, 'I want to be famous! Listen to my mixtape! I wish I could be like you!' But a lot comes with it. It's not easy. ~ Amber Rose,
499:But women aren't just bodies! ... boor! they're "companions" as well! what of their charms, their grace, their twitterings? sure, sure! if suicide appeals to you ... ~ Louis Ferdinand C line,
500:Kleos is sometimes translated as "acoustic renown" the spreading renown you get from people talking about your exploits. It's a bit like having a large Twitter following. ~ Rebecca Goldstein,
501:Los inversores esperan que Twitter sea capaz de capturar beneficios de monopolio durante la siguiente década, mientras que los días del monopolio de los periódicos han acabado. ~ Peter Thiel,
502:There’s always that one white boy who says stupid shit in the name of making his friends laugh. You can usually find them trolling on Twitter. We just spotted one in the wild. ~ Angie Thomas,
503:When I first started on Twitter, a relative asked, 'Aren't you concerned with giving away your jokes?' I don't think of it that way. That's my content, and that's what I do. ~ Julie Klausner,
504:When I write on Twitter, I do other things: I'm working, grading, or reading, and I'm procrastinating, and I'll pop on Twitter and be like, "Hey, what's up? Yogurt's delicious." ~ Roxane Gay,
505:I am a huge consumer of social networks, and I utilize Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn. I'm interested and am learning more about Tumblr and other visually dominant sites. ~ James G Stavridis,
506:I have no Facebook page or Twitter - I don't participate in it, and I don't like it particularly. I mean, it's a form of interaction, which strikes me as extremely superficial. ~ Noam Chomsky,
507:You remember from watching the show, there are no "jokes." That's why if you see people on Twitter accusing me of being a "joke thief," I just tell them to come to one of my shows. ~ Jay Mohr,
508:You will always find an answer in the sound of water.— Chuang TzuSea of religionby Etsuro Takihara"You will always find an answer in the sound of water." ~ Zhuangzi,
509:I don't necessarily need 400 pounds on my back in the squat rack, and then take a picture of myself and send it out to my Twitter followers, 'Part of the 400 pound club today.' ~ Ryan Reynolds,
510:I love to post behind-the-scenes photos of what is really going on. My twitter friends really seem to like that and the great thing is I can deliver them information right away. ~ Nancy O Dell,
511:I often tweet things that I would feel too horrified/embarrassed/ashamed to say to a friend or loved one, even though most of my friends and loved ones read my Twitter account. ~ Mira Gonzalez,
512:It makes me feel so amazing to know there's people out here that support me and follow me on Twitter and watch my shows on YouTube and come to my concert, so I'm very thankful. ~ Austin Mahone,
513:Melania Trump posted on Twitter -I have at all times been in full compliance with the immigration laws of this country. It's the same message she told MSNBC in February [2016]. ~ Melania Trump,
514:This was everyday life on social media, each side lurching toward mockery and attack — fanning the flames of the divisive chaos from which Trump, the Twitter candidate, had risen. ~ Jon Ronson,
515:Social media is interesting. It helps me connect with fans. It's immediate. It's a big part of my touring business - getting the word out via Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. ~ Hannibal Buress,
516:If you want to write a negative review, don't tickle me gently with your aesthetic displeasure about my work. Unleash the goddamn Kraken."

[on Twitter, July 17, 2012] ~ Scott Lynch,
517:I love making YouTube videos. I love Tumblr, I love Twitter. I love talking with people I find interesting about stuff I find interesting, and the Internet is a great way to do that. ~ John Green,
518:I'm the kind of person, if I see something, like a funny video, I want to share it. With Twitter and Tumblr you can do that on a mass scale, and people get to know your personality. ~ Aziz Ansari,
519:The people I bring out of suspension to populate my town won’t have Facebook or iPhones, iPads, Twitter, next-day delivery. They’ll interact like our species used to. Face-to-face. ~ Blake Crouch,
520:All technological breakthroughs start with a small "elite". Think about cellphones, for example. Now just about everyone has one. The same will happen to innovations such as Twitter. ~ Helen Zille,
521:If I see something really nasty on Twitter, I will usually delete it or block the person because I don't want to see that every day Get to know me, and then you can talk about me! ~ Kendall Jenner,
522:in its early days, Twitter discovered that once new users followed 30 other members, they hit a tipping point which dramatically increased the odds they would keep using the site.[cxxx] ~ Nir Eyal,
523:I use Google+, and I find the quality of the comments are very sophisticated because there is more trust inside of Google+ than there is inside of Twitter and Facebook, for example. ~ Eric Schmidt,
524:The thing I really like about Twitter is the speed with which information reaches me. You find out things from Twitter long before they're on the news. That, I think, is valuable. ~ Salman Rushdie,
525:The urge to check Twitter or refresh Reddit becomes a nervous twitch that shatters uninterrupted time into shards too small to support the presence necessary for an intentional life. ~ Cal Newport,
526:Trong một dòng chia sẻ trên mạng xã hội Twitter, Yahoo! tóm tắt kế hoạch của Mayer là một chuỗi các phản ứng của "con người rồi tới sản phẩm, rồi lượng truy cập rồi mới tới doanh thu ~ Peter Thiel,
527:Twitter is a place where I can let people know what type of person I am, and I got some good feedback from it. More good than bad, so it's a good outlet to let people know who I am. ~ Kevin Durant,
528:I'm new to the Twitterverse and so I'm attempting to build my followers. I'm trying to be a better tweeter. I try not to tweet too much, just when I've got something worthwhile to say. ~ Eric Ladin,
529:I'm not one to go on blogs and things like that, but we do have our own personal Twitter profiles, so we get a lot of tweets, and they are pretty passionate. It's fun. I like it. ~ Katharine McPhee,
530:Now, two things happen. One is, people know people, whether that's on Facebook or Twitter. They feel closer to the event. Secondly, people see other people doing something about it. ~ Pete Cashmore,
531:Twitter Inc. has a proposition for app makers: Let’s start over. Two years ago, Twitter irked developers with stricter rules around applications that plug into the social-media service. ~ Anonymous,
532:A Twitter update is simple and fast and gets the information and news, and it spreads it very quickly, and it can contain links so you can then link to this whole context of information. ~ Biz Stone,
533:I do not believe that people want to work hard enough and they want to find the quick Twitter, SEO. Anybody who's obsessed with SEO has lost already, period. I believe that firmly. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
534:In many ways, the internet made me feel safe (...) especially on Twitter, with its knack for facilitating conversation between strangers along shared lines of interest and allegiance. ~ Olivia Laing,
535:I don't have Twitter or Facebook or MySpace or any of those things. I think there's a kind of risky thing privacy wise and I'm a private, guided person and don't want to get too open. ~ Hannah Murray,
536:I used to think Twitter was a waste of time and sort of ran counter to my ability to be productive and to write and now Twitter feels like a really cool part of the creative experience. ~ Lena Dunham,
537:One of the reasons that I'm a lurker on Twitter is that every time I tweet an idea, I feel like I'm delivering something to the competition that I ought to be giving to a reporter here. ~ Bill Keller,
538:I have a daily message, 'Stimumail,' which I use to stimulate the mind and heart. I have the opportunity to touch over 60,000 people I have never met. I also use Twitter and Facebook. ~ Iyanla Vanzant,
539:I'm a big consumer of news and I have my six newspaper sites booked. And what I like bout Twitter is it's almost, it allows me to make a comment about something that's just on my mind. ~ Albert Brooks,
540:Digital technology is both arousing and distancing. We don't look at the users on the other side as people. They aren't - they're just usernames, Facebook photos and Twitter handles. ~ Douglas Rushkoff,
541:Something changed between the two men, namely [Donald ] Trump started slinging mud on Twitter about [Ted] Cruz`s wife, Heidi, including a mean comparing her looks unfavourably to his own. ~ Chris Hayes,
542:You need to update your blog a couple of times a week. You need to post a Twitter here and there. It feels so dumb to say that stuff, but it's important for me to keep that presence going. ~ Nick Thune,
543:Anything you're interested in the world whether it be Charlie rose or JetBlue or a public figure or your local coffee shop, they're on Twitter and broadcasting what is interesting to them. ~ Jack Dorsey,
544:Facebook is massive in scale and scope. Twitter is a public communication forum, but if I'm following you, you're not necessarily following me. LinkedIn is, simply, a professional network. ~ Jeff Weiner,
545:For me, Twitter is a public persona. I don't interact. It's a lousy form for conversation and opinion, but a wonderful propaganda and sloganeering tool. I use it as a one-way street. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
546:No, you didn’t invent Twitter,” Ev replied. “I didn’t invent Twitter either. Neither did Biz. People don’t invent things on the Internet. They simply expand on an idea that already exists. ~ Nick Bilton,
547:The Twitter team took the exact opposite approach. They built the API first, and exposed all the data that was crucial to the service, and then they built on top of the API. ~ Steven Johnson,
548:When we feel overly stressed, we seek serenity, perhaps finding relief in sites like Pinterest. When we feel lonely, destinations like Facebook and Twitter provide instant social connections. ~ Nir Eyal,
549:For me, the most fascinating interface is Twitter. I have odd cosmic thoughts every day and I realized I could hold them to myself or share them with people who might be interested. ~ Neil deGrasse Tyson,
550:I'm really glad I'm not on Twitter. Because I'd have to be answering things that I didn't really know anything about, and I'd rather just wait for the dust to settle and then say something. ~ Stewart Lee,
551:Social media, where I'm head and shoulders above everybody else. I've read now 22 million people on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. More than 22 million people. Nobody else is even close. ~ Donald Trump,
552:That is, a person’s style doesn’t change from medium to medium; there is no “dumbing down.” You write how you write, wherever you write. The linguists also measured Twitter’s lexical density, ~ Anonymous,
553:Here is a list of the top 100 users discussing social media and a list that Peg compiled of social-media tweets. To find more topics, search for Twitter lists. You can also create your own. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
554:I do see an interest in writing for Twitter. While publishers still do love the novel and people do still like to sink into one, the very quick form is appealing because of the pace of life. ~ Lydia Davis,
555:I think things like YouTube and Twitter are really cool and really good in some ways, but the fact that the news is cutting to a YouTube clip on national TV, I think is really weird. ~ Andrew VanWyngarden,
556:Our thoughts, feelings and whereabouts: Food we dish up on plates called photographs and status updates; to feed Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc.; beasts with insatiable appetites. ~ Mokokoma Mokhonoana,
557:Some people are mean, and when you look at their page, they only write mean things, but I have a great time with a twitter person. It's not even to promote myself, just to entertain me. ~ Kathleen Madigan,
558:Surrender itself is a mighty prayer. ~ Sri Ramana Maharshi means to open up to ur total self, to give in & let go of the things u think u’re supposed to be.. Bashar,
559:At the end of the day, how many ads did it take to convince you to use Facebook or Twitter? It wasn't marketing or advertising that convinced you to use these services. It was their value. ~ Alexis Ohanian,
560:I don't even understand why I have 1.7 million Twitter followers. Every day, I want to remind them and say, "Do you realize I'm an astrophysicist? Do you know what you're doing here?" ~ Neil deGrasse Tyson,
561:I love Twitter. Twitter for me is twofold. I can use it to get out important information about charity stuff and where Im going to be, and I can get feedback from the audience which I love. ~ Greg Grunberg,
562:I swore on screen when I got the Olivier for 'Legally Blonde,' I was so surprised. Awards where the public vote mean a lot. I'm a big Twitter fan and like talking to people who support me. ~ Sheridan Smith,
563:Sometimes I get frustrated in traffic. I typically start going deep with my cab driver and Twitter feed - simultaneously - to take my mind off the gridlock. I enjoy live-tweeting my cab rides. ~ Andy Cohen,
564:Twitter represents a collective collaboration that manifests our ability to unconsciously connect kindred voices through the experiences that move us. As such, Twitter is a human seismograph. ~ Brian Solis,
565:Clusters of bats hung like bunches of withered grapes from the roof and when, from time to time, either Kerim's head or Bond's brushed against them, they exploded twittering into the darkness. ~ Ian Fleming,
566:Facebook and Twitter and these other social sites bring every, I mean, 140 characters. I mean, I'm on Twitter and I have fun. But I don't think anybody learns anything about me as a person. ~ Sherman Alexie,
567:I feel like you can share as many jokes as you want to because no joke you do on Twitter is ever gonna be so big on Twitter, for the most part, that you can't say it on stage that same night. ~ W Kamau Bell,
568:I'm just really not even that huge of a UFC fan. If you go on my Instagram or Twitter, you will notice ... people that I've actually met and hung out with, you know, I'm not like a huge UFC guy. ~ Jon Jones,
569:The only people with power today are the audience. And that is increasing with Twitter, Facebook, and everything else. We cater to their likes and dislikes, and you ignore that at your peril. ~ Simon Cowell,
570:While I don't think that Twitter is really an appropriate place for someone who seriously needs help, it shows the impact that we can have when we collectively come together to support someone. ~ Demi Moore,
571:Nighttime Twitter was different from daytime Twitter only in that the content shifted from people in her timeline making dumb jokes about tech news to people making dumb jokes about TV. Katya ~ Doree Shafrir,
572:Today, models are able to share industry news, trends, and communicate with fans through Twitter, Instagram and blogs. So in a way, our position as models is way more personable and relatable. ~ Karlie Kloss,
573:Hillary Clinton has built a huge machine. Donald Trump's asset is people on Facebook and twitter. He can communicate with them eight or 10 times a day with no money. This is a different world. ~ Newt Gingrich,
574:Kids need to remember that when you put something on Twitter, it's not like whispering to your friend, you've put it on a billboard that the whole world, including your own kids someday, can see. ~ Bill Cosby,
575:Turkey has a very young, dynamic, curious population. In Europe, Facebook and Twitter are mostly about sharing daily experiences while for Turkish people, social networks are political platforms. ~ Elif Safak,
576:Twitter and Facebook and all of this stuff is, to me, I mean it's, for some reason - I'm probably not the youngest person using it. But for some reason, it works very well. I'm setting records. ~ Donald Trump,
577:I can't figure Twitter out. The way Twitter is formatted, I can't tell who is saying something and who's replying to something. I don't know who the tweeter is and who's responding to the twit. ~ Rush Limbaugh,
578:Making a nation awesome takes more than just Twitter outrage, street protests and a toppling of governments in elections. It asks for a fundamental shift in societal values, culture and habits. ~ Chetan Bhagat,
579:President Obama broke a world record after he reached a million followers on Twitter in just five hours. The only guys not following Obama? His Secret Service agents. They lost track months ago. ~ Jimmy Fallon,
580:I've stayed away from Twitter for a long time because I sort of didn't trust myself with such an intimate but very public way of relating to the world, but I feel like I've studied it enough. ~ Elizabeth Reaser,
581:The good folk of Twitter were extremely helpful when I needed to double-check how much blackjacks and fruit salad sweets cost in the 1960s. Without them I might have written my book twice as fast. ~ Neil Gaiman,
582:Twitter already has more than 250 million users today. It doesn’t need to add too many customized features in order to acquire more, and there’s no inherent reason why it should ever stop growing. ~ Peter Thiel,
583:I have six times as many Twitter followers as all the other candidates combined, but it didn't count because if it counted I'd still be a candidate; since I can't be a candidate that can't count. ~ Newt Gingrich,
584:Today, we need to listen more carefully. I read what people say on Twitter, my friends on Path, in addition to formal media. I look for patterns, and then I post questions back to my network. ~ Padmasree Warrior,
585:Far from being frivolous, recreational mathematics cuts to the heart of being a mathematician and is deeply linked to development of graduate-level mathematical skills. ~ Peter Rowlett, Twitter, September 9 2019.,
586:The drug lord is on the run. His name is El Chapo. Donald Trump is in a Twitter feud with this Mexican drug lord. It's historic - the first time Americans have ever sided with a Mexican drug lord. ~ Conan O Brien,
587:Writers are b*tc*ing about 140 characters. If you can't make a point in two sentences, how good is that book of yours really going to be?

Taken from Twitter Titters Volume 1 edited by John Rice ~ A W Tozer,
588:On Twitter, when someone would die, I would write a joke. Or if there's a tragedy, I would write a joke and tweet it. That was my thing, and then at a certain point, people started demanding it. ~ Anthony Jeselnik,
589:I get on Twitter, one of my routines during the day, if I'm home is, I wake up, get a cup of coffee, turn on the Weather Channel and I'll look at what people are saying to me on Twitter on my phone. ~ Blake Shelton,
590:People are free or cheap. Marketing: using Twitter or blogs. Cheap or free. Infrastructure: call up Amazon, call up Rackspace, terabytes of data in the clouds, thousand dollars, two thousand dollars. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
591:Social media and music in general have been changing so fast. You can go on Twitter and go from one artist to another. What I really like about it is the opportunity to communicate directly with your fans. ~ Juanes,
592:The hard truth was that the press didn’t trust the police to bring them the best stories any more; they’d turned their attention to social media, teenagers on Twitter and middle-aged whistle-blowers. ~ Sarah Hilary,
593:I don’t believe in heaven, and even if I did I’d hope nonexistent-god they don’t have fucking twitter there. It’s heaven! Go play chocolate badminton on a cloud with Jerry Orbach and your childhood cat. ~ Lindy West,
594:I think Twitter is best when it sparks conversations elsewhere. To use YouTube and Facebook and all the tools we have available to us today to respond and also promote and answer and engage is awesome. ~ Jack Dorsey,
595:President Obama, by the way, has set a Guinness World Record as the fastest person to get a million Twitter followers. Obama now has as many followers as the Republicans have presidential candidates. ~ Conan O Brien,
596:The new contract between writers and readers is one I'm prepared to sign up to. I've met some fascinating people at events and online. Down with the isolation of writers I say! And long live Twitter. ~ Sara Sheridan,
597:I don't want to be one of those people that's constantly promoting myself on Twitter. I think the fun thing about Twitter is being able to share all the little random things that happen in my life. ~ Bridgit Mendler,
598:On Twitter, people like me regularly get called "sore losers" by Trumpeters. It just makes me roll my eyes. This is not about winning and losing. We all lost, even them, they just don't know it yet. ~ Gene Weingarten,
599:There's rumors in the Twittersphere. If I find out that any of my officer is giving out drug and alcohol I send their ass to prison with a snorkel duct-taped to their mouth and me s***ing down that Snorkel ~ Ice Cube,
600:To me, Twitter often feels like shouting things into a two-way mirror that I know has people behind it, maybe even people I know, and they are definitely listening, but mostly remain perfectly silent. ~ Mira Gonzalez,
601:I feel like Twitter was tailor-made for me, because I can do short spurts all day long. I loved my blog, but doing daily, then thrice weekly entries was really time consuming. 140 characters is perfect. ~ Sarah Dessen,
602:I have a dad-ager. My dad is really good at the business end of things. But it's really a family affair. My mother handles all my social media stuff - Facebook, Twitter, e-mails, that kind of thing. ~ Jencarlos Canela,
603:I like to get people talking. I am a provocateur, and I do like getting on Twitter and riling people up. You know what, after a while some sane dialogue and sane conclusions come of that kind of thing. ~ Roseanne Barr,
604:On stage and in person, I think I am nice, thoughtful, and empathetic. But for some reason when I'm online, I become super aggressive and unhinged. I should probably get off of Twitter and see a therapist. ~ Joe Mande,
605:Social media, especially Twitter, has completely changed the fashion and media industries - we now can go direct to consumers in a nanosecond - amazing way of distributing content - right to the point. ~ Kelly Cutrone,
606:I don't Twitter every day. I just think we should be more thoughtful with what we share. I don't care that you're turning a light on right now. That's great and all, but there's got to be a balance there. ~ Jeremy Camp,
607:The wetland created by the beaver, like the thriving platform created by the Twitter founders, invites variation because it is an open platform where resources are shared as much as they are protected. ~ Steven Johnson,
608:I love that I can talk to my fans through Twitter, to cut out the middle man. Because I've done interviews where my words have gotten twisted, so it's nice to be able to have things coming straight from me. ~ Bruno Mars,
609:In the back of my mind, I’m composing a tweet to make this funny somehow. Hashtag #awkwardparentmoments. It would probably trend on Twitter. I want to laugh at this to make the whole situation less real. ~ Janet Gurtler,
610:The only way to keep a show alive is to stay loyal to your fans and not betray them creatively or ignore them when it comes to extra content. I'm on Twitter because I'm trying to answer their questions. ~ Billy Lawrence,
611:Twitter is hard to evaluate. They have a lot of potential. It's a horribly mismanaged company — probably a lot of pot-smoking going on there. But it's such a solid franchise it may even work with all that. ~ Peter Thiel,
612:According to neuroscience research from 2012, it is intrinsically rewarding to talk about oneself. This is perhaps why Facebook, Twitter and blogging platforms like Tumblr have been such successful products. ~ Dan Ariely,
613:I think Twitter is kind of fun, it's not deep and it never will be, but it's a great way to communicate one-liners and to sort of see what people are laughing about. It's a terrific source of misinformation. ~ Dave Barry,
614:Nothing will ever replace good old fashioned police work, but Facebook and Twitter have been like a tool on our belt, In some ways it can help them in their investigations and in some ways it can hinder ~ William Bratton,
615:A weird sort of awareness set in, like, 'Wow. My stand-up isn't just separate from everything else I do anymore.' With Twitter and Face book, everything is universal that everything everybody says gets seen. ~ Colin Quinn,
616:I'm active on Facebook and Twitter professionally, then personally I have my own Facebook account, but nobody knows my name or anything. I don't use it to connect with my friends, but I love to play on it. ~ Glenda Bailey,
617:now, with Donald Trump spending about 20 percent of his new presidency at his own luxury golf clubs. I sometimes wonder: If you add together his time spent on golf, Twitter, and cable news, what’s ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
618:This may sound a little bit idealistic, but when I go to my blog, my Facebook page, my Twitter account, I talk to different people from all over the world, and you see how it's easy to establish a dialogue. ~ Paulo Coelho,
619:This week a group of activists, known as Anonymous, hacked the Twitter account of the KKK. The KKK is furious. They said Anonymous is just a bunch of cowards who don't have the courage to show their faces. ~ Conan O Brien,
620:It got to a point where there were so many apps and stuff on my phone that I started getting overwhelmed because there were so many things to check. Just Instagram and Twitter are what I stick to these day. ~ Kaitlyn Dever,
621:A student at the University of Wisconsin in Madison spent 90 days technology free. He went without a cell phone, Facebook, Twitter, or any social media of any kind. And you know what really improved? His driving! ~ Jay Leno,
622:I began my day as I often begin my days, by checking Donald Trump's Twitter feed to see how far the crazy has spread. And today, I really think he's off his meds, because today he went from crazy to cruel. ~ Stephen Colbert,
623:I only tweet about food and silly things, but it's really fascinating because I get a lot of response on Twitter, and I'm always looking at the type of people who write me on there, and it is such a variety. ~ Sutton Foster,
624:There is a wonderful interpretation for the word, 'mantra' ~ 'man' meaning the awareness, 'tra' meaning 'that which engages' ~ so, mantra becomes 'that which engages the awareness' :) #SpiritChat…,
625:There's pressure to come up with something genius every time. I feel like I keep letting myself down with my Twitter posts. I have to start keeping a journal of rough drafts of prophetic ideas about the world. ~ Ari Graynor,
626:You curate information that you want to receive. It's a lot different because I'm not asking you if it's okay, I'm just saying I'm following your updates. That's why I don't think of Twitter as a social network. ~ Biz Stone,
627:According to The New York Times, more than half of President Obama's Twitter followers are fake. They don't even exist. Which is actually a good thing because if they did exist there wouldn't be any jobs for them. ~ Jay Leno,
628:a great business is defined by its ability to generate cash flows in the future. Investors expect Twitter will be able to capture monopoly profits over the next decade, while newspapers’ monopoly days are over. ~ Peter Thiel,
629:Don't you think it's a small mystery that birds can twitter so loudly that they can hear each other's song from several miles away? Those tiny bundles are like living flutes, playing non-stop on themselves. ~ Jostein Gaarder,
630:If J.G. Ballard had been on Twitter, I doubt he'd have cat-posted. Wm. S. Burroughs, on the other hand, probably would have. He loved cats. I received Christmas cards from Burroughs. All were cute cat cards. ~ William Gibson,
631:That's one of my favorite things about Twitter: You can tweak your feed into a fabulous novelty engine. That's only one thing you can do with it, but it's one of the things I find most entertaining about it. ~ William Gibson,
632:“The value of things is not in the duration, but in the intensity in which they occur. This is why there are unforgettable moments, inexplicable things and incomparable people. " ~ Fernando Pessoa…,
633:Grab the work when it comes, my man. Your competition is now a fourteen-year-old in pajamas with the username Truth-ninja-12 who believes fact-checking a story is reading his subject’s Twitter feed. Be afraid. ~ Marisha Pessl,
634:I started using Twitter about year after its very early adoption and ended up investing in it around that same time. I'm involved with the Tech scene and companies ranging from Facebook, Stumbleupon and Twitter. ~ Tim Ferriss,
635:Twitter is a form of free speech, and I'm all for that. But if Cee Lo Green, a maverick of sorts, can't get on Twitter and say something outlandish or outrageous, then what is the whole point of Twitter at all? ~ Cee Lo Green,
636:I don't have Facebook or Twitter accounts yet. Being a compulsive storyteller, I always make up for myself discouraging stories about how such accounts will get me into embarrassing and time-consuming situations. ~ Etgar Keret,
637:People think that the digital age and social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter nurture oversharing, but in 1992 there was nothing stopping me from treating any piece of paper like a personal diary. ~ Carrie Brownstein,
638:Twitter was around communication and visualizing what was happening in the world in real-time. Square was allowing everyone to accept the form of payment people have in their pocket today, which is a credit card. ~ Jack Dorsey,
639:it wasn’t the money that made him turn down Facebook’s proposal. It was that Twitter and Facebook were two completely different companies, with different goals and, as Ev saw it, vastly different morals. Twitter’s ~ Nick Bilton,
640:I would say Diddy is the most interesting Twitter-er. I definitely will follow the hip-hop circle now that I have infiltrated the game, just so that I can be aware of my rivals and what my competitors are doing. ~ Spencer Pratt,
641:My feeling is, Twitter's free. If people want to have a political discourse with me on Twitter, and they disagree with me, I've got all the time in the world for that. It's when it gets nasty that I have problems. ~ Josh Groban,
642:What that meant to us was that a story that was of great interest to readers on a Tuesday afternoon is likely to be of interest to readers grazing Twitter on a Saturday night who didn’t see it the first time around. ~ Anonymous,
643:Tweeting happens to be a modern day form of communication. I mean, you can like it or not like it. I have, between Facebook and Twitter, I have almost 25 million people. It's a very effective way of communication. ~ Donald Trump,
644:I don't know if I'm a Twitter addict. That seems kind of harsh. I would say it's more that I'm seriously involved. That it's a long-term relationship - like a girlfriend, which my actual girlfriend loves to hear. ~ Chris Hardwick,
645:I don't think I'll ever get used to the pressures of fame. I have two-pointsomething million followers on Twitter, and if I say something, they all listen. It's crazy! I shouldn't be allowed that responsibility. ~ Josh Hutcherson,
646:If someone does something illegal on Twitter - like incite hatred, or make racist remarks, or threaten to rip someone's intestines out if they insult Justin Bieber - then there has to be some way of censuring them. ~ Tony Parsons,
647:I promoted myself on Twitter and Facebook as hard as possible, nonstop. People started realizing that if they commented on my videos, I'd reply to their comment, so I started getting a lot more views and comments. ~ Austin Mahone,
648:Ive made sure to always update my web properties constantly - Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, my Hypebeast blog making sure I divided content across all of them to keep each outlet fresh to keep people coming back. ~ Theophilus London,
649:La plupart considèrent que l’une des raisons principales de cet égocentrisme vient de l’usage des réseaux sociaux comme Myspace, Facebook et Twitter650, qui sont en grande partie consacrés à la promotion de soi. ~ Matthieu Ricard,
650:What's interesting about Twitter is the unmediatedness of it, the directness of it. I'm on a train somewhere in New York and I send out a tweet. Somebody sitting at dinner in Bombay checks their phone and they see it. ~ Teju Cole,
651:All things seem hard to man that are above his attained level and they are hard to his unaided effort; but they become at once easy and simple when God in man takes up the contract. ~ Sri AurobindoSABCL…,
652:So far, all of reality seems to be described by exquisite, elegant mathematical equations. We can’t stop now – it’s got to be beautiful all the way down! ~ Katie Mack, PhD Comic with attribution of quote at @astrokatie on twitter.,
653:What I pick for my blog and what I pick for Twitter are different things. One thing that is true for both, by and large, is that it has to feel like something that leaves you with more than just a moment of gawking. ~ Maria Popova,
654:For me personally, I don't go onto Twitter or Facebook, my hubby helps me out because sometimes I'm concerned that I'll see something that will upset me, and I don't have a way to work it out with that person. ~ Bryce Dallas Howard,
655:I don't tweet, Twitter, email, Facebook, look book, no kind of book. I have a land line phone at my home - that's the only phone I have. If my phone rang every day like everyone else around me, I would lose my mind. ~ Patti LaBelle,
656:I think of myself as still being about five. Maybe that's why my Twitter picture is of me at five. That's how I feel. I'm honored if I can inspire somebody else. I'm just still trying to figure it all out about myself. ~ Demi Moore,
657:Questions to Ask About Your Twitter Content: Is it to the point? Is the hashtag unique and memorable? Is the image attached high quality? Does the voice sound authentic? Will it resonate with the Twitter audience? ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
658:When I worked in theater, I was always writing things on Post-it Notes and sticking them on screens or desks. Twitter has given me a way of continuing to post those notes, only a lot of other people see them, too. ~ Maureen Johnson,
659:I was using Twitter a lot on my phone, and was realising there was a massive gap between the link on the tweet and the full story. If you could come up with a summary layer to show in Twitter, that would be awesome. ~ Nick D Aloisio,
660:There is no better source of real-time news than Twitter. With the constant sharing of news and information, if you're an active Twitter user, there's nothing happening, big or small, that you won't know right away. ~ Raymond Arroyo,
661:Twitter is a much more dangerous cauldron of group-think than happy hours or dinners. On Twitter, the reward comes from agreeing or loudly disagreeing with the joke, or the "smart take." In person you hash things out. ~ David Weigel,
662:Many people are noting the difference between Hillary Clinton's friendly public appearances and her blunt and direct Twitter account. Yeah, she's nice in person, and mean on the Internet. You know, kinda like EVERYONE. ~ Jimmy Fallon,
663:The reason I was able to grow my business was that every day, after producing 30 minutes of wine television, I spent 15 hours a day replying to every single person's e-mail and every single person's Twitter @ reply. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
664:I started so slowly and had so few followers and then it kind of sort of snowballed. I still feel an intimacy on Twitter, which I think a lot of us do. It feels intimate, doesn't it? I love it. I never thought I would. ~ Jennifer Ehle,
665:I wish writing were really like the way Andy staged it here: Me in a mania at a desk while a group of people stand around cheering in awe. More realistically, it's me pooping around on Twitter until I get an idea. ~ Lin Manuel Miranda,
666:Now we have so many more social outlets, so many ways to be stalked and bullied. If social media is too much for you to handle, then don't have a Twitter or Facebook account. Just be yourself. Be who you want to be. ~ Khloe Kardashian,
667:Only later, when the Twitter chat is over, do I have the chance to reflect that I just experienced being trolled, in space, by the second man on the moon, while also engaging in a Twitter conversation with the president. ~ Scott Kelly,
668:I am very active on Twitter and one thing that keeps popping up is "How do I balance having a kid and writing?" And I know it should not be as aggravating, but I know no one ever asks a male writer that. Or, any male that. ~ Celeste Ng,
669:The good thing about Twitter is that theres not so much of a wall between you and your fan base. They can interact with you, and it makes them more endeared to you when you interact with them. Its really fun in that way. ~ Sinqua Walls,
670:It appears to be among the laws of nature, that the mighty of intellect should be pursued and carped by the little, as the solitary flight of one great bird is followed by the twittering petulance of many smaller. ~ Walter Savage Landor,
671:Twitter reminds me of an era in French literature - Emile Zola and Honoré de Balzac - and the beginning of modernity and gossip. They had these fashion magazines of the time on display with all of the Emile Zola references. ~ Kim Gordon,
672:Last year, the single evening generated almost $12 million, was a trending topic on Twitter and attracted over 25 million page views on the following day. This year, it will be part of a documentary by the filmmaker ~ Anonymous,
673:People would publish their websites; other people would read them. But there was no real back and forth other than through e-mail. Web 2.0 was what they called the collaborative web - Facebook, Twitter, the social media. ~ Edward Snowden,
674:I compose most of my tweets with care, as if they were aphorisms - they are not usually dashed-off. Sometimes I'm surprised by the high, poetic quality of Twitter - it lends itself to a surreal sort of self-expression. ~ Joyce Carol Oates,
675:I’m alarmed at how many creators gloss over creating. They fritter away their time on Twitter and Facebook—not killing time, but believing that they are building up followers to be the recipients of their unremarkable work. ~ Ryan Holiday,
676:When I am at work, that is my time to work. The workspace is not the appropriate arena for us to discuss your problems. When I am there I need to be left undisturbed to check what people are saying about me on Twitter. ~ Michael Ian Black,
677:When the Haiti earthquake happened, I registered with UNICEF to set up an account, and posted to Twitter for people to donate to it. In a matter of a couple of hours, $30,000 had been donated. That, to me, was eye-opening. ~ Misha Collins,
678:Critics first discounted Twitter’s 140-character message limitation as gimmicky and restrictive. But little did they realize the constraint actually increased users’ ability to create. A few keyboard taps and users were sharing. ~ Nir Eyal,
679:In a world where like everyone's so accessible now, to say something new in an article that you can't find out about a n--- through his Twitter or like Googling him or some s--- is rare. Just like how a good song is rare. ~ Earl Sweatshirt,
680:The Internet and Twitter and all these things are very powerful, but it also means sometimes that instead of having a dialogue we just start calling folks - calling each other names. And that's true on the left or the right. ~ Barack Obama,
681:Twittering and blogging and all that is fine, but there is no idea of how to phrase something beautifully; how to use language to create an emotion. It's just passing information and sometimes very superficial information. ~ Isabel Allende,
682:For new media reactionaries...the problem is technology, the endless distractions of the Internet, the breakdown of authority in an age of blogs and Twitter, the collapse of narrative in a hyper-linked, multi-networked world. ~ David L Ulin,
683:In this day and age of social media, where everything is so centred around how many Instagram and Twitter followers you have, what's keeping me afloat is the fact that my live performance is something that people can enjoy. ~ Cakes da killa,
684:Twittering just seemed to be people telling other people what they were doing--getting in the shower, making coffee. Who on earth wanted to know these things?...Babble and twitter. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. ~ Kate Atkinson,
685:Cruising the Internet doesn't count as writing. Neither does answering e-mail. Before you check Twitter & FB and do other similar tasks that get in the way of writing, write first. (I really need to take my own advice here!) ~ Terry McMillan,
686:Things like email, and Twitter, and Facebook, and text messaging - they all work reasonably well. But we use them because they're convenient, and cheap, and easy, not because they're the best way to communicate with somebody. ~ Palmer Luckey,
687:It's hard to predict what will happen as reading on screen becomes more of a universal norm, and when the formats dictated by social media - Twitter's 140-character limit, for instance - start to influence what we're used to. ~ Michael Bierut,
688:Our experience is that the sweet spot for posts of curated content is two or three sentences on Google+ and Facebook and one hundred characters on Twitter. The sweet spot for created content is five hundred to a thousand words. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
689:The IT people who have made such an effort to know and understand computer technology. They are frustrated that you cannot use Facebook, Twitter and YouTube in China. They are the first to recognize that the situation is terrible. ~ Ai Weiwei,
690:There's nothing like the discovery of an unknown work by a great thinker to set the intellectual community atwitter and cause academics to dart about like those things one sees when looking at a drop of water under a microscope. ~ Woody Allen,
691:Things have changed so much, with Facebook and Twitter. Everyone is so much more accessible these days: no British athlete has ever experienced what we are experiencing now. It's such a unique situation with the home Olympics. ~ Jessica Ennis,
692:Twitter's a funny one, I mean, it's good in some respects but I can't stand it in other respects. You know there are too many opinions, people get opinions mixed up and people get being rude mixed up with that's my opinion. ~ Dionne Bromfield,
693:Had Ben grown up in the old world, Ethan would probably have entered his son’s bedroom to find him glued to an iPhone. Texting friends. Watching television. Playing video games. Twitter and Facebook. Ethan didn’t miss those things. ~ Anonymous,
694:My dad finds Twitter just infinitely unrelatable. He's like, 'Why would I want to tell anybody what I had for a snack, it's private?!' And I'm like, 'Why would you even have a snack if you didn't tell anybody? Why bother eating?' ~ Lena Dunham,
695:When you think about Twitter, there are people all around the world reporting twenty-four seven, every second. They're reporting what they're seeing and what's happening around them. So there's a lot of potential for breaking news. ~ Biz Stone,
696:With the mere click of a mouse, I can be put in my place but good via Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, or Google+, just to name a few. (But not MySpace, which has been a ghost town since 2008. I hope Tom’s okay.) ~ Jen Lancaster,
697:I remember when Twitter first came out. I was so against it, I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted to keep my life to myself. I felt like I didn't want to just put things out to the world that were pointless and meaningless. ~ Vanessa Hudgens,
698:On the one hand Twitter gives you the opportunity to engage with people, which is great, but on the other there are people who feel they can say whatever they want, put poison out there, really, without fear of any repercussions. ~ Michael Sheen,
699:spokesman for the Afghan Taliban, who have pushed civilian casualties in Afghanistan to a new high in the past year, posted a Twitter message criticizing the attack as un-Islamic and expressing shared pain with the victims’ families. ~ Anonymous,
700:I love how I can see [on Twitter] some of the thoughts and ideas of my favorite cultural figures and still also chatter with my friends and family. It's a cocktail party with a fraction of the awkwardness of an actual cocktail party. ~ Roxane Gay,
701:All I want to do is be a gay icon. I was reading Lady Gaga's twitter, because she has like 12 million followers, or something like that. I feel like she has fans, gay, straight, bi, who would throw themselves off a building for her. ~ Mindy Kaling,
702:We spend so much time, these days, on forms of literature that don't rise to be literature, and I'm speaking about Twitter posts and quick and hot takes on different websites. We sort of zoom from thing to thing like a hummingbird. ~ Ben H Winters,
703:I'm always surprised that certain actors have Twitter accounts. I guess they use it in a way that works for them. But I'd rather that people had less access to my personal life. If I could keep it that way, I'd be a happy lady. ~ Scarlett Johansson,
704:Participation in our democracy seems to be driven by the instant-gratification worlds of Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and the twenty-four-hour news cycle. We’re using modern technology to revert to primitive kinds of human relations. ~ Bill Clinton,
705:The Web provides a very easy way to immediately grasp what's going on. It really offers the transparency, so you can see, especially with the search engine, how people are using Twitter at one glance. The phone doesn't allow for that. ~ Jack Dorsey,
706:Twitter is basically text messaging. Twitter is a guy you can always elbow in the side and say, "Hey, look, a guy in a clown suit just threw up!" And I don't have 400-800 words to say about that, I just wanted to say that one thing. ~ Chris Hardwick,
707:All the blogs, Facebook, Twitter are made by people who want to show their own private affairs at the price of making fakes, to try to appear such as they are not, to construct another personality, which is a veritable loss of identity. ~ Umberto Eco,
708:In foreign countries, when people see what Donald Trump is saying on Twitter since the election and seeing what he's saying in these calls with foreign leaders, they take everything very seriously and they take everything very literally. ~ Geoff Dyer,
709:Interestingly enough, if you search Twitter, you'd see I have been saying this for 3-plus years now. I cannot believe we are now in this position that Donald Trump is the Republican nominee for President. That he is in this position. ~ Chrissy Teigen,
710:In the world of Facebook and Twitter, you can treasure hunt for tidbits about somebody that you find interesting and pretty much find out everything you need to know - which is why I stay away from social media - I'm terrified of it. ~ Hilarie Burton,
711:I very often think about doing things that I would want other artists to do. Like, if I'm a fan of whoever, I want to be treated a certain way. So I realized it came off almost elitist to ignore the whole world of Twitter and Facebook. ~ Patrick Stump,
712:Set your heart on doing good. Do it over and over again, and you will be filled with joy. ~ BuddhaBuddha Heart ♥ by Wonderlane your heart on doing good. Do it over and over again, and you will be filled with joy. ~ Buddha,
713:Writers are the target audience for my Writer’s Craft books. I’m happy to answer questions about writing, publishing and related topics, and I’m delighted when people on Twitter advise one another, “Ask @RayneHall. She’ll know the answer. ~ Rayne Hall,
714:Archibald Maximus, wizard. Nothing. Wait! Something. No, never mind. Just another porn site. I really hadn’t expected an obscure alchemist to have a web page or even a Twitter account, although that would have certainly made my job easier. I ~ J R Rain,
715:Twitter is the most amazing medium for a comedy writer. I can't get in every idea I want on the show no matter how hard I try to bully the other writers, so it's a way of me getting out other comic ideas and immediately getting feedback. ~ Mindy Kaling,
716:You take out an injunction against somebody or some organisation and immediately news of that injunction and the people involved and the story behind the injunction is in a legal-free world on Twitter and the Internet. It's pointless. ~ Jeremy Clarkson,
717:This was getting disconcerting, Twitter seemed to have been overtaken by very ill people and spammers. There was message after message from hot women inviting him to come check them out via links they supplied. It genuinely was melting down. ~ Al K Line,
718:Living in a rural town really compelled me to start tweeting so much. Mostly, my Twitter usage is fueled by loneliness. I can go days without talking to another human being unless it's my mother, especially when I'm not teaching or on break. ~ Roxane Gay,
719:One is to get out of our echo chambers and sort of follow up people on Twitter and Facebook who do not agree with you. Make sure that you have friends disagree with you profoundly because if you have a friend who voted for somebody else. ~ Tucker Carlson,
720:I don't go on the Internet. I never go on the Internet. I don't go on Twitter. I'm not on Facebook. I've seen friends go into dark, dark holes of sadness because of that. Frankly, I don't have the time or the attention span for it. ~ Amy Sherman Palladino,
721:I flood the Internet with what I think is quality content. That's why I did things like giving out a song every 100,000 Twitter followers because I am just looking for ways to get my fans to hear all this music without over saturating things. ~ Mac Miller,
722:Twitter and Facebook are brilliant- tools, the journalistic uses of which are still being plumbed. They are great for disseminating interesting material. They are useful for gathering information, including from places that are inaccessible. ~ Bill Keller,
723:But people find it easy to take shots on Twitter, and to use racial slurs and bullying language far worse than what you'll see from me. It's sad and somewhat unbelievable to me that the world is still this way, but it is. I can handle it. ~ Richard Sherman,
724:I enjoy twitter accounts that are meticulously edited just as much as I enjoy twitter accounts that aren't edited at all, but it can feel kind of disappointing to me when I see that someone is editing their tweets out of self-consciousness. ~ Mira Gonzalez,
725:In 2009, the Twitter homepage attempted to boost motivation. But by 2012, Twitter had discovered that no matter how much users knew about the service, driving them to open an account and start following people resulted in much higher engagement. ~ Nir Eyal,
726:It is completely irresponsible, if not worse, for members of the media to be calling our press secretary a liar and worse. On Twitter and Facebook and elsewhere. And in articles. That is not the way to start relationships with the press. ~ Kellyanne Conway,
727:Social media is just a platform. Twitter is a very simple and immediate broadcast platform. Facebook is a very personal, when it comes to friends and when it comes to fan pages, a little bit less but still somewhat personal way to communicate. ~ Mark Cuban,
728:If you are twittering, innovate in order to find a way to describe your internal state instead of trivial external events, to avoid the creeping danger of believing that objectively described events define you, as they would define a machine. ~ Jaron Lanier,
729:It's a matter of invitations versus context. Twitter is really good at providing context, like, I''m having coffee at Third Rail Coffee.' Foursquare is about invitations to places. In this respect Foursquare has started to replace Yelp for me. ~ Jack Dorsey,
730:On Twitter, if you want to quote someone else, you say, RT, re-tweet, that person's name, and then what they said before. And it's a way of essentially saying, I'm not saying this, but my friend said this and I thought this was interesting. ~ Ethan Zuckerman,
731:I feel like I'm over-paid-attention-to. I'm not trying to be a GIF. I'm not trying to be a picked-up-on-Twitter quote. All I'm trying to do is act. And I have to promote movies. And I am, at the end of the day, I guess, a f - king lunatic. ~ Jennifer Lawrence,
732:I do have people who are like, "Yo, I think someone hacked into your Twitter account to talk about census forms." I'm like, "No, that's me." There are people who don't like celebrities who tweet about politics - to whom I say, don't follow me. ~ Rosario Dawson,
733:Separation anxiety is assuaged by constant connection. Young people announce every detail of their lives on services like Twitter not to show off, but to avoid the closed door at bedtime, the empty room, the screaming vacuum of an isolated mind. ~ Jaron Lanier,
734:The Mother is the Divine Consciousness - Force that makes Him manifested. It is She who forms all worlds and beings and things and souls for the Divine Inhabitant. She is the Divine Will that is one with Divine Truth. ~ Sri Aurobindo.,
735:I really like Twitter. It's a conversation and it reminds me of having stranger conversations on the train. I'm a New Yorker. I'm used to bumping into strangers, acknowledging them, them acknowledging me, even if it's just with an eyebrow lift. ~ Rosario Dawson,
736:I used to get my best ideas from being bored, and now, if I even think I'm being faintly bored, I have two million Twitter followers I can engage with. It's great, but I also think it's important to be able to let your thoughts flow and percolate. ~ Neil Gaiman,
737:We actually created Twitter and Odeo at the same time. When we realized we didn't really want to be running Odeo anymore we looked around for anyone who wanted to buy Odeo, but not acquire us as a technology. But people aren't as interested in that. ~ Biz Stone,
738:My twitter fans are all pretty weird. A lot of them are kind of weirdly sexually aggressive. Some of them made me laugh and then I instantly tried to forget them, because I'd hate to find myself in a bar kind of drunk and accidentally use one. ~ Stephen Merchant,
739:I spend a lot of time on Twitter, and it's a very interesting place. People are so driven to aggression. To me it's a funny thing. I grew up in an aggressive family, so I'm not at all intimidated by being verbally abused. I have no fear with words. ~ Alison Moyet,
740:On Facebook, Twitter, texting, e-mails, remember, it's a mode of communication, it is not communication. It's not real life. So step aside, make sure people see something other than the top of your head and live in real time, in the real world. ~ Kellyanne Conway,
741:When you go on your Twitter or look down your Timeline and it's all great positivity - I love that. But at the same time, it can really divert you from what your purpose is or what you're trying to do. And I've seen artists get caught up in that. ~ Kendrick Lamar,
742:For me, Twitter works best as a way of taking pictures of being stuck in traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge. If people really want to read really funny quips about life, parenting, and pop culture, then by all means read Michael Ian Black's tweets. ~ Michael Showalter,
743:I know this is obviously biased as well, but in my Twitter feed, on my Facebook, 90 percent are gushing, glowing, "Thank you for doing that" - type of reviews. "It's ballsy, it's honest, it's hilarious" - that kind of stuff. Obviously those are fans. ~ David Cross,
744:I've always enjoyed Twitter. I enjoy it a lot less now that I'm in WWE, I'll be honest. Because the number of idiots that have access to you is exponentially more. I feel like people shouldn't be able to tweet whatever they want without consequences. ~ Kevin Owens,
745:Moving forward, investigative journalists need to train themselves to be media amphibians - just as comfortable with the classic verities of great journalism as they are with video, Twitter, Facebook, and, most importantly, citizen journalism. ~ Arianna Huffington,
746:The nurse reached over and patted the stack of papers she had beside her before glancing back up at the blond again. “I’m plugging in meds and test results.” “Blah, blah, blah. Don’t let her fool you, she’s a Twitter whore. On it all the fucking time ~ Abbi Glines,
747:I said a long time ago that Foursquare can make cities better. You have these augmented realities like Foursquare and Twitter and Facebook that provide these virtual nodes and instant feedback from anywhere, adding annotation around a physical places. ~ Jack Dorsey,
748:Twitter is not art. But it inspires me in the way that art used to inspire me. Art used to make me see the world differently, think about things in a new way - it rarely does that for me anymore, but technology does that for me on a daily basis. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
749:Twitter isn’t designed to help you get in and get out with the best information as quickly as possible—it’s supposed to suck you into either a contentious world of argument and debate or an echo chamber that reassures you everyone thinks like you do. ~ Ryan Holiday,
750:I'm actually on the Twitter like all those crazy young kids are, and if I'm going to do an in-store appearance or I post something on my website, I tweet these followers, a word I don't like so much, and over 50,000 people go, like, 'Okay, I got it.' ~ Henry Rollins,
751:I’m always aware that under the spritely twitter of birds, bones are being crunched and ribbons of flesh are being stripped away, all of it the work of bright-eyed creatures without feeling or conscience. I don’t look to nature for comfort or serenity. ~ Sue Grafton,
752:I'm not on Twitter. I feel like it has a purpose because there are fans around the world that want to have some sort of interaction with you. But I feel like it is important to still keep some space and some distance, which is why I don't have a Twitter. ~ Megan Fox,
753:Twitter has allowed the conversation to broaden and become more inclusive. At times, the conversation is really tense but that's because we're talking about really important issues. It's not going to be easy but at least the conversations are happening. ~ Roxane Gay,
754:„Cei 5 P ai rețelelor sociale: Google+ este pentru pasiuni; Facebook este pentru persoane; LinkedIn este pentru prospectare; Pinterest este pentru poze; Twitter este pentru percepție. Hai să-l vedem acum pe Philip Kotler cum poate să o întreacă pe asta. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
755:Try listening to yourself sometime, alone in a transient room in a strange town. The worst is when you draw a blank, and the ash-blonde ghosts of the past carry on long twittering long-distance calls with your inner ear, and there's no way to hang up. ~ Ross Macdonald,
756:Twitter Terrorist, billionaire heir, ex-con, computer geek, bad boy—none of those terms came close to describing Kyle Rhodes. He was, simply, a good person, and a confident, intelligent man to boot, and she found that combination absolutely irresistible. ~ Julie James,
757:It's a great way of getting my word out. I love Twitter and tweeting, and I have - between that and Facebook, I have like 10 million followers. It's a great way. Now if you do something bad to me, I can tweet about Chris. And the world will be seeing it. ~ Donald Trump,
758:Trump is the Kim Kardashian of American politics, replacing substance with solipsism and issues debates with Twitter feuds, and showing a rare talent for grabbing the attention of an ADD nation round the clock as he tries to be Troll in Chief. “Celebrity ~ Maureen Dowd,
759:Twitter is great and it's glorious and it's easy, but if somebody comes up with something kind of like Twitter tomorrow, that's better or smarter or more useful, in three weeks time, Twitter could more or less be history because that's how fast things go. ~ Neil Gaiman,
760:And if our faith asks us to find the face of God in everyone we meet, that should include the politicians, media, and strangers on Twitter with whom we most violently disagree. When we desecrate their divinity, we desecrate our own, and we betray our faith. ~ Bren Brown,
761:for example, a student wants to learn about space, she doesn’t ask her teacher what space is like. She visits to read blogs by astronauts and scientists. She may even connect with astronauts, such as Commander Hadfield, directly through Twitter. ~ George Couros,
762:I got live tweeted once by someone who was opposite my home in some rented accommodation. He was actually describing on twitter what I was doing. 'I took a shirt off, I went to the window, I put a shirt back on... ' And I've got blinds in my flat! ~ Benedict Cumberbatch,
763:Social media has definitely changed the game for me. I am able to connect to my fans on twitter and interact with them, daily. YouTube has been a game changer as well - people around the world have been exposed to my comedy through my YouTube channel. ~ Gabriel Iglesias,
764:If I have the power to post 'Happy Birthday' on someone's Facebook page and make them feel really good, it feels really good to make other people feel really good. I love it. I'm a huge Facebook and Twitter person. And I love talking to my fans. It's fun. ~ Rebecca Mader,
765:If you’re famous, I don’t — for the life of me — I don’t understand why any famous person would ever be on Twitter. Why on God’s green earth would you be on Twitter? Because first of all, the worst thing you can do is make yourself more available, right? ~ George Clooney,
766:All the shows are immediately on the Internet, on Instagram, on Twitter, it's huge. Everything is live now, and for fashion, it's very important. It's not that it's good or bad, it's just like that and it's not going to change so we have to adapt to it. ~ Delphine Arnault,
767:I actually love Twitter, but I don't ... I never know what to ... I get a lot of my news from Twitter. But, I never ... I sometimes just don't think ... I think Twitter is full of a lot of talkers and not many listeners, so I'm happy to be one of the listeners. ~ Lee Pace,
768:I keep in touch with my fans by keeping a blog online and I try to answer questions every day. I also have a twitter and a facebook. I think that social networking gives authors a unique insight in the minds of their fans and for me that is very valuable. ~ Cassandra Clare,
769:I think that people in the phase between being someone's kid and being someone's parent have always been uniquely narcissistic, but that social media and Twitter and LiveJournal make it really easy to navel-gaze in a way that you've never been able to before. ~ Lena Dunham,
770:the time is ripe to step out from the Twittersphere and engage with people rather than their profiles. It seems ridiculous that so many of us are happy to engage in virtual conversations with strangers, yet remain silent in a group of real people. What ~ The School of Life,
771:I like trying jokes and seeing the response, and if I end up doing it in my act, it won't be 140 characters. Twitter is helpful that way to me. It's like a message in a bottle. But a lot of times I think I tweet the stuff I would like to say to teenage me. ~ Sarah Silverman,
772:In early-twenty-first-century America, when political debate is often confined to shouting on cable television or posting on Twitter, it's even more valuable to revisit an era when arguments over politics and culture were palpable, urged, even revolutionary. ~ Clara Bingham,
773:My popularity does not derive from me pandering to people. People came to me. I don't tell anyone to follow me on Twitter. I don't tell people to like my Facebook page. I don't tell people to fill the venue. I'm offered to people, and then people come. ~ Neil deGrasse Tyson,
774:My prediction is that in the same way that Google is an intent revealing service that can be monetized that way, I would think that if I were at Twitter, I would focus on the search aspect of Twitter, because people are revealing intents when they do a search. ~ Jason Kilar,
775:The more complete your faith, sincerity and surrender, the more will grace and protection with you. ~ Sri Aurobindo.உனது நம்பிக்கையும், நேர்மையும் சரணமும், எந்த அளவிற்கு முழுமை பெறுகிறதோ அந்த அளவிற்கு தெய்வ அருளும் பாதுகாப்பும் உனக்குக் கிடைக்கும்.,
776:In many ways, the internet made me feel safe. I liked the contact I got from it: the small accumulation of positive regard, the favoriting on Twitter, the Facebook likes, the little devices designed and coded for maintaining attention and boosting client egos. ~ Olivia Laing,
777:I used to be mad on the games, but I had to ban myself. I used to spend three dollars on games, [but] it adds up, so now I'm on the social side of things like Twitter and Instagram. I love my weather apps. I guess because all the Brits are obsessed with weather. ~ Tom Felton,
778:Now we live in a time where the public and the private are completely fused and there isn't such a great distinction. We know our private lives are constantly made public. With Facebook and Twitter there isn't such a desire, it feels, to keep things private. ~ Felicity Jones,
779:raises an interesting question about the new corporate giants that are colonizing large swaths of virtual space. He asks, “how hard would it be to go a week without Google? Or, to up the ante, without Facebook, Amazon, Skype, Twitter, Apple, eBay, and Google? ~ Jeremy Rifkin,
780:Someone on Twitter sent me a page from a textbook. It had a picture of a football player next to a picture of me. The juxtaposition was meant to illustrate two meanings of "offensive." Seriously. It broke my heart. It's that accepted what I do is offensive? ~ Sarah Silverman,
781:Speaking of Twitter, I don't even know if I composed a blog entry in 2009, as I was too busy parceling my every thought into cute 140-character sound bites. I used to only worry about being pithy for a living; now some of my best lines are wasted on a free app! ~ Diablo Cody,
782:To use a word I never thought I'd apply to myself, I've sort of become a Luddite with regard to information. Where everyone else is getting their Twitter feeds from 'The New York Times' and their 'Huffington Post' emails, I live in a little bit of a bubble. ~ Mark Feuerstein,
783:I'm not really big into Twitter and stuff, but I like to post really cool music videos, just sort of spread a positive light on things that interest me. As opposed to, "I hate so-and-so because they were wearing the same hat as me." That's just so pointless. ~ Tyler Blackburn,
784:It was one of those cases where you approve the broad, general principle of an idea but can't help being in a bit of a twitter at the prospect of putting it into practical effect. I explained this to Jeeves, and he said much the same thing had bothered Hamlet. ~ P G Wodehouse,
785:The Internet with its sub-kingdoms of Google, Twitter, etc, can be a good servant for those who will use it as such. But for a vast percentage the Internet is the master, and the owner is a slave. The preacher/pastor needs to deal with this matter with his people. ~ Anonymous,
786:You know, I did start a Twitter account, but that's the only thing I do. I feel torn because I don't want to promo myself and force that down people's throats, but on the other hand, that's a component. There's some real interest in, "Hey, what are you doing next?" ~ John Cho,
787:In Michelle Obama attack on Donald Trump, she never mentioned Trump's name, but she made reference to the fact that this is much more important than just responding in 140 characters. And in the process she maligned the whole concept of Twitter, not just Trump. ~ Rush Limbaugh,
788:Prince's First Posthumous Tweet:

“when u go on social media today please make sure to make my death all about u k thanks”

(Retweeted from Bowie who retweeted from Lemmy who retweeted from Michael Jackson who is actually still alive and on Twitter) ~ Arthur Graham,
789:Stay open to as many new tools and think of as many ways you can to utilize them to your advantage. This not only includes equipment and hardware but also software or apps like Sun Seeker and social media outlets like Instagram and Twitter to build community. ~ Vincent Laforet,
790:Introverts don't like small talk conversation, but they typically don't mind writing. The more people can "see" you on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, or a blog, the more they will feel like they know you, even though you don't have one-on-one interaction with them. ~ Thom S Rainer,
791:Like civil-rights protesters who sang rousing hymns as they were carried off to jail, Twitterers are bearing witness to what's happening around them, and calling out into the darkness of cyberspace for confirmation. I'm here. You're here, too. We are present. ~ Douglas Rushkoff,
792:So you know, formally, what the government here is saying is that Israel's prime minister announced the appointment on Twitter. He didn't follow diplomatic protocol. But what we know is that it's about much more than that. It is about who Dani Dayan is. ~ Lourdes Garcia Navarro,
793:You get weird, funny requests on Twitter. With our fan club, I was seeing a lot of fans were having some issue with the way the fan club tickets were being handled in one of the shows. So I was able to correspond with that fan, and be like, 'Listen, we'll be on it.' ~ Luke Bryan,
794:Despite the constant clamor for attention from the modern world, I do believe we need to procure a psychological space for ourselves. I apparently know some people who try to achieve this by logging off or going without their Twitter or Facebook for a limited period. ~ Alan Moore,
795:Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches; little space they stop; But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. ~ John Keats,
796:I think as an actress before I was on Twitter I thought, I'm only doing drama [and dramatic roles]... but then as soon I started tweeting it was like, "Oh you're the funny girl!"... but that was never how I saw myself. It's changed how I seem in other people's eyes. ~ Jenny Mollen,
797:While I'm generally silent on the affairs of my biological mother, her recent tirade has taken a gross turn. I have never been approached by Dave Grohl in more than a platonic way. I'm in a monogamous relationship and very happy. Twitter should ban my mother. ~ Frances Bean Cobain,
798:Chronic malnutrition, or the lack of proper nutrition over time directly contributes to three times as many child deaths as food scarcity. Yet surprisingly, you don't really hear about this hidden crisis through the morning news, Twitter or headlines of major newspapers. ~ Cat Cora,
799:In the age of camera phones and screenshots and Twitter.... At the end of the day, I want to share my life with somebody, you know? I want picture albums. I want to look back at our time together. And I also want kids. And if you want kids, then you want marriage. ~ Joe Manganiello,
800:I wonder if Karl Ove Knausgård would've written the same books today had been using Twitter. It wasn't around when he was writing those books. Those books were written during the age of the blog, with its big verbiage. The landscape has completely changed today. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
801:As a result, we’ve built a culture in which most technological “innovation” is merely figuring out how to scale diversions in new, more efficient (and more intrusive) ways. As the venture capitalist Peter Thiel once said, “We wanted flying cars, instead we got Twitter. ~ Mark Manson,
802:It's just madness. First email. Then instant message. Then MySpace. Then Facebook. Then LinkedIn. Then Twitter. It's not enough anymore to 'Just do it.' Now we have to tell everyone we are doing it, when we are doing it, where we are doing it and why we are doing it. ~ Mark McKinnon,
803:My memories of last night may be a little fuzzy, but there are certain things that stand out in vivid Technicolor. Like coming up with a ridiculous password for the e-mail account, and my new Twitter account with the same handle. ~ Meghan March,
804:Toward dusk, the black birds descend, millions of them, to sit in the branches of trees nearby. The trees grow heavy with black birds, branches like dendrites of the Nervous System fattening, deep in twittering nerve-dusk, in preparation for some important message…. ~ Thomas Pynchon,
805:If you look at companies with upside potential, Twitter's right there. They've established a brand in a world where it's extremely difficult to establish a brand. It's a global brand, people recognize it, people want to let you know what their Twitter handles are, etc. ~ Steve Ballmer,
806:I often get asked by people 'Is your Twitter real?' and things of that nature. I'm never sure how to respond to that. My Twitter account is completely 'real' in that everything I tweet is something I have earnestly thought or something that has actually happened to me. ~ Mira Gonzalez,
807:“I will not enter your heart to limit it’s memory. I will not hold your mouth to prevent it from opening on the blue of the air... I want to be for you... the wind of life that crosses the threshold forever before the night becomes untraceable.” ~ René Char…,
808:When I'm putting some communication out on Twitter or Facebook or Instagram, I think that it's helping me, my brain, you know, because it's always somehow stimulated by people who are sending things to me. And it works both ways. It's great. My brain is very happy about it. ~ Yoko Ono,
809:News of the decision rocketed around social media, with 3.8 million people in the United States making 10.1 million related likes, posts, comments and shares on Facebook. In the four hours after the decision, Twitter recorded more than 6.2 million messages about the ruling. ~ Anonymous,
810:According to research conducted jointly by experts from the University of California at Berkeley and Swansea University in Wales, no fewer than 150,000 Twitter accounts linked to Russia began to tweet inflammatory and divisive messages about Brexit, Muslims, and immigrants ~ Craig Unger,
811:But as far as Twitter, I'll be in a restaurant and I'll get home and somebody tweeted and they talked about what I ordered and what I was wearing. In some cases, that could be dangerous, because you don't want everybody to know where you are every second of every day. ~ Carrie Underwood,
812:Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and several other sites collectively provide over a billion people with powerful social rewards on a variable schedule. With every post, tweet, or pin, users anticipate social validation. Rewards of the tribe keep users coming back, wanting more. ~ Nir Eyal,
813:People got so many questions. Why you got so many questions when my whole life is on the Internet? If you wanna know about me, you can go on the Internet and look at my YouTube videos. I used to drop one every day. You can go on my YouTube channel, go on my Vine, my Twitter. ~ Riff Raff,
814:According to voluminous Twitter postings the day of the shooting by Caitie Parker, one of Loughner’s friends since high school, he was “left wing,” “a political radical,” “quite liberal,” and “a pot head.”2 If any public figure influenced this guy, my money’s on Bill Maher. ~ Ann Coulter,
815:While anonymity can be used to protect heroes, it is far more commonly used as a way to escape responsibility. That’s why most of the brutal harassment on Twitter, Yik Yak, Reddit, and other sites is delivered anonymously. A lack of responsibility unleashes the worst in us. ~ Kevin Kelly,
816:As Evan Williams, co-founder of Blogger and Twitter said, the Internet is, “a giant machine designed to give people what they want.”[48] Williams continued, “We often think the Internet enables you to do new things … But people just want to do the same things they’ve always done. ~ Nir Eyal,
817:I had gone away from Twitter because before people had been so mean to me. Talking about my lisp and my enormous forehead and all these things. I do have a lisp, I do have a forehead I know you could land a plane on, it's no mystery to me. I just didn't have the skin for it. ~ Sarah Paulson,
818:I think of Twitter as a messaging system that you didn't know you needed until you had it. Think about when cell phones first started coming out. People said, "Why would I carry my phone around?" And now you'll drive back to your house thirty miles if you forget your cell phone. ~ Biz Stone,
819:I thought if I had a Twitter feed and say I had a following of a 100,000, that means 100,000 of them would be interested in my book. It was logical, but it didn't turn out to be true. It turned out if I had a Twitter feed of a 100,000, four of them were interested in my book. ~ Steve Martin,
820:The PC is successful because we're all benefiting from the competition with each other. If Twitter comes along, our games benefit. If Nvidia makes better graphics technology, all the games are going to shine. If we come out with a better game, people are going to buy more PCs. ~ Gabe Newell,
821:This horde of rubes strolled into Tokyo thinking it holds hope and possibility!! They totally believe they're gonna be respectable human beings!! But in mere months, all these scumbags will run dry of confidence and hope and become broken wrecks whining incessantly on twitter!! ~ Inio Asano,
822:What's interesting about Twitter and the influencers that someone follows - like, say, Shaquille O'Neal - is that they see someone who is using the exact same tools that they have access to, and I think that inspires this hope to be able to really engage with someone like him. ~ Jack Dorsey,
823:With Twitter and Instagram and all of these vehicles where fans can directly interact with you and get your attention, there's a little bit of an entitlement. Like, "Why won't you follow me or write me back?" Well, if I write you back, then I have to write everyone back. ~ Ingrid Michaelson,
824:available in the Republic had been paltry, a telephone, a flat with some air and light, the all-important permission to travel, but perhaps no paltrier than having x number of followers on Twitter, a much-liked Facebook profile, and the occasional four-minute spot on CNBC. ~ Jonathan Franzen,
825:Hoping that a hardware company can be as capital-light as a consumer Internet company or trying to get Yelp to grow as fast as Twitter doesn’t make sense and can be quite destructive. CEOs should be evaluated against their company’s opportunity—not somebody else’s company. Let ~ Ben Horowitz,
826:I have to say that Adam Levine is truly a daring young man to go on Twitter to bash Fox News. He's so rebellious, so subversive. I mean, for a musician, seriously, could you find a more predictable stance than that? He's as edgy as a hacky sack, which also describes his music. ~ Greg Gutfeld,
827:Social cohesion was built into language long before Facebook and LinkedIn and Twitter - we're tribal by nature. Tribes today aren't the same as tribes thousand of years ago: It isn't just religious tribes or ethnic tribes now: It's sports fans, it's communities, it's geography. ~ Peter Guber,
828:a warning to young entrepreneurs: take money from a venture capitalist, and you’ll end up working for some smug, sarcastic, know-it-all prick like this guy, who will constantly tell you that you’re not working hard enough while he spends his days getting into arguments on Twitter. ~ Dan Lyons,
829:Everybody is continuously connected to everybody else on Twitter, on Facebook, on Instagram, on Reddit, e-mailing, texting, faster and faster, with the flood of information jeopardizing meaning. Everybody's talking at once in a hypnotic, hyper din: the cocktail party from hell. ~ Maureen Dowd,
830:I'm estranged from social media and I don't really deal with it. I tried to work on a website and it took up all my time. People wanted me to have a Twitter account and I spent the whole day figuring out what would be the first message. I still haven't wrapped my head around it. ~ Patti Smith,
831:The whole Twitter phenomenon is really indicative of what's happening in this country. And I say this in condemnation of myself as much as anyone else - we are growing into a nation that has no time, desire or capacity for truth. All we can handle is 140 characters of knowledge. ~ Kurt Sutter,
832:Diplomacy is, perhaps, one element of the U.S. government that should not be subject to the demands of 'open government'; whenever it works, it is usually because it is done behind closed doors. But this may be increasingly hard to achieve in the age of Twittering bureaucrats. ~ Evgeny Morozov,
833:I can go into LinkedIn and search for network engineers and come up with a list of great spear-phishing targets because they usually have administrator rights over the network. Then I go onto Twitter or Facebook and trick them into doing something, and I have privileged access. ~ Kevin Mitnick,
834:It felt like a vast left-wing conspiracy to pretend to have found Eric André’s performance funny. This was everyday life on social media, each side lurching toward mockery and attack — fanning the flames of the divisive chaos from which Trump, the Twitter candidate, had risen. But ~ Jon Ronson,
835:One of the things about being on Twitter, for me, is mostly about just being on the pulse of what people are interested in, what people are doing and what people are looking for. I look at entertainment projects and storytelling and I really try to think about what people want. ~ Ashton Kutcher,
836:Writing is a deep-sea dive. You need hours just to get into it: down, down, down. If you're called back to the surface every couple of minutes by an email, you can't ever get back down. I have a great friend who became a Twitterer and he says he hasn't written anything for a year. ~ Dave Eggers,
837:He did not seem interested in raising his game beyond Twitter insults and ill-advised retweets (including one about Megyn Kelly as a “bimbo” and some that originated on white-supremacist message boards). Even the quietly supportive Melania told Donald to knock off the retweets. He ~ Maureen Dowd,
838:A lot of people say, "Ah, Rush, don't read the comments. You can't. This is loony..." You can't ignore this stuff. These people vote, and they are huge in number, and every social media app you can find from Twitter to Facebook, to LinkedIn, whatever the hell it is, they dominate. ~ Rush Limbaugh,
839:People are not even going to have time to listen to radio in their cars because they are going to be talking on their phones or twittering, or BBM'ing. So I feel like the only time people are going to hear music is when your phone rings, so that's the whole market I'm going after. ~ Spencer Pratt,
840:You can make something big when young that will carry you through life. Look at all the big startups like Microsoft, Apple, Google, Facebook, Twitter, etc. They were all started by very young people who stumbled on something of unseen value. You'll know it when you hit a home run. ~ Steve Wozniak,
841:Having a Facebook and Twitter profile allows me to keep more in touch with people, particularly young South Africans and those who are part of the online community. I was amazed that anyone might be interested in what I do and who I meet. Now I know what people will be interested in. ~ Helen Zille,
842:So many people want to live their lives and their dreams through their own Facebook page or their Twitter page. They want to show every detail of their life to everyone in the world. That scares me because I don't have any Facebook page or Twitter I don't like it, I don't want it. ~ Emmanuel Petit,
843:Hundreds of these companies I've seen since the beginning stages - including Dropbox and Airbnb - one of them has actually been crushed by an incumbent. The Googles, the Twitters, the Facebooks, they might be someone to acquire you, which is not necessarily a bad position to be in. ~ Alexis Ohanian,
844:We're living at a time when attention is the new currency We're all publishers now, and the more we publish, the more valuable connections we'll make. Twitter, Facebook, Flickr, Foursquare, Fitbit and the SenseCam give us a simple choice: participate or fade into a lonely obscurity. ~ Pete Cashmore,
845:I'm not very active on social media. I'm not on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram, or anything like that. But I think it's wonderful that they're out there. They're fantastic. I have a lot of siblings and friends that use it, and it's great for them. It's such a connected world. ~ Alexander Skarsgard,
846:In this age of omniconnectedness, words like 'network,' 'community' and even 'friends' no longer mean what they used to. Networks don't exist on LinkedIn. A community is not something that happens on a blog or on Twitter. And a friend is more than someone whose online status you check. ~ Simon Sinek,
847:There's no first impressions anymore. You go to a job interview, and they'll probably Google you. It's a shame - people should play it a little closer to the chest as far as what information they release to the world. If I'm angry about something, I'm not going to take to my Twitter. ~ Patrick Stump,
848:I don't have a Facebook or a Twitter account, and I don't know how I feel about this idea of, "Now, I'm eating dinner, and I want everyone to know that I'm having dinner at this time." or "I just mailed a letter and dropped off my kids." That, to me, is a very strange phenomenon. ~ Scarlett Johansson,
849:There's a fake Facebook me. There's a fake me Twittering. Sometimes, when it was at the height of right-wing nonsense picking on me, there would be a fake me writing letters to the editor. Just totally not even something I've ever said, that will then become part of the echo chamber. ~ Janeane Garofalo,
850:At every turn you have to find a new kind of self-sovereignty over your environment. Every kid I see is at the mercy of Periscope, Twitter, or an Angry Bird of some description. People are shackled to their mediocrity by companies and businesses who want to consume your life with theirs. ~ Daniel Gillies,
851:I love Twitter. It doesn't keep me from writing and I think it's a really convenient scapegoat when the truth is that the real issue is self-control. I am totally fine admitting i have none. I'm not going to blame Twitter for affecting my writing. And also, Twitter doesn't affect my writing. ~ Roxane Gay,
852:What I've become good at is bringing things that aren't necessarily mainstream to the mainstream. What I did see on Twitter was a potential for mass publication; it's a mainstream consumer broadcasting device. It transforms customers and companies. You have to be transparent or you fail. ~ Ashton Kutcher,
853:“I advance slowly, dead, and my vision is no longer mine, it is nothing: it is only the vision of the human animal that, inadvertently, inherited Greek culture, Roman order, Christian morality and all the other illusions that constitute civilization in which I sit.” ~ F. Pessoa…,
854:Our go-to source is no longer dictated by a small group of cable news outlets. We have to expand our view. Sometimes, a story is made and breaks on Twitter. We have to find a way to react to that, to consume and also disseminate the information from Twitter, which is not an easy thing to do. ~ Trevor Noah,
855:We live in an age where people are like, "I'd love to catch up. Maybe text me later? But don't call because I don't really listen to my messages. But if you text me..." We've displaced interaction into sound bites and untethered phrases and sentences that come up on the phone as Twitter feed. ~ Marc Maron,
856:Consider these current rough estimates: Each day, we compose 154 billion e-mails, more than 500 million tweets on Twitter, and over 1 million blog posts and 1.3 million blog comments on WordPress alone. On Facebook, we write about 16 billion words per day. That’s just in the United States: ~ Clive Thompson,
857:I think the most important thing is to take the long view on things. We live in such a 24/7, Twitter-fed, constant news cycle, and everything's a crisis, everything is terrible, everything is doomsday, everything is - if it doesn't get solved tomorrow, your presidency is going off the rails. ~ Barack Obama,
858:Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime. [. . . ] You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head! ~ Walt Disney,
859:We need to also act out, and anything that [Donald] Trump does, anything he's trying to do that we don't agree with or anything this country is doing in general that we don't agree with, we need to protest, we need to make our voices heard. And that has to go beyond Twitter - for me as well. ~ Ansel Elgort,
860:I don't think people are really breaking ground and getting new fans or anything. So, I just use it more in my personal life but obviously I'm in a business where people think that Twitter matters so I'll be like, "Yes, I will tweet out this show." But it is something that me, the human, uses. ~ Jen Kirkman,
861:It was but about a mile and a half to Broxton over the opposite slope, and their road wound very pleasantly along lanes and across fields, where the pale woodbines and the dog-roses were scenting the hedgerows, and the birds were twittering and trilling in the tall leafy boughs of oak and elm. ~ George Eliot,
862:There are people who follow me on Twitter and tell me how much they don't like me, how much they don't want me on the show, and that they hope I die. And it's not just about the character. They tell me how they've never liked Scott Foley, and that he's a stupid, white, plain-bread looking fool. ~ Scott Foley,
863:We've been texting for weeks. Surely it's rather like in Jane Austen's day when they did letter-writing for months and months and then just, like, immediately got married?'
'Bridget. Sleeping with a twenty-nine-year-old off Twitter on the second date is not "rather like Jane Austen's day". ~ Helen Fielding,
864:I love Twitter! At first I made fun of it, because it is very narcissistic, and there's already so much narcissism flowing in this industry, I was like, 'Really, one more?' So I was against it at first. But I really love the idea of the direct connection - there's no middle man muddling it up. ~ Kelly Clarkson,
865:We should look at the Twitter records of Andrew Fraser. Clearly, the ship was on remote control, because he spent all of his time on Twitter. He used to Twitter in the chamber. He used to Twitter at night. He used to Twitter probably in bed at home, but I am not going to go any further there. ~ Campbell Newman,
866:After reading the news, I go on Twitter. I don't have an account but I find it interesting - all the different voices, the squabbles, the arrogance of certainty, the ignorance, the occasional, but wonderful, compassion, and watching the evolution of language head towards a new kind of hieroglyphics. ~ Matt Haig,
867:After reading the news, I go on Twitter. I don’t have an account but I find it interesting – all the different voices, the squabbles, the arrogance of certainty, the ignorance, the occasional, but wonderful, compassion, and watching the evolution of language head towards a new kind of hieroglyphics. ~ Matt Haig,
868:I'm not a big fan of that kind of stuff - of Twitter and Facebook. I just feel like I'm a very private person and I do enjoy personal interaction. It is nice to be able to talk with the fans, in person. I don't know if it's 'cause I'm just old-fashioned, but I'd rather a face-to-face conversation. ~ Ksenia Solo,
869:It's hard when the worst people in the country are cheering, the people with the confederate flag, the people that do anti-Semitism on Twitter, that's difficult for a lot of people in this country. But, you know, I do think an inaugural, for example, is almost always an act of national healing. ~ Michael Gerson,
870:A habit is at work when users feel a tad bored and instantly open Twitter. They feel a pang of loneliness and before rational thought occurs, they are scrolling through their Facebook feeds. A question comes to mind and before searching their brains, they query Google. The first-to-mind solution wins. ~ Nir Eyal,
871:For me, Twitter is a public persona. It's UbuWeb or Kenneth Goldsmith (as opposed to Kenny Goldsmith). I don't interact. It's a lousy form for conversation and opinion (what can you really say in 140 characters?), but a wonderful propaganda and sloganeering tool. I use it as a one-way street. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
872:The blogs have been great and everything, but I think, for me, it's better to have a central place on the Internet for all my fans to go and show their friends my YouTube, Twitter, and social networking sites. To have that spread all on its own and have a central station to get everything Mac Miller. ~ Mac Miller,
873:The dead are hard to look at. Their faces shimmer. They all look slightly angry or confused. they will come up to you and speak, but their voices sound like chatter, like bats twittering. Once they realize you can't understand them, they frown and move away. The dead aren't scary. They're just sad. ~ Rick Riordan,
874:The respected New Yorker staff writer George Packer captured this fear well in an essay about why he does not tweet: “Twitter is crack for media addicts. It scares me, not because I’m morally superior to it, but because I don’t think I could handle it. I’m afraid I’d end up letting my son go hungry. ~ Cal Newport,
875:It gets crazy in my mind sometimes but the reason why I like to express so much positivity on my Twitter is because I think we all are battling evil thoughts. I think it's important to not ignore them but to try to understand where they are coming from and get through them instead of suppressing them. ~ Jhene Aiko,
876:The notion of people commenting on you, the notion of people saying things about you, people liking or disliking you and getting into your business, has become more of a reality for the general public over the last years, as people have dipped further into Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and social media. ~ Eric Bana,
877:All of my music, my stage show, my personality, my blog, my twitter feed, anything that's made me me, and a huge part of why people like and respect me, is that I just don't spend much energy on that other stuff. It's not worth it. It's a losing battle too. You're just screwed the minute you engage. ~ Amanda Palmer,
878:The dead are hard to look at. Their faces shimmer. They all look slightly angry or confused. they will come up to you and speak, but their voices sound like chatter, like bats twittering. Once they realize you can't understand them, they frown and move away.
The dead aren't scary. They're just sad. ~ Rick Riordan,
879:I’ve wed his two empty boots.’ ‘That you havena,’ said Janet, Lady of Buccleuch, lowering her voice not at all in the presence of two hundred twittering Scott relations as they gazed after their vanishing husbands. ‘They aye remember their boots. It’s their empty nightgowns that get fair monotonous. ~ Dorothy Dunnett,
880:Poetry of all the forms of literature I think is the most suited for the digital age and for the shorter attention spans and all of that. It Twitters very easily, some lyric poems and it's very easy to zip a poem to someone, so that's one of the things I think is wonderful about poetry in the digital age. ~ Rita Dove,
881:The head of the government ethics ought to be careful, because that person is becoming extremely political. Apparently, may have made a - publicly supported Hillary Clinton as calling out the president with information on Twitter about our disentangle - disentangling of the business over a month ago. ~ Reince Priebus,
882:Businesses must recognize that the voice of the customer is now more powerful than ever before. Whether Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Yelp, review sites, product forums, blogs, or Pinterest, your customers are sharing their experiences on platforms where audiences can find what others are saying about you. ~ Brian Solis,
883:'Digiphrenia' is really the experience of trying to exist in more than one incarnation of yourself at the same time. There's your Twitter profile, there's your Facebook profile, there's your email inbox. And all of these sort of multiple instances of you are operating simultaneously and in parallel. ~ Douglas Rushkoff,
884:With everybody having a Facebook and a Twitter, I feel like regular people consider themselves stars. It's a live, real-time upload of every time we buy a pair of socks, the most telling sign that we're losing our politeness. When you know everything about somebody, you can talk to them any way you please. ~ Jeff Ross,
885:I would argue heavily that the time that has been allocated to social used to come from television, and people are benefitting from it. People who are saying, 'Aw, you're spending all your time on Facebook, or all your time on Twitter,' I'd like to understand what the person used to do with that time. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
886:Last year in a library in Alaska I read a folk tale in a random book on a random shelf & have been thinking about it since & today I wrote the librarian w/ no book title or author & in 2 hrs I had a scan of the story & cover in my inbox -- Librarians should be running everything. [Twitter] ~ Jon Klassen,
887:The other day, I saw a blog post where a woman wrote about why she was unfollowing me and that made me feel incredibly self-conscious and embarrassed about my tweets. I also feel more exposed now that I've become a more visible writer but then I try to get over all that and just use Twitter the way I want. ~ Roxane Gay,
888:There's the sound of one of them twittering yellow birds do be coming in the spring-time from beyond the sea, and there'll be a fine warmth now in the sun, and a sweetness in the air, the way it'll be a grand thing to be sitting here quiet and easy smelling the things growing up, and budding from the earth. ~ J M Synge,
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“Love isn't always pretty. Sometimes you spend all your time hoping it'll eventually be something different. Something better. Then, before you know it, you're back to square one, and you lost your heart somewhere along the way. ~ Colleen Hoover,
890:We're in a world of truncated sentences, soundbites and Twitter... [Language] is being eroded -- it's changing. Our expressiveness and our ease with some words is being diluted so that the sentence with more than one clause is a problem for us, and the word of more than two syllables is a problem for us. ~ Ralph Fiennes,
891:I cannot control what you bring into the theater when you see the film. I can't control what my parents bring in. I can't control what some random person on Twitter brings in to the theater. All I can control is the hour and 50 minutes that the movie lasts, and try to give it absolutely everything I can. ~ James Ponsoldt,
892:I don't know whether we'll have another Michael Jackson or Elvis, because the world's too quick to level the playing field in that regard. For example, if Michael Jackson did the moonwalk for the first time now, and it debuted on Twitter, the third comment would probably be: "He's just walking backwards." ~ Matthew Healy,
893:I like [George] Benson because I just like it. I like that kind of style. I don't like the broken up kind of style. I don't like where you play for 16 bars and then break it up into what somebody's version of what birds twittering sounds like, or what the sound of the city is, or what New York sounds like. ~ Van Morrison,
894:I wrote a blog post about how the book is different from the blog and why I chose to go the self-publishing route. I wrote guests posts for blogs like Techcrunch, which helped immensely and for which I’m very grateful. I used my social networks: Twitter, Facebook, Linkedin, Google+, Quora, and Pinterest. ~ James Altucher,
895:The comments on YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter instantly switched from a small, friendly, supportive community to a selection of the loudest, most over-the-top opinions one could imagine. I was a traitor to my species. I was ultra-fuckable. I was a space alien. I was an ultra-fuckable space alien. And so on. ~ Hank Green,
896:Curtis will be here in ten minutes because he’s supposed to get here at six and he’s never been on time because he’s part of Generation Benji, all busy with his fake life in his fucking gadgets, tinderokcupidinstagramtwitterfacebookvinebullshitnarcissism incorporatedonlinepetitionsfantasyfuckingfootball. ~ Caroline Kepnes,
897:It felt as if the people on Twitter had been invited to be characters in a courtroom drama, and had been allowed to choose their roles, and had all gone for the part of the hanging judge. Or it was even worse than that. They all had gone for the part of the people in the lithographs being ribald at whippings. ~ Jon Ronson,
898:It's weird doing a show on a Saturday, because we get the news after everybody had their way with it. We still have to find a way to get something fresh out of the story, but also keep the integrity of it. A lot of times the obvious take is so obvious it's already been on Twitter, so we gotta find a new thing. ~ Michael Che,
899:Joseph thought he knew the plants that had sought out the twitterers, and those that had risen for the wren, or a fern that turned, not to the sun, but toward the chatter of the chickadee, so quick were the petals of its song, so sharp so plentiful so light, so showy in their symmetry, so suddenly in shade. ~ William H Gass,
900:When I was a kid you didn't have Twitter or Instagram where as soon as you walk out of a building a photo of you is up within two minutes or a million people are commenting and saying nasty things. I found a different confidence because I realized that you can't base your self-worth on the opinions of others. ~ Rumer Willis,
901:If you just look at the fact that a woman was central in twittering the Cairo revolution, and women were central to the Tunisian uprising. Women are at the center of everything right now and moving everything forward. And I do think in the next year or two, we are going to see such a woman spring, such a rising. ~ Eve Ensler,
902:I just got on Twitter because there was some MTV film blog that quoted me on something really innocuous that I supposedly said on Twitter before I was even on Twitter. So then I had to get on Twitter to say: 'This is me. I'm on Twitter. If there's somebody else saying that they're me on Twitter, they're not.' ~ Anna Kendrick,
903:I really think that the planet is growing a new nervous system. I mean, when you think of Facebook as the third largest nation in the world, that's so unprecedented, so amazing. Think of how many people are texting and twittering. The planet has created a nervous system for massive, rapid connectivity. ~ Barbara Marx Hubbard,
904:The way leadership gurus try to demonstrate their legitimacy is not through their scientific knowledge or accomplishments but rather by achieving public notoriety—be it the requisite TED talks, blog posts, Twitter followers, or books filled with leadership advice that might or might not be valid and useful. ~ Jeffrey Pfeffer,
905:If you ask me can you explain the success of Facebook or Twitter, its very simple. People want to have the right to speak, people want the right to say what they feel. They don't want to wait for the question to be asked, they want to say before asking the question, they want to say everything that they feel. ~ Emmanuel Petit,
906:We had a general awareness, for example, of Russian use of social media - Facebook ads, use of Twitter, fake news implants - we had a general understanding of that. But now, as time has elapsed and time has gone on, I've certainly learned a lot more about the depth and breadth of what the Russians were about. ~ James R Clapper,
907:I guess Twitter is the first thing that has been attractive to me as social media. I never felt the least draw to Facebook or MySpace. I've been involved anonymously in some tiny listservs, mainly in my ceaseless quest for random novelty, and sometimes while doing something that more closely resembles research. ~ William Gibson,
908:Instead, the situation has sparked an efflorescence of social media (Facebook, Youtube, Instagram, Twitter): basically, of forms of electronic media that lend themselves to being produced and consumed while pretending to do something else. I am convinced this is the primary reason for the rise of social media... ~ David Graeber,
909:When it was announced that Spider-Man was going to be in Captain America: Civil War, "Miles Morales" was trending on Twitter for like a week. More people than I ever thought had heard of it. Listen, people go to Build-a-Bear and make your Miles Morales Build-a-Bears and tell everybody that's what we want! ~ Brian Michael Bendis,
910:Our generation, unfortunately, is stuck to our phones - and, like, Twitter - constantly, which I have no problem with. I'd say we're not describing the children of America or anything like that, but there is something to take from it: It is kind of sad how we can't go thirty minutes without checking our phone. ~ Israel Broussard,
911:Twitter and Facebook. Ethan didn’t miss those things. Didn’t wish that his son was growing up in a world where people stared at screens all day. Where communication had devolved into the tapping of tiny letters and humanity lived by and large for the endorphin kick from the ping of a received text or a new e-mail. ~ Blake Crouch,
912:China didn't want to lose the cutting edge of technology. So the idea of having a Sina Weibo was an attempt to compete with Twitter. However, it has no soul - which is freedom of expression. Nevertheless, I think the government regrets having Sina Weibo, but they cannot shut it down. That would definitely be suicidal. ~ Ai Weiwei,
913:This is my megaphone,” Trump said again. “Let’s not call it Twitter. Let’s call it social media.” Though the White House had Facebook and Instagram accounts, Trump did not use them. He stuck to Twitter. “This is who I am. This is how I communicate. It’s the reason I got elected. It’s the reason that I’m successful. ~ Bob Woodward,
914:We overvalue nonessentials like a nicer car or house, or even intangibles like the number of our followers on Twitter or the way we look in our Facebook photos. As a result, we neglect activities that are truly essential, like spending time with our loved ones, or nurturing our spirit, or taking care of our health. ~ Greg McKeown,
915:Before, revolutions used to have ideological names. They could be communist, they could be liberal, they could be fascist or Islamic. Now, the revolutions are called under the medium which is most used. You have Facebook revolutions, Twitter revolutions. The content doesn't matter anymore - the problem is the media. ~ Ivan Krastev,
916:I don't have a Facebook, I never have. I don't have Twitter, I never have. I think my parents are very protective, so they didn't want us to have any more exposure. But Instagram is a photo that you control. And you can talk to your fans, or talk about the movies you do - slices of your life. It is what you make it. ~ Elle Fanning,
917:I got on Twitter because it was a way to express guitar and surfing, and who I was, but now - it's still fun, and I can do that - but I think it's more of a business. I thought it was a personal thing that actors could do themselves, but now it's become a tool that studios are trying to use to sell their movies. ~ Brenton Thwaites,
918:Watch what happens on Twitter. One thing leads to another very quickly. And in an ironic sense, even though it's such a democratic form of communication, there's a funny way in which it leads to a hardening of a conventional wisdom much more quickly than might happen if you were reflecting on it a little more. ~ Donald Verrilli Jr,
919:I never got really into Twitter until more recently when I started doing the Dirt Nasty thing, and created that other character. I think it's almost essential now. I don't think Leonardo DiCaprio necessarily needs to do it, but someone like me, who's somewhere in the middle of nowhere and a shitstack, I need to do that. ~ Simon Rex,
920:Brokenness is not trending on Twitter. It’s not written on anyone’s résumé, and it’s no business strategy at all. It is, however, the one hope Jesus holds out for us, the inside-out, upside-down way that is somehow the only path that ultimately is right side up. Embrace the paradox: brokenness is the way to wholeness. ~ Kyle Idleman,
921:Chatta.” Låter det som en värdig kommunikationsform för människor? En schimpans kan chatta, men en människa. För att inte tala om ordet ”twitter” – vilket låter som något som tjejer gör på toaletter, men som för den skull inte bör nå ut till offentligheten. Och ”blogg” – vad låter det som? Ska man ge sådant offentlighet? ~ Anonymous,
922:We had lunch that day [with Chris Ellis], and I was talking about this idea. I toyed with it a little bit on Twitter in story form at one point. And he thought it was a great idea, and he thought, "Well, let's bring my friend Harry Hannigan in, who's a wonderful writer, and let's see if we can put something together." ~ Brent Spiner,
923:Thiel has stood before countless audiences arguing that we no longer live in a technologically accelerating world, and that there haven’t been any true, futuristic innovations since the 1960s. In fact, his firm’s slogan, “We wanted flying cars; instead we got 140 characters,”3 is a slight to both innovators and to Twitter. ~ Amy Webb,
924:When Donald Trump - star of 'Celebrity Apprentice', the man who brought you Trump Vodka, Trump Steaks, and Trump "University" very likely fraud and fail; and Twitter-hands extraordinaire - is setting up his bobblehead on the desk of the Oval Office and shredding through nuclear codes, you only have yourself to blame. ~ Chrissy Teigen,
925:How can a country be home to sectarian militias and yet also to people who are educated, sophisticated, and pluralistic? This is not a simple matter. It's the kind of dialectical inquiry that's impossible to present in the world of Twitter feeds and newspapers where stories are shorter and shorter and more simplistic. ~ Annia Ciezadlo,
926:The 140-Character Mission Statement Let’s break down the planning process into a very simple exercise: defining the mission statement for your business (or your business idea) in 140 characters or less. That is the maximum amount of text for an update on Twitter and a good natural limit for narrowing down a concept. ~ Chris Guillebeau,
927:There are many benefits to a sports entity breaking news directly to their recipients: the entity has full control over the message and how it is shared versus previously relying on a media outlets to translate or distribute as they choose. Also, there's no quicker place for valuable information to spread than Twitter. ~ Amy Jo Martin,
928:It was a very, very strange experience to go through on social media. Before that, my social media life had been very tame. I had only just dipped my toes in the world of Twitter and was throwing out a tweet, here and there, of very boring and normal stuff. All of a sudden, Pornstache just turned my world upside down. ~ Pablo Schreiber,
929:The White House New Media team circulates multiple highlights each day of what people are looking for online - Twitter trending topics, popular Google searches, etc. - and it gives us a sense of what's breaking through, what isn't, and a sanity check for what the larger online population cares about at any given time. ~ Daniel Pfeiffer,
930:America pays its bills. It always has. It always will. The fact that Washington is now debating whether to honor its debts and obligations, then, should come as a surprise. But playing political football with a necessary vote to raise the nation's debt ceiling has become as predictable as a Twitter rant from Charlie Sheen. ~ Peter Welch,
931:Donald Trump insult women. We've seen him rate women on their appearance, ranking them from one to ten. We've seen him embarrass women on TV and on Twitter. We saw him after the first debate spend nearly a week denigrating a former Miss Universe in the harshest, most personal terms. So yes, this is who Donald Trump is. ~ Hillary Clinton,
932:I really don't have time "to Twitter," it's not something that should grab your day. That's a big misconception, actually, about the whole service. You don't go out of your way to tweet, you just post when you've got something. Hopefully, not while you're driving. It complements your life more than takes over your life. ~ Chris Hardwick,
933:I was on Facebook. I was on MySpace. And somebody said to me, You should check out this thing called Twitter. I knew five people that were on it, so I started following those people and seeing what they were doing, and then I applied my own sensibility to it. The more that I shared, the more people started following me. ~ Ashton Kutcher,
934:I just recently joined Twitter. It's very positive - I love all the accolades. If my ego is hurting, I can just open my Twitter account and see 'Oh, I love you! I love the show!' and it's great. I'm trying to find the balance between trying to be funny, being honest and just being a promoter as the guy on 'Royal Pains.' ~ Mark Feuerstein,
935:The only time I ever follow Twitter is if I'm in a restaurant or something, just before I leave, to see if people are waiting outside. It does make you a bit of a loser, especially when someone asks you, 'Hey, you want to go to dinner at this place?' and I'm like, 'Can we have dinner at this place? It has three exits.' ~ Robert Pattinson,
936:I hear [my Twitter followers] say, you know, 'Bob Rae, you're an asshole'. [...] I'm working my way and trying to represent the people and speaking in Question Period and here we have vox populi, the thoughtful man on the street, 'you are an asshole!'. Thank you very much. I read it on my Twitter and I get up and ask a question. ~ Bob Rae,
937:President Obama announced this week that he is going to start sending out his own messages personally on Twitter. And today Anthony Weiner said, “It’s a trap, don’t do it!” But President Obama’s tweets are a little different than Anthony Weiner’s. When Obama sends out pictures of something obscene, it’s the unemployment numbers. ~ Jay Leno,
938:Facebook didn’t even exist yet, Twitter was still a sound, the cloud was still in the sky, 4G was a parking space, “applications” were what you sent to college, LinkedIn was barely known and most people thought it was a prison, Big Data was a good name for a rap star, and Skype, for most people, was a typographical error. ~ Thomas L Friedman,
939:Get out,” he said flatly. “I just got her normal again. Get out before you turn her into a sniveling, twitterpated…twit!”
“Jenks!” I exclaimed, and Pierce put a calming hand on me.
“That is my intent, Jenks,” he said gallantly, and I wondered if Pierce meant his intent was to leave or to turn me into a twitterpated twit. ~ Kim Harrison,
940:I feel like there isn't as much mystery to music anymore. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. There definitely is no seperation anymore. Your connection with your fans is like two clicks away on a phone with a Twitter or a blog. I think that's a good thing. It's a new music industry. You're really connected with your fans. ~ Jason Wade,
941:I think Trump's presidency represents a completely different model than what we're used to. And I think to your point, yes, he is a great communicator, you know? He uses Twitter to great effect. I just wish he could stick more to the truth, because it's a very effective way of communicating directly with the American people. ~ James R Clapper,
942:I treat Twitter like a news feed. I follow you guys, I follow every news organization - left, right, center, and everything in between - and it's like a ticker on my phone. For me it's that you have to wade through the people who wish you were dead - and I have to respect their opinions - but it helps me stay on top of the news. ~ Willie Geist,
943:It was incredible, Lady Gaga came to see the piece. She didn't sit with me, but it was all atwitter. Every single kid from 12 to 18 ran to see Lady Gaga and then Lady Gaga left and they stayed. And they stayed another day another day and it created a completely different culture, a different audience that I never had before. ~ Marina Abramovic,
944:She chuckled to herself, pressed send, and wandered around the airport for half an hour, sporadically checking Twitter. “I got nothing,” she told me. “No replies.” I imagined her feeling a bit deflated about this—that sad feeling when nobody congratulates you for being funny, that black silence when the Internet doesn’t talk back. ~ Jon Ronson,
945:The evolution of social media into a robust mechanism for social transformation is already visible. Despite many adamant critics who insist that tools like Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube are little more than faddish distractions useful only to exchange trivial information, these critics are being proven wrong time and again. ~ Simon Mainwaring,
946:When I first started looking at Twitter, I followed people like Steve Martin, who will just write the funniest non sequiturs now and then, which I thought was really fun. That's kind of the road I've taken. Every now and then, something comes into your mind and you put it out there. It's very innocuous. I think it's kind of fun. ~ Steve Carell,
947:You never understand how vulnerable you are in this age of social media until something breaks against you, and then . . . then it’s too late. You can shut down Facebook, Twitter, Instagram; you can change your phone number and your e-mail. Move to new places. But for dedicated tormentors, that isn’t a barrier. It’s a challenge. ~ Rachel Caine,
948:And though it seemed odd that she still didn't know his name, something kept her from asking. Those two little words, she knew, would inevitably set off a chain reaction: first Google, then Facebook, then Twitter, and on and on, mining the twists and turns of the internet until all the mystery had been wrung out of the thing. ~ Jennifer E Smith,
949:It amazes me that we are all on Twitter and Facebook. By "we" I mean adults. We're adults, right? But emotionally we're a culture of seven-year-olds. Have you ever had that moment when are you updating your status and you realize that every status update is just a variation on a single request: "Would someone please acknowledge me? ~ Marc Maron,
950:Little, Brown and Company Hachette Book Group 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017 littlebrown littlebrownandcompany First ebook edition: November 2008 The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to ~ Malcolm Gladwell,
951:I felt like if I said something positive on Twitter, it got no play. But if I said something negative on Twitter, it was a billion retweets and so that was giving me a Pavlovian response to be mean, and I don't want to be mean. We all have mean thoughts. They should not be broadcast on Twitter. You don't need to see mean things. ~ Damon Lindelof,
952:We have become a society that can't self-correct, that can't address its obvious problems, that can't pull out of its nosedive. And so to our list of disasters let us add this fourth entry: we have entered an age of folly that - for all our Facebooking and the twittling tweedle-dee-tweets of the twitterati - we can't wake up from. ~ Thomas Frank,
953:When you think of a social network, you have these two-way interactions: "Are you my friend? Yes? No? Yes?" Like LinkedIn, it's business oriented, but it's all about establishing connections. You connect to me through my other connections, and that sort of thing, and you sort of define who your friends are. Twitter doesn't have that. ~ Biz Stone,
954:The first complaint we hear from everyone is: 'Why would I want to join this stupid useless thing and know what my brother's eating for lunch?' But that really misses the point because Twitter is fundamentally recipient-controlled - you choose to listen and you choose to leave. But you also choose what to put down and what to share. ~ Jack Dorsey,
955:We are training our brains to have an attention deficit. A lot of people simply cannot focus for an extended period of time anymore. I have heard that the average person looks at their mobile phone about 50 times a day. We are reading emails, the news, Facebook, and Twitter etc., during what should be family and relationship time. ~ Kevin Horsley,
956:Creativity doesn’t come from glancing quickly at your Twitter feed while in line at Starbucks. It comes from deep thought. It comes from voraciously reading books—long books that require focused attention. It comes from meaningful discourse with other intellectually curious people. It comes from listening and asking good questions. ~ Joshua Rogers,
957:I am the most concerned that we end up in a situation where your - everything is known about you and so therefore, not only Google, but Google, Facebook, Twitter - the whole set of companies - essentially knows all your weaknesses and therefore how to manipulate you in subtle ways in order to have you do things you might not otherwise do. ~ Tim Wu,
958:I was on Twitter and I saw that I had over 1,000 responses and I was like "OK, something happened," so I opened it and it was like "Charice on Glee!" I didn't get an e-mail from the show so I wasn't tweeting at that time. I just watched my fans tweet. And then after about 30 minutes the show e-mailed me and said congratulations. ~ Charice Pempengco,
959:I can’t believe you still do this,” Myron said. “Are we moralizing again?” Win asked with a smile. “How nice for us.” “Let me ask you something.” “Oh, please do.” “Something I always wanted to know.” “My ears are all atwitter.” “Putting aside my repugnancy for a moment—” “Not on my account,” Win said. “I so enjoy when you’re superior. ~ Harlan Coben,
960:Plus how much time have I given over to watching TV or staring out of windows or pursuing pointless relationships or looking at my Twitter mentions? Those hours all add up and are sadly deducted from the overall life total. They are not a break from life, these ‘harmless’ distractions, they are life. They are life and they are death. ~ Russell Brand,
961:The jagged mountains were pure blue in the dawn and everywhere birds twittered and the sun when it rose caught the moon in the west so that they lay opposed to each other across the earth, the sun whitehot and the moon a pale replica, as if they were the ends of a common bore beyond whose terminals burned worlds past all reckoning. ~ Cormac McCarthy,
962:Me and my friends, we do this little two-finger-on-two-finger thing when we talk to each other, because we're Twitterholics. Maybe #acceptance. I feel like we pay a lot of attention to the word "tolerance," and I don't really like it. I get it, but I don't need you to tolerate this. It is. When you accept something, it's much deeper. ~ Rosario Dawson,
963:A new software is being developed so the psychological operations guys and the Pentagon's strategic communications guys - and we don't really know who's running it - but this is all totally out in the open. It's this new program that will allow them to have like ten fake Twitter accounts and ten Facebook accounts so you can pretend. ~ Michael Hastings,
964:We'd all survive if Twitter shut down for a short while during major riots. Social media isn't any more important than a train station, a road or a bus service. We don't worry about police temporarily closing those. Common sense. If riot info and fear is spreading by Facebook and Twitter, shut them off for an hour or two, then restore. ~ Louise Mensch,
965:People put clips of me up. There are quotes from me. I've written books, of course. I'm on Twitter. There are dozens of ways to consume my offerings, and a lecture in a large venue is really only just one of them. So I have no concerns about how much access people would have to me no matter what is the capacity of your pocketbook. ~ Neil deGrasse Tyson,
966:Twitter, Reddit, Tumblr, Instagram, all these companies are businesses first, but, as a close second, they're demographers of unprecedented reach, thoroughness, and importance. Practically as an accident, digital data can now show us how we fight, how we love, how we age, who we are, and how we're changing. All we have to do is look. ~ Christian Rudder,
967:By nature, I'm like a 90-year-old woman, so the whole internet and Twitter and Facebook, and all of that, I'm very new to. But, I am quite shocked at how much fun it is to be able to reach out to people, on a daily basis, and keep content out there, and how much it actually really does help promote things, in such a different way. ~ Jennifer Love Hewitt,
968:I think what's happening for me, it's fun to see other things besides Facebook and Twitter take hold. The maturity of Tumblr as a real player is exciting. I think Pinterest has proved to be a major player. It's fun to see Instagram become a major player. It's fun to watch things like SnapChat, and Vine, try to vie to be the next thing. ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
969:Mary Frances Berry, the former head of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, addressed the Politics and Prose Black Authors Race Panel discussion on January 15, 2018, saying that the Twitter platform is powerful, but not that powerful. “Some people think social media is a substitute for action. It’s not. You have to get out and do something. ~ April Ryan,
970:The designers usually don't like to say until we're on the runway. Like when I did Prada last year, I couldn't mention doing Prada or even Tweet or take a picture and put it on Twitter saying I was backstage at the Prada show. And Dolce was the same thing. They like to keep a little surprise, I guess, a little secret for everybody. ~ Alessandra Ambrosio,
971:I was running a traditional presidential campaign with carefully thought-out policies and painstakingly built coalitions, while Trump was running a reality TV show that expertly and relentlessly stoked Americans’ anger and resentment. I was giving speeches laying out how to solve the country’s problems. He was ranting on Twitter. ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
972:The smell of that buttered toast simply spoke to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cozy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. ~ Kenneth Grahame,
973:This is bizarre,” Dan said. “I find it really strange—the way you’re approaching this. You must be one of the very few people who have chosen to come on Twitter and use their own name as their Twitter name. Who does that? And that’s why I’m a little suspicious of your motives, Jon. That’s why I say I think you’re using it as brand management. ~ Jon Ronson,
974:Twitter is a place where you share your thoughts, yourself... you don't want a plain white backdrop for that. You want the entire page to say something about who you are. Designer or not, if the urge strikes you, go for it. Put up that watercolor you've never shown anyone. Take a photo of that hat you just knitted... whatever it is, share it. ~ Nate Berkus,
975:A lot of things, whether it's Brexit, the U.S. election, things that are happening on Facebook Live, the way that Twitter in many cases was weaponized, obviously for good but then obviously for bad, for proxy. Governments who use it to troll and give voice to conspiracy theories, white supremacists, et cetera. I think that's not going away. ~ James Ponsoldt,
976:I always had a Twitter account. I always had an Instagram account. I was always active on it, always spoke my mind. To me, it's really weird that I got so many followers and people that pay attention the way they do. It's hilarious, actually, because people didn't used to listen to me at all. I used to be like, "Does anybody hear me talkin'?" ~ Leslie Jones,
977:You have to be careful with fans, they'll turn on you. They turn quick. Twitter can go dark fast. If you talk about something serious on Twitter, you better be ready. If you try to pull out real facts or talk about political opinions or something religious, forget it. Like if people asked me who I was voting for, you couldn't touch that one. ~ Bruce Campbell,
978:[Donald] Trump has been very inconsistent on many things; on Twitter he's been all over the place, but some of it is very consistent. That is: Do nothing about climate change except make it worse. And he's not just speaking for himself, but for the whole Republican Party, the whole leadership. It's already had impact, it will have worse impact. ~ Noam Chomsky,
979:People really do identify with the characters they see on the show, but these days, social media allows you to interact with fans in a really interesting way. On my Twitter account, I'm Chris Carmack, not Will Lexington. I interact with fans and joke with them. I'll post pictures from my life. I think that helps drop the curtain of a character. ~ Chris Carmack,
980:Conventionally, a developer will create a piece of software, and once it’s finished, expose a small part of its functionality to outside developers via the API. The Twitter team took the exact opposite approach. They built the API first, and exposed all the data that was crucial to the service, and then they built on top of the API. ~ Steven Johnson,
981:It's crazy how your mind works because you can receive hundreds and thousands of all these love posts and all this good affirmation on Instagram or Twitter. And then that one person writes one thing that dims your light but that's the thing you can't let it dim your light, because what I've realized - it's really not your problem, it's theirs. ~ Danielle Brooks,
982:Sometimes as actors and artists, we don't really get to be an effective and integral part of the promotional process, other than doing interviews. With Twitter and Facebook now, and all of this stuff, it really allows us to play and have fun, vis-à-vis the pictures that I send out on Twitter every day, or little videos, or whatever it is. ~ Jennifer Love Hewitt,
983:The faux now of Twitter updates and things pinging at you - all the pulses from digitality that we try to keep up with because we sense that there's something going on that we need to tap into - are artifacts, or symptoms of living in this atemporal reality. And it's not any worse than living in the 'time is money' reality that we're leaving. ~ Douglas Rushkoff,
984:Did Donald Trump apologize for taking after somebody in a Twitter war and making fun of her weight? Did he apologize for saying African-Americans are living in Hell? Did he apologize for saying President Obama was not even a citizen of the United States? You will look in vain to see Donald Trump ever taking responsibility for anybody and apologizing. ~ Tim Kaine,
985:There's a lot of definitions flying around of what we mean when we say fake news. And there's also a lot of pitfalls and I think some misguided recommendations that are out there about what Facebook and Twitter and the others should and shouldn't do. It's very difficult and I, you know, recommend sort of very thoughtful slow going for everyone. ~ Vivian Schiller,
986:Artists are all giving so much of ourselves to the work and the people and the press and the media and Twitter and all that now. For me, being able to create from a genuine place is really difficult lately because there's so much going on all the time, but when all that stuff gets quiet, you can explore your ideas without any ego or mental chatter. ~ Flying Lotus,
987:hear this a lot but reviews are so massively important to authors. If you’ve enjoyed ‘Safe with Me’ and could spare just a few minutes on Amazon or Goodreads to say so, I would so appreciate that. You can also connect with me via my website, on Facebook or Twitter. If you’ve enjoyed this, my debut novel, you might be interested to know that I’ve been ~ K L Slater,
988:To me I think Twitter is a much more honest way to really connect with your fan base without it being the horrible magazines out there that might not get the truth right. At least this gives a little bit of an honest glimpse into someone's life without it being too overdone and too personal. You get to control it, which is what I like about it. ~ Tiffani Thiessen,
989:Comedians are - at the end of the day, we're just a bunch of people that lack a little bit of - we're very insecure, and we want to be loved and liked by everybody. And you know, I could check my Twitter and there could be 150 people that say wonderful things. There'll be one person who says something negative. And all we focus on is that negative. ~ Russell Peters,
990:Breakthrough ideas look crazy, nuts. It’s hard to think this way — I see it in other people’s body language, and I can feel it in my own, where I sometimes feel like I don’t even care if it’s going to work, I can’t take more change. O.K., Google, O.K., Twitter—but Airbnb? People staying in each other’s houses without there being a lot of axe murders? ~ Marc Andreessen,
991:I’ve been spending a ton of hours on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, Snapchat, Meerkat, Periscope, LinkedIn, and many other platforms, and from this man’s point of view we are living in an unbelievably interesting time. I haven’t felt this sense of disruption since 2006–2007, when Facebook and Twitter started to eat away at Friendster and MySpace. The ~ Gary Vaynerchuk,
992:There is a person that says they invented the podcast and they are suing Adam Carolla, because he is the top of the hill, for patent infringement. If this person wins, Adam Carolla, Marc Maron, Joe Rogan, Jay Mohr, Chris Hardwick, it will all go away. So, it's kind of like when someone takes your name so you can't get it on Twitter, magnified times a billion. ~ Jay Mohr,
993:The thing I really like about Twitter is the speed with which information reaches me. You find out things from Twitter long before they're on the news. That I think is valuable. In terms of actually tweeting myself, I have just lost enthusiasm for it. Maybe I'll do some of it this week to tell people about the PEN Festival and encourage them to show up. ~ Salman Rushdie,
994:Twitter isn’t built for collective action; it’s good at bringing people together but not good at letting them collectively communicate once they’ve arrived there. Ultimately, Twitter is built to encourage people to categorically self-assemble, to aggregate their data, and to then sell it to advertisers. Any politics done on Twitter should be mindful of that. ~ Anonymous,
995:An Elf-Woman went by him, seated in a chair that moved along by itself, humming as it went. An Elf-Man walked by the other way, talking into a—a far-speak, but one that had no leash fastening it to the wall. Two Elf-Women each carried huge bunches of giant, fiercely colored Elvish flowers. And all the time the air twittered and beeped and hissed and buzzed. ~ Susan Price,
996:when Twitter announced the number of permissible characters in a single tweet was being doubled from 140 to 280, Trump told Porter he thought the change made sense on one level. Now he would be able to flesh out his thoughts and add more depth. “It’s a good thing,” Trump said, “but it’s a bit of a shame because I was the Ernest Hemingway of 140 characters. ~ Bob Woodward,
997:As our kids are drawn into, you know, Facebook and twittering and having their own cell phone and iPod and all those things , all of those things will take up as much time as you give them. What our goal is is to help them find that natural balance so that the things of our culture don't just steal their hearts and their minds and just consume their lives. ~ Alex Kendrick,
998:I feel like today's culture seeks at every turn to place more and more power in the hands of the individual. Bookstores are lined with shelves filled with self-help books. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and every other social media outlets turn our focus inwards, allowing us to fall more and more in love with ourselves, our thoughts, our opinions, our voices. ~ Matthew West,
999:I try to be personal, but that's not me, either. What seems to work best, and the tweets I enjoy reading the most, are when comedians just give jokes. It's a great joke of the day thing, especially revolving around current events. But that's not my forte either, so I find myself in no man's land with Twitter. I don't particularly enjoy giving me out to everyone. ~ John Cho,
1000:All my days are themed. Monday is managementTuesday is product, engineering, and design. Wednesday is marketing, growth, and communications. Thursday is partnership and developers. Friday is company and cultureOn the days beginning with T, I start at Twitter in the morning, then go to Square in the afternoon. Sundays are for strategySaturday is a day off. ~ Jack Dorsey,
1001:I never had the desire to be a professional Twitterer. Every now and then something dumb pops into my head and I'll tweet it. I don't feel any obligation to respond to everyone. Not that I don't appreciate people sending me messages on there, but there are too many. Responding to everyone would take away time for all the stuff I'm actually in the business for. ~ Aziz Ansari,
1002:I think before Twitter people didn't think that way, not in any sort of meaningful or specific way, so what I'm trying to say, if we're trying a bunch of stuff, a lot of cool and great social stuff, a lot of platform stuff, then some of it will stick, and some of it will be junked over. Some of it will be just like the cell phone, you can't imagine not having it. ~ Biz Stone,
1003:Fortunately, at that time, Ireland wasn’t in the world. So we weren’t in the World War. Old Roundrims came up with that. Brilliant, really. World War II was toirmiscthe, he said, which people had to look up but basically turned out to be verboten in Irish. Twitter went crazy, saying it was shameful and backward, but back then twitter was only spoken by birds. ~ Niall Williams,
1004:I had to persuade a dog to swallow a pill. I twittered for advice and I got suggestion after suggestion. Most of them didn't work. 'Put the pill in the sausage.' No - that doesn't work. 'Cheese.' No. Then someone said: 'You wrap it in butter and it will slide down.' I tried it and it worked! And I'd learnt how to give a pill to a dog through the magic of Twitter. ~ Neil Gaiman,
1005:I knew it straight away when Twitter first came around, and also Facebook, where it was so easy to post, that this was another way to speak directly with people listening to my music. If they found my music and they like it, most likely they want to hear more from me and hear what I'm about. I've put an enormous amount of time into that and it's played out well for me. ~ Kaskade,
1006:I have a strong aversion to Twitter, and yet there is a social obligation that forces me to pop in and spy on celebrities now and then. I don’t get Twitter. It’s impossible to follow conversation threads, and it’s too easy to spend hours and hours clicking on random names, and the next thing you know, you've become infatuated with Tweet photos from the Kardashians. ~ Jessica Park,
1007:Here at home, we need to do two fundamental things. Number one, we need to recognize that technology has moved on. The Patriot Act was signed in 2001, roughly. The iPhone was invented in 2007. The iPad was invented in 2011. Snapchat and Twitter, all the rest of it, have been around just for several years. Technology has moved on, and the terrorists have moved on with it. ~ Ted Cruz,
1008:I like to read quotes that touch on how I am feeling [on social media]. If I am dealing with confusion, I will read quotes about clarity and peace of mind. I started posting these quotes on my Twitter page, and the fans responded so positively! I realized that many of them were dealing with similar issues, and the quotes helped to open up a genuine dialogue between us. ~ Keke Palmer,
1009:It's nice to be able to directly speak to fans and thank them for their support. The only time that it can get tricky is when they are unkind or say things that may not be so easy to say if they weren't behind a computer. Bullying is never ok. I personally have only experienced it very infrequently so overall I enjoy Twitter and Instagram but I'm definitely aware of it. ~ Claire Holt,
1010:When you see what is happening with the social network, with Facebook, Twitter and co it is becoming obvious that the reputation of ourselves is becoming more and more important everyday. Image is becoming too much for me, and we are living in a virtual world and sometimes it is very easy to make mistakes. It is more difficult to take responsibility for our mistakes. ~ Emmanuel Petit,
1011:Beautiful, seamless upgrade from Twitter today, making functionality smoother and cooler. We didn't have to lobby, didn't have to beg, didn't have to elect a new leader, didn't have to push or protest. Progress is built in to the structure of the mechanism itself: this company exists to please you and me. This is a far better system than any political system on earth. ~ Jeffrey Tucker,
1012:Those who use foul language on social networks (such as Twitter) are sending an expensive signal that they are free—and, ironically, competent. You don’t signal competence if you don’t take risks for it—there are few such low-risk strategies. So cursing today is a status symbol, just as oligarchs in Moscow wear blue jeans at special events to signal their power. ~ Nassim Nicholas Taleb,
1013:When you think about email or IMing, why aren't you writing back? I can see your avatar, I know you're online, why aren't you writing me back? But with Twitter, everybody sends their responses to Twitter, and Twitter then sends them out to everyone. So there's not this constant connection. You can be hyperconnected, then you can take a break for a couple days and it's fine. ~ Biz Stone,
1014:In the event of a Law Enforcement Breach, a computer would the first thing the LEOs --law enforcement officers --would confiscate. I had a laptop upstairs in plain view, partially for that exact purpose. They were welcome to my Twitter account and my gallery of cute fluffy animals dressed in hilarious Halloween costumes. Nobody thought to check the dead-tree books anymore, ~ Ilona Andrews,
1015:I had to persuade a dog to swallow a pill. I twittered for advice and I got suggestion after suggestion. Most of them didn't work. 'Put the pill in the sausage.' No - that doesn't work. 'Cheese.' No.
Then someone said: 'You wrap it in butter and it will slide down.'
I tried it and it worked!

And I'd learnt how to give a pill to a dog through the magic of Twitter. ~ Neil Gaiman,
1016:I think Twitter is the literature of the 21st century. I think it's an incredible art because when you make a book, you don't know who reads it. But every line, I write a million people, they read it, and then they insult me, they love me, they discuss, they give an opinion instantly, immediately. They are completely in communication, immediately. That is a real art. ~ Alejandro Jodorowsky,
1017:A lot of potential Hillary voters were infused with a not-great feeling about Hillary, or about voting at all. Were you one of them? If so, please think back. Were you seeing any information customized for you before the election? Did you use Twitter or Facebook? Did you do a lot of online searches? You were had. You were tricked. Your best intentions were turned against you. ~ Jaron Lanier,
1018:Ev and Jack had fundamentally different views of what Twitter was and how it should be used. Jack had always seen Twitter as a status updater, a way to say where he was and what he was doing. A place to display yourself, your ego. Ev, who was shy and had been shaped by his days building Blogger, saw it as a way to share where other people were and what other people were doing. ~ Nick Bilton,
1019:The challenge CEOs will face three to five years from now is the same one that they face today. That is engagement. It's hard to keep people engaged in what they are doing. As this generation grows up around social media like Twitter where things are 140 characters, how do you keep them engaged all hours every day at work? How do you keep them focused on the big goals you have? ~ Don Yaeger,
1020:The cushions of my friend's couch were some kind of rubberized velour, the windows were uncurtained, and at five a.m. the birds were all atwitter and the light, the L.A. light everyone goes on and on about, was right in my East Coast eyes. Give me New York any day, I thought. But when New York came, it was with fangs and claws, in a nightmare I now woke from screaming. ~ Garth Risk Hallberg,
1021:PR got to be much bigger because of the emergence of digital media. Now we have hundreds of people who are, in a sense, manning embassies for Facebook and Twitter for brands. So the business in effect has morphed from pitching stories to traditional media, to working with bloggers, Twitter, Facebook and other social media, and then putting good content up on owned websites. ~ Richard Edelman,
1022:Sometimes I will tweet things without an audience in mind at all, just because I want to say something that I don't feel I can say otherwise. Those tweets have a specific sense of desperation to them, because I write them when I feel like I don't have anyone else to talk to - as if Twitter is the only thing that will accept my insanely inappropriate thoughts without judgement. ~ Mira Gonzalez,
1023:Ultimately, I just felt like Twitter brought out the worst in me. It made me super defensive when I was attacked, because you're under a constant state of attack. No one should be able to check their @ mentions, because Twitter is the equivalent of "Hey, those three people over there that are whispering... They're whispering about you! Do you want to know what they're saying?" ~ Damon Lindelof,
1024:Short attention span is the new avant-garde. Everyone complains that we can no longer intake huge chunks of text. I find that a reason to celebrate. It's something that has deep roots in modernism, stretching from the Futurists' use of typography to Pound's use of ideograms to concrete poetry. David Markson feels particularly relevant now. Twitter is the revenge of modernism. ~ Kenneth Goldsmith,
1025:Corporations funding the abortion ban:- AT&T: $196,600 across 6 states- Walmart: $57,700 across 6 states- Pfizer: $53,650 across 6 states- Eli Lilly: $66,250 across 5 states- Coca-Cola: $40,800 across 5 states- Aetna: $26,600 across 4 statesSpread their shame.…Correcting oneself is correcting the whole world. ~ Sri Ramana MaharshiCorrection#sriaurobindo #autocorrect,
1026:People in the modern world are the most bored generation. They keep refreshing their Facebook, Instagram and Twitter pages to see if something interesting is happening. They would switch on their television sets every now and then with the hope to see some interesting content on it. If nothing works, they plan to dine out, go for a holiday or join a club to get rid of the boredom. ~ Awdhesh Singh,
1027:Get out,” Evan Williams said to the woman standing in his office doorway. “I’m going to throw up.” She stepped backward, pulling the door closed, a metal clicking sound reverberating through the room as he grabbed the black wastebasket in the corner of his office, his hands now shaking and clammy. This was it. His last act as the CEO of Twitter would be throwing up into a garbage can. ~ Nick Bilton,
1028:I feel like when you do Twitter, sometimes you just have an idea and you fire it off and don't really think too hard about the consequences of that. I think my reputation there is as a comedian and not someone to be taken seriously. But I like the idea of getting out false information and just muddying up the story and making it as confusing and, you know, schizophrenic as possible. ~ Tim Heidecker,
1029:The funny thing about Facebook and Twitter is, you can go on there and see what's going on in the world without watching the news. I get so much news off of social media. I think it's cool. It's changed everything, not just music. It's changed the world. It definitely is a good thing. I don't really know what I think of it yet more than that. I haven't really sorted that out for myself. ~ Macy Gray,
1030:A lot of the letters that are coming in - a lot of them are queries or comments - are one sentence long... These are from Twitter. And if you look at the nature of those one sentence letters, most of the time it's something that came to somebody's mind - somebody walking down the street had a thought and sent it out. If they thought about it for two minutes they would not have sent it. ~ Noam Chomsky,
1031:Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

Do you take it I would astonish?
Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering through the woods?
Do I astonish more than they?

This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. ~ Walt Whitman,
1032:I've been very reluctant on the Twitter front. But I do Instagram now, so I'm slowly coming around. I'm quite a private person, so much of what I do for my job means that I have to be quite public so I'm just nervous about everything being public. I might turn around. Three years ago, I was against all social media but I actually really enjoy Instagram now. Who knows? I never say never! ~ Jeremy Irvine,
1033:We'll eradicate Twitter. I don't care what the international community says. Everyone will witness the power of the Turkish Republic. There is now a scourge that is called Twitter. The best examples of lies can be found there. To me, social media is the worst menace to society. They came to me with this case of Twitter ignoring case of smeared housewife. I said, let's solve this. ~ Recep Tayyip Erdogan,
1034:My life is split in three parts; I don't know the percentage. One could be called "chess" - the Kasparov Chess Foundation, promoting the game, training young players, playing on the internet, sometimes exhibitions. The second area would be "writing" - books, articles, Twitter, Facebook. And then "political activity" - fighting for human rights and democracy, so TV, interviews, speeches. ~ Garry Kasparov,
1035:The future of narrative? Built in, part of the human template. Not going away. The future of the codex book, with pages and so forth? A platform for transmitting narratives. There are others. The scroll is coming back (Twitter is a scroll.) Short forms are returning online. Interactivity is coming back; it was always there in oral storytelling. Each form has its pluses and its minuses. ~ Margaret Atwood,
1036:We have to learn to feed the heart, taking emotional impressions directly there. Rodney Collin have to learn to look & see, not just outwardly into the physical world, but straight into our own unconscious. And if we are going to do so we need the solid support, the grounding or foundation that the only Gnostics' unique insights into the unconscious can provice ~ Kingsley,
1037:I really believe that fact that I have such power in terms of numbers with Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, et cetera, I think it helped me win all of these races where others spending much more money than I spent. You know, I spent my money. A lot of my money. And I won. I think that social media has more power than the money others spent, and I think maybe to a certain extent, I proved that. ~ Donald Trump,
1038:The amateur has a long list of fears. Near the top are two: Solitude and silence. The amateur fears solitude and silence because she needs to avoid, at all costs, the voice inside her head that would point her toward her calling and her destiny. So she seeks distraction. The amateur prizes shallowness and shuns depth. The culture of Twitter and Facebook is paradise for the amateur. ~ Steven Pressfield,
1039:Let’s begin with the first ability. To start, we must remember that we’ve been spoiled by the intuitive and drop-dead-simple user experience of many consumer-facing technologies, like Twitter and the iPhone. These examples, however, are consumer products, not serious tools: Most of the intelligent machines driving the Great Restructuring are significantly more complex to understand and master. ~ Cal Newport,
1040:They adored each other; but still the permanent and the immutable subsist. We may love and laugh, pout, clasp hands, smile, and exchange endearments, but that does not affect eternity. Two lovers hide in the dusk of evening, amid flowers and the twittering of birds, and enchant each other with their hearts shinning in their eyes; but the stars in their course still circle through infinite space. ~ Victor Hugo,
1041:I don't think anything ever "needs" to happen. I don't think it's more positive to have a Twitter account, a Tumblr, and a blog. Someone without those things will use their time to do other things, like read books or swim or talk to their children or read websites or listen to music or write books or lie in bed or sit in a chair. I don't think any of these things are more positive than any other things. ~ Tao Lin,
1042:They [the Travelers] know everything about the year that they're coming into. But you can know everything and still be tripped up by the little stuff that you didn't notice. And one character's Facebook page is made up of lies. It's an interesting comment on what's been going on the last few months. We cannot rely anymore on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram. People are making up their own truths. ~ Eric McCormack,
1043:Network effects were supposed to help promote long tail content, not shut it out. And yet the current mechanisms of networks like Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube make it difficult for new players to break through. There’re high barriers of entry to online media, even if there’s a low cost to enter. Even if you make it, you need to figure out how to translate your likes, retweets, and clicks to real value. ~ Anonymous,
1044:Bad feminism seems like the only way I can both embrace myself as a feminist and be myself, and so I write. I chatter away on Twitter about everything that makes me angry and all the small things that bring me joy. I write blog posts about the meals I cook as I try to take better care of myself, and with each new entry, I realize that I'm undestroying myself after years of allowing myself to stay damaged. ~ Roxane Gay,
1045:Beneath all the unintelligent commentary about pop culture and what everyone had for dinner, the Twitterverse was a turbulent sea of vicious accusation, unsubstantiated rumor, and outright lies. The false facelessness of it gave people the freedom to strike out in ways they might never have dared in person. Even the meek became assassins on Twitter, drunk on the counterfeit confidence of imagined anonymity. ~ Tami Hoag,
1046:This is just what we saw in the Arab Spring. One of the defining features of the revolutions that swept the Middle East in early 2011 was their use of communication technologies. During the protests in Cairo, Egypt, that brought down President Hosni Mubarak, one activist summed this up nicely in a tweet: “We use Facebook to schedule the protests, Twitter to coordinate, and YouTube to tell the world. ~ Peter H Diamandis,
1047:If you say interesting stuff on twitter, people will follow you there. I think Jim Caruso, from MediaFirst, does this well. He’s been at every single technology event I’ve ever attended in Atlanta for the last 10 years. He knows what’s going on. He’s a technology geek at heart... And he’s on twitter, tweeting about local startups, global technology news, and of course, his own clients. I follow him on twitter. ~ Ben Chestnut,
1048:Prometheus was humming away in its custom-built computer cluster, which resided in long rows of racks in a vast, access-controlled, air-conditioned room. For security reasons, it was completely disconnected from the internet, but it contained a local copy of much of the web (Wikipedia, the Library of Congress, Twitter, a selection from YouTube, much of Facebook, etc.) to use as its training data to learn from.* ~ Max Tegmark,
1049:This is a time of tremendous ferment and experimentation that is scary and exciting at the same time. The biggest challenge for media remains economic. How will we pay for the kind of work that really makes a difference? The revenue model for news has been profoundly disrupted, and that is as much a challenge for Vox, Medium, Yahoo or Twitter as it is in some ways for The New York Times or a local newspaper. ~ Tom Rosenstiel,
1050:History teaches us that many breakthroughs were happy accidents. Whether that's penicillin coming from Fleming neglecting to clean his laboratory before going on vacation or the team at Odeon trying a little side project that allowed people to communicate in real time as long as their message was 140 characters or less (which ultimately of course became Twitter), the unintended is often the transformational. ~ Scott D Anthony,
1051:I don't think it's more positive to have a Twitter account, a Tumblr, and a blog. Someone without those things will use their time to do other things, like read books or swim or talk to their children or read websites or listen to music or write books or lie in bed or sit in a chair. I don't think any of these things are more positive than any other things. I don't think having an internet presence helps financially. ~ Tao Lin,
1052:The fans [of Vampire diaries] that we have now are the people who will watch it any day of the week. So, my first instinct was a little bit of an ego tap, but the second I processed it, I was fine. The only weird thing will be maybe not having as many people live tweeting because they're actually out doing something more interesting on Friday night. I'm not going to sit at home, reading Twitter on Friday night. ~ Caroline Dries,
Without This—there Is Nought
Without this—there is nought—
All other Riches be
As is the Twitter of a Bird—
Heard opposite the Sea—
I could not care—to gain
A lesser than the Whole—
For did not this include themself—
As Seams—include the Ball?
I wished a way might be
My Heart to subdivide—
'Twould magnify—the Gratitude—
And not reduce—the Gold—
~ Emily Dickinson,
1054:Between Twitter and Facebook I have nearly 70,000 followers, so my colleagues receive the responses. They show some of them to me, and I am always interested to read what people have to say. I filter all the information that reaches me, from letters in the newspaper, to conversations. There are many influences that shape my decisions, and often people on Twitter are thinking along the same lines as I do on an issue. ~ Helen Zille,
1055:Bridget [Jones] was always, at heart, about the gap between how you feel you're expected to be and how you actually are and that gap has only widened. Young people now are entering an uncharted sea, where there's huge pressure to judge yourself on how many Likes or Followers you get on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, rather than the on important things like being kind, honest, resilient, funny and a good friend. ~ Helen Fielding,
1056:Let's say Twitter existed during the Civil War. We would have a better understanding of people in the Confederacy who were against slavery, people in the North who actually felt we should just let the South be the South. Because the way it is now, it seems like we have this portrait where everybody in Georgia hated Yankees and everybody in the North was enlightened. That wouldn't seem as clear cut as it does now. ~ Chuck Klosterman,
1057:Digiphrenia - how technology lets us be in more than one place - and self - at the same time. Drone pilots suffer more burnout than real-world pilots, as they attempt to live in two worlds - home and battlefield - simultaneously. We all become overwhelmed until we learn to distinguish between data flows (like Twitter) that can only be dipped into, and data storage (like books and emails) that can be fully consumed. ~ Douglas Rushkoff,
1058:If you're happy with where the Internet, Facebook, and Twitter have taken you, I'm not the Grinch. Someone called me Sherry Turkle's "evil Luddite twin." I'm not that. I enjoy the bounties of this technology. But if you fear that your connected life is running away with you, read the book, reflect, talk to your family and friends. I think we deserve better than some of the places that we've gotten with this technology. ~ Sherry Turkle,
1059:Something really big happened in the world's wiring in the last decade, but it was obscured by the financial crisis and post-9/11. We went from a connected world to a hyperconnected world. I'm always struck that Facebook, Twitter, 4G, iPhones, iPads, high-speech broadband, ubiquitous wireless and Web-enabled cellphones, the cloud, Big Data, cellphone apps and Skype did not exist or were in their infancy a decade ago. ~ Thomas Friedman,
1060:Paid Triggers Advertising, search engine marketing, and other paid channels are commonly used to get users’ attention and prompt them to act. Paid triggers can be effective but costly ways to keep users coming back. Habit-forming companies tend not to rely on paid triggers for very long, if at all. Imagine if Facebook or Twitter needed to buy an ad to prompt users to revisit their sites — these companies would soon go broke. ~ Nir Eyal,
1061:I like Twitter, actually and I like Instagram and I like talking to people. Most weeks, I'll take a day, a morning or two out of my day and I'll sit and I'll just answer my tweets. You have to get back quickly. And I think that's important to let people know that you see them because they took the time to acknowledge me. And they took the time to if you want to be my fan and to follow me and appreciate what I do. ~ Vanessa Bell Calloway,
1062:If a thing can be said in ten words, I may be relied upon to take a hundred to say it. I ought to apologize for that. I ought to prune, pare and extirpate excess growth, but I will not. I like words—strike that, I love words—and while I am fond of the condensed and economical use of them in poetry, in song lyrics, in Twitter, in good journalism and smart advertising, I love the luxuriant profusion and mad scatter of them too. ~ Stephen Fry,
1063:I thought "I don't need to reach out to my fans, I don't need to have that dialogue with them." But as a musician, you have to constantly - especially since my music is not on the same level as my acting - you have to connect with your fans. I actually feel like I have developed friendships through Twitter, people that I've worked with I can kind of keep up with them. I've totally turned a corner. I get it. And Instagram. ~ Bryan Greenberg,
1064:The great thing about Twitter is, you get a lot back, and I read through a lot, and I want my fans to know that I do read a lot, and it's why I do respond or retweet clever posts, and I'm constantly amazed by the cleverness of people on Twitter. I just think it's a really great tool to communicate with fans and influence conversations and raise awareness about things I'm interested in, that I think deserve some attention. ~ Elizabeth Banks,
1065:Open your eyes. Block all escape routes. Eliminate all noise. The common will capture your attention as long as it’s allowed in the room. Whatever you are used to, whether cigarettes, shopping, or Twitter, must be eliminated in the quest to get into the ring. You must make a sacrifice on the altar of greatness and perform acts that others will not. If you aren’t willing to sacrifice your comfort, you don’t have what it takes. ~ Julien Smith,
1066:I always knew I wanted to make music and share music. I followed my dreams and my passion. Et voila! And now it means not just me, but our community, have a voice. There was no internet, twitter, facebook, or instagram back then; now people with shared passions can unite their voice to share their values and thoughts, be heard, and make a difference. It's amazing - everyone can have a voice - and, as ONE, it can be incredible. ~ David Guetta,
1067:and there she was standing on the grass, which seemed to have turned green, and with the sun pouring down on her and warm sweet wafts about her and the fluting and twittering and singing coming from every bush and tree. She clasped her hands for pure joy and looked up in the sky and it was so blue and pink and pearly and white and flooded with springtime light that she felt as if she must flute and sing aloud herself ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett,
1068:BE BRIEF. Brevity beats verbosity in social media. You’re competing with millions of posts every day. People make snap judgments and move right along if you don’t capture their interest at a glance. My experience is that the sweet spot for posts of curated content is two or three sentences on Google+ and Facebook and 100 characters on Twitter. The sweet spot for content that you create, such as blog posts, is 500 to 1,000 words. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
1069:Ujjwal Singh, Steve Crossan, and Abdel Karim Mardini partnered with engineers from Twitter following the Egyptian government’s shutdown of the Internet in early 2011 to create Speak2Tweet, a product that takes messages from a voice mailbox and transcribes them into Tweets broadcast around the world.35 This gave Egyptians a way to communicate en masse with the world and, by dialing into the voice mailbox, to listen to one another. ~ Laszlo Bock,
1070:Turn off the news, forget Facebook and Twitter. Don't read the paper. Let the world turn, and the seasons pass on their own. Then wake up in the middle of the night a year later and ask yourself if anything is amiss. If so, let go of more media. Let go of more light. Wake again and ask if anything is lacking. Repeat as necessary until you have remembered what it means to be a person, because this is the one thing everyone forgets. ~ Clark Strand,
1071:—Did he even grasp this himself, this cleverest of all self-outwitters? Did he tell himself this in the end, in the wisdom of his courage in the face of death? . . . Socrates wanted to die: not Athens, but he gave himself the poison cup, he forced Athens to give him the poison cup . . . “Socrates is no doctor,” he said to himself softly, “death is the only doctor here . . . Socrates himself has just been sick for a long time. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
1072:Entitlement is simply the belief that you deserve something. Which is great. The hard part is, you'd better make sure you deserve it. So, how did I make sure that I deserved it?

To answer that, I would like to quote from the Twitter bio of one of my favorite people, Kevin Hart. It reads:

My name is Kevin Hart and I WORK HARD!!! That pretty much sums me up!!! Everybody Wants To Be Famous But Nobody Wants To Do The Work! ~ Mindy Kaling,
1073:Everyone is on Facebook and age is not a determinant of whether a reporter is using Twitter as part of their newsgathering and marketing. Some of the transition is about money at this point - hiring younger reporters is cheaper. Often these reporters are more digitally savvy. But there are plenty of 50-plus journalists employers can find now who are excited about technology, not threatened. It is no longer an either/or proposition. ~ Tom Rosenstiel,
1074:If the actors speaking Dothraki or High Valyrian or Castithan or whatever make a mistake, who would know but the creator? Who would care? The truth is probably one in a thousand people will notice, and of those who do, maybe a quarter will care. In the 1980s that amounts to nothing. In the new millennium, though, one quarter of 0.001 percent can constitute a significant minority on Twitter. Or on Tumblr. Or Facebook. Or Reddit. Or ~ David J Peterson,
1075:Step 3: Modify Armed with new insights, it is time to revisit your product and identify ways to nudge new users down the same Habit Path taken by devotees. This may include an update to the registration funnel, content changes, feature removal, or increased emphasis on an existing feature. Twitter used the insights gained from the previous step to modify its on-boarding process, encouraging new users to immediately begin following others. ~ Nir Eyal,
1076:You talk about sexual abuse? Bill Clinton's wife ran the bimbo eruptions units when he was in the White House to seek and find the women who might accuse Bill Clinton of sexual abuse (and other things) and destroy them. And advertisers never leave the Clintons, and donors never leave the Clintons. Why is that? Because donors and advertisers never receive massive numbers of complaint emails from all of these Twitter and Facebook bots. ~ Rush Limbaugh,
1077:These advertisements, tweets, and Facebook posts were seen by as many as 150,000,000 Americans during the 2016 election. The Oxford Internet Institute studied the election and found that on Twitter and Facebook people shared almost as many fake news stories as they did real ones.8 By 2018, Twitter would be forced to notify 677,000 users that they were exposed to Russian propaganda during the campaign, but not what kind specifically. ~ Malcolm W Nance,
1078:Smart, dedicated people lost their lives all the time as they trained to be the best they could be to serve their country. Celebrities broke a nail and they immediately took to Twitter, alerting their millions of followers to the “injury,” which in turn elicited thousands of replies from people with apparently not enough going on in their lives. And all the while brave men and women died in silence, forgotten by all except their families. ~ David Baldacci,
1079:What we're trying to do as writers is rescue, preserve this space of thoughtfulness of language, of a deeper and more honest appreciation of our reality. And, so, we have to work even harder as writers against this tide of silliness, against this tide of superficiality, against this horrible Greek chorus on Twitter where everyone is insulting each other and now we have an insulter-in-chief, who's risen to the presidency by insulting people. ~ Hector Tobar,
1080:...when we "lose our mind" and "come to our senses" in the fullest possible way, the chattering, texting, e-mailing, twittering mind will eventually quiet down and almost silence itself. This is a sacred and connected silence...It's like a deep, still pond reflecting the stars of the night sky. I believe this is the baseline for human consciousness, and I'm convinced that the birds are the best mentors in the natural world for bringing us to it. ~ Jon Young,
1081:He asks, “how hard would it be to go a week without Google? Or, to up the ante, without Facebook, Amazon, Skype, Twitter, Apple, eBay, and Google?”33 Wu is putting his finger on a disquieting new reality—that the new communication medium a younger generation gravitated to because of its promise of openness, transparency, and deep social collaboration masks another persona more concerned with ringing up profit by advancing a networked Commons. ~ Jeremy Rifkin,
1082:Alex was growing in prominence. I noticed him trending on Twitter from time to time, for telling his now millions of fans that U.S. scientists were covertly creating “man-fish hybrids,” that atheists “worship Lucifer,” and that the government puts secret chemicals in juice boxes to turn Americans gay: “After you’re done drinking your little juices you’re ready to put makeup on, wear a short skirt, put together a garden of roses or something.” And ~ Jon Ronson,
1083:I'm not on Twitter for abuse. I don't think anyone's gotten on Twitter so that they can be abused, but people do go on Twitter to abuse people. When that becomes clear then Twitter has a moral duty to shut those people down when they see that somebody is there solely for the purpose of abusing others. Yeah you have free speech, but what you don't have is the right to wield your speech like a cudgel to somebody who has done nothing to earn it. ~ Anika Noni Rose,
1084:@SeanCassinova Where might one procure a shoe horn in NYC?

@RugbyFan101 to @SeanCassinova I’ll loan you my horn any day of the week, baby ;-)

@SeanCassinova to @RugbyFan101 Who is this and where did you get my number?

@RugbyFan101 to @SeanCassinova Uh, this is Twitter.

@SeanCassinova to @RugbyFan101 That’s a very strange name. What were your parents thinking?

@EilishCassidy @SeanCassinova Stop being an arse. ~ L H Cosway,
1085:Unlike in the Action Phase of the Hook discussed in chapter three, investments are about the anticipation of longer-term rewards, not immediate gratification. In Twitter for example, the investment comes in the form of following another user. There is no immediate reward for following someone, no stars or badges to affirm the action. Following is an investment in the service, which increases the likelihood of the user checking Twitter in the future. ~ Nir Eyal,
1086:Do whatever you have to do, avoid whatever you need to avoid, protect yourself however you need to protect yourself in order to stay on course, write, send the work out, write more, send out more work. Because as wonderful as the rest of it may be, conferences, twitter, writing groups, and so on, if they are more than you can handle, that’s okay. But if you stop writing and stop sending your work into the world, that is not okay. That is giving up. ~ Robin Black,
1087:The nice thing about twitter is the architecture of visibility. Email is invisible unless you reach out to someone directly. With Twitter, anyone can follow you and this is one of the big changes that was really introduced by Flickr, was this wonderful idea that you can follow somebody without their permission. Recognizing that relationships are asymmetrical, unlike facebook where we have to acknowledge each other otherwise we can’t see each other. ~ Tim O Reilly,
1088:Whether it’s interviewing someone over Skype, developing an affable Twitter persona, learning how to publish an e-book, or experimenting with a new task management app, we must become adept at testing out new technologies that can benefit us in our personal and professional lives. Sometimes, we will choose not to integrate a new technology into our lives, and that’s okay. It’s the experimentation, and the awareness we gain through it, that’s key. ~ Jocelyn K Glei,
1089:I love you, Rylann." He cupped her face, peering down into her eyes. "And now I finally have a good answer to the one question everyone always asks me--why I hacked into Twitter. I didn't know it at the time... but I did it to find you again."
She leaned into him, curling her fingers around his shirt. "That may be the best justification I've ever heard for committing a crime." She looked up at him, her eyes shining. "And I love you, too, you know. ~ Julie James,
1090:My record label, which is a huge record label who represents massive, massive stars - they've never done anything like this before, and they were so excited about this idea of an animated character which is singing legitimate music. It's not a comedy record, it's a legitimate record. And they really jumped on board. So, we've got our Facebook page up, we'll be jumping on Twitter very soon, and sort of be creating Haley outside of American Dad. ~ Rachael MacFarlane,
1091:The ones who show up to take, they show up and say, "Hi. My name is Steve. I'm an expert in this and I've studied this and I've worked with these clients." On every single power point presentation, it has their email, their Twitter handle and their Facebook account, so you can follow them. At the end, they tell you, "Please follow me." When you ask them a question, they say, "Well, I could tell you the answer, but you should really just read my book." ~ Simon Sinek,
1092:The newspaper industry when I came along in the mid-70s was rich and powerful and growing and hungry for material and open to new people. None of that is true in the newspaper industry today. Print in general is pretty rugged. The good thing is that you can gain a foothold on the Internet because everybody has access to it, even things like Twitter - I mean, you can get a reputation for being funny pretty quickly on Twitter, on a blog, that kind of thing. ~ Dave Barry,
1093:At first I was very anxious about starting Twitter, because I didn't really know what was expected of me. I now feel fairly relaxed, in that's it a way of telling people things that you are doing, without any attempt to be entertaining. To me, even funny people who are tweeting, it just gives a glib impression. You know that it's been constructed, that it's not a thing that's just happened in that moment. So whatever you read, the best you get is, "Eh." ~ Simon Amstell,
1094:When I was a student I did a report on Madagascar, and ever since then it was my biggest dream to go there. Three years ago I went, and it was so different. We live in this high tech world with Facebook, Twitter, and mobile phones, and there you land and you have nothing. Yet the people live and get by every day walking in the roads, living this super simple life, and they're still happy. It is an experience that keeps you humble, puts things in perspective. ~ Irina Shayk,
1095:Most kids come home from school. They don't go to their TVs first. They go to the Internet. They check their emails, or some blogs, or some sites. Then they go watch TV. Other people are at work all day 9-5 in front of a computer. They see certain clips. We're not going to hide the fact that people use the Internet. We're going to try to be as interactive as possible with our fans. I'm currently on Twitter and Facebook and Flicker and Dig. I'm on all that stuff. ~ Jimmy Fallon,
1096:I'm not a Twitter fan. I do it because I feel responsible to the two million people that follow me, but Twitter to me is just another thing I have do. And it's mostly a place for people to attack and abuse you. I don't really get much out of it, personally. I get hundreds of demands to answer the kind of medical questions that require three years of treatment to assess, yet people are furious when I don't solve their problems in 140 characters. It's really stunning. ~ Drew Pinsky,
1097:What social media has done - Facebook, Twitter - is show the audience. I don't have an audience. When I make my work, it just goes out into the ether. I have a thick skin and it just brings me down to earth, you know, to realize how out-there and far away and paltry the audience is that gets what I'm saying. It's depressing if I let it get to me. And it's the same with hanging a show, the way it's put up, like, three stories high and you can't read a single word. ~ Raymond Pettibon,
1098:You can maintain a giant number of weak ties to people on Facebook, Twitter, and whatever comes next, much like you can in a giant company. Strong ties, however, require constant grooming. People who use the number of friends they have on Facebook as a metric of their social standing are fooling themselves. You can share videos of fainting goats with hundreds of acquaintances and thousands of followers, but you can trust a secret only with a handful of true friends. ~ David McRaney,
1099:you get a good story about three times a year. It comes in the shower on a day you have time. Couple hours to crank out, couple more to edit and there you have it. But you aren’t responsible. It’s from some antenna you put out and it happens to pick up a signal. Ideas sit for years before the way to crack them hits you. You can’t force it. All you can do is try not to fuck it up. Stay out of its way. Don’t slack off and erase your mind reading about rape on Twitter. ~ Delicious Tacos,
1100:Carl sat musing until the sun leaped above the prairie, and in the grass about him all the small creatures of day began to tune their tiny instruments. Birds and insects without number began to chirp, to twitter, to snap and whistle, to make all manner of fresh shrill noises. The pasture was flooded with light; every clump of ironweed and snow-on-the-mountain threw a long shadow, and the golden light seemed to be rippling through the curly grass like the tide racing in. ~ Willa Cather,
1101:Dehumanizing and holding people accountable are mutually exclusive. Humiliation and dehumanizing are not accountability or social justice tools, they’re emotional off-loading at best, emotional self-indulgence at worst. And if our faith asks us to find the face of God in everyone we meet, that should include the politicians, media, and strangers on Twitter with whom we most violently disagree. When we desecrate their divinity, we desecrate our own, and we betray our faith. ~ Bren Brown,
1102:July had already been a busy month as Twitter had also moved into new offices: a fancy, modern, loftlike space with lots of windows and room to grow. Among the fun features they had added to the office (a living-room setup with a couch and video games, a large red phone booth, and a fully stocked kitchen with cereal and other snacks), Jack had suggested putting in a Radiohead room. “It can play Radiohead twenty-four hours a day!” he said excitedly when suggesting the idea. ~ Nick Bilton,
1103:Yet even in the best of cases, the need to be on call, to spend at least a certain amount of energy looking over one's shoulder, maintaining a false front, never looking too obviously engrossed, the inability to fully collaborate with others —all this lends itself much more to a culture of computer games, YouTube rants, memes, and Twitter controversies than to, say, the rock 'n' roll bands, drug poetry, and experimental theater created under the midcentury welfare state. ~ David Graeber,
1104:Formerly I believed books were made like this: a poet came, lightly opened his lips, and the inspired fool burst into song – if you please! But it seems, before they can launch a song, poets must tramp for days with callused feet, and the sluggish fish of the imagination flounders softly in the slush of the heart. And while, with twittering rhymes, they boil a broth of loves and nightingales, the tongueless street merely writhes for lack of something to shout or say ~ Vladimir Mayakovsky,
1105:Social media is a great thing, especially Twitter. They record all the threats, incriminating evidence, and fake news cyberbullies and their gangs put out there to harass an individual. It's out in public. It's traceable. And it's all for law enforcement to see. The act of harassing an individual online through "cybergangs" is a worse crime than what they are posting about that individual. - Strong by Kailin Gow about Social Media's Role in Aiding Law Enforcement Against Crime ~ Kailin Gow,
1106:Twitch!” No, that would never work, he thought. So he continued flipping through the tw’s in the dictionary. Twister. Twist tie. Twit. Twitch. Twitcher. Twitchy. Twite. And then, there it was. “The light chirping sound made by certain birds.” Noah’s heart started to pound as he continued to read. “A similar sound, especially light, tremulous speech or laughter.” This is it, he thought. “Agitation or excitement; flutter.” A verb. Twitter. Twitter. Twittered. Twittering. Twitters. ~ Nick Bilton,
1107:Don't slag off other creators or companies. We'll cheerfully mock dumb politicians on Twitter, but we try to never slam another creator's work or make fun of another company's projects or initiatives. First, because life's too short. We'd rather use that time to celebrate the fantastic work of colleagues and friends. Second, because it's a small world, and people have long memories. A few snarky words today can ruin a chance for an incredibly rewarding creative partnership tomorrow. ~ Greg Pak,
1108:Five years ago the Library of Congress began a project that collects every utterance on Twitter, in the name of preserving the nation’s digital heritage. That is billions weekly, sucked up for storage in secure tape archives, and the Library has yet to figure out how to make any of it available to researchers. Divorced from a human curator, the unfiltered mass of Twitter may as well be a garbage heap ["What Libraries Can (Still) Do," The New York Review Daily, October 26, 2015]. ~ James Gleick,
1109:There’s sort of a collective AI in Google Search, where we’re all sort of plugged in like nodes on the network; like leaves on a big tree. And we’re all feeding this network with our questions and answers. We’re all collectively programming the AI. And Google, plus all the humans that connect to it, are one giant cybernetic collective. This is also true of Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, and all these social networks. They’re giant cybernetic collectives. ~ Elon Musk, Human Civilization and AI,
1110:I draw a distinction between freedom of the internet and freedom via the internet. In the first case, it's making sure cyberspace is not over regulated and people can say what they want without fear of repercussions. But that's different from this freedom via the internet notion, which is often touted by all sorts of conservatives and neoconservatives who want young people in the Middle East and elsewhere in the world to use Facebook and Twitter and then go oppose their governments. ~ Evgeny Morozov,
1111:We’re being outdone both in terms of content, quality and quantity, and in terms of amplification strategies,” said Sasha Havlicek of the Institute for Strategic Dialogue, a London-based research organization, in a presentation at the meeting. She used a diagram of a small and large megaphone to illustrate the “monumental gap” between the Islamic State, which uses social media services like YouTube, Facebook and Twitter, and other groups and governments, including the Obama administration. ~ Anonymous,
1112:...and suddenly it occurred to him that the birds, whose twitters and repeated songs sounded so pretty and affirming of nature and the coming day, might actually, in a code known only to other birds, be the birds each saying 'Get away' or 'This branch is mine!' or 'This tree is mine! I'll kill you! Kill, kill!' Or any other manner of dark, brutal, or self-protective stuff—they might be listening to war cries. The thought came from nowhere and made his spirits dip for some reason. ~ David Foster Wallace,
1113:I'm also lonely. I'll admit it. I go to Twitter because I'm lonely. I get my coffee in the morning, and I live alone. I get on Twitter, and I sit and have my coffee. Sometimes I'll look at it for 30 minutes. I will waste a lot of time on Twitter. I do! But it's my guilty pleasure. And I'll look for some happy stories to retweet, and I'll say some uplifting things to people. I try not to get caught into - I used to get tangled up into some crazy stuff. But I try not to do that anymore. ~ Andie MacDowell,
1114:It is true that authoritarian governments increasingly see the internet as a threat in part because they see the US government behind the internet. It would not be accurate to say they are reacting to the threat posed by the internet, they are reacting to the threat poised by United States via the internet. They are not reacting against blogs, or Facebook or Twitter per se, they are reacting against organizations like the National Endowment for Democracy funding bloggers and activists. ~ Evgeny Morozov,
1115:I think it's good for the fans, as well, because they get to connect with you directly. You know, in the old days, if I wanted to, like, write to (Steven) Spielberg or Sam Raimi or whatever, I'm not sure I could actually write a fan mail and (I'd) have no idea where to actually send it. Nowadays, you can just, like, follow Ashton (Kutcher who still has among the most followers on Twitter) or, like, friend someone, you know, on Facebook, and you can actually just say, "Hey, I like your stuff." ~ James Wan,
1116:I think that people in the phase between being someone's kid and being someone's parent have always been uniquely narcissistic, but that social media and Twitter and LiveJournal make it really easy to navel-gaze in a way that you've never been able to before. People taking pictures of what they eat and showing them on their Facebook. People assume that people have a level of interest in what they're doing that's maybe far greater than it is, although there is an audience for all that stuff. ~ Lena Dunham,
1117:We don’t know our unconscious personality. We have hints, we have certain ideas, but we don’t know it really. Nobody can say where man ends. That is the beauty of it... The unconscious of man reach God knows where. There we are going to make discoveries. ~ Carl Jung"We don't live in a timeline any more."Our phenomenology of time is breaking down. Good. Breakdown of time-as-line affords us an opening, renews how we inhabit and relate to time. We should be asking what is possible.…,
1118:We live in a society of social networks, with Twitter pages and Facebook, and that’s fine, but we have contact with our work associates, our family, our friends, and it seems like half the time we are more preoccupied with our phone and other things going on instead of the actual relationships that we have right in front of us. Hopefully, people can learn from this and try to actually help if someone is battling something deeper on the inside than what they are revealing on a day-to-day basis. ~ Brady Quinn,
1119:Koopsta Knicca, Gangsta Boo, Lord Infamous and Crunchy [Black]. The name of the group is Da Mafia 6iX. So like I said we can't consider it a Three 6 Mafia reunion without all the members of the [group] being in it so we'll just say that it's a reunion of members of the Mafia that created a totally new group called Da Mafia 6iX. [Fans] are going crazy about it on Twitter, they happy as hell, they've been waiting on this for years, some of these members have been gone since 2000, you know, it's 2013. ~ DJ Paul,
1120:I made this bad joke on Twitter saying, "I want to put in my first no-bid contract to train the Libyan army and police force." These counter-insurgency guys like to say, "We don't do the big F-16 or big boondoggle projects, we're not pulling this stuff because it's good business." But in fact it turns out there are tons of business opportunities involving counter-insurgency operations - and it's not like we're getting rid of the boondoggle programs either, we're just doing more of everything. ~ Michael Hastings,
1121:investors, and perhaps even customers. As senior writer Austin Carr reports in “Under Fire,” beginning on page 64, failure will be an unavoidable part of defining that future. We also explain the clashing relationship between Twitter and Facebook (page 27), how TV and the web continue to merge (through the eyes of Katie Couric, page 80), and what the evolving science of microbiomes can teach us about human health (page 86). None of these topics would have been predicted by Fast Company’ s founders—a ~ Anonymous,
1122:I've got my laptop, but it troubles me in many ways. I don't have Twitter or Facebook or anything like that. It ruins a romantic idea, which might just be an illusion, a sense of depth or continuity. I know there are lots of positives in the evolution of technology, but I also think it will be responsible for the end of a unique character, of a specific kind of geographical culture. The world is getting so small, and mass production is getting so big. Everything is in danger of becoming the same. ~ Laura Marling,
1123:The reason knowledge workers are losing their familiarity with deep work is well established: network tools. This is a broad category that captures communication services like e-mail and SMS, social media networks like Twitter and Facebook, and the shiny tangle of infotainment sites like BuzzFeed and Reddit. In aggregate, the rise of these tools, combined with ubiquitous access to them through smartphones and networked office computers, has fragmented most knowledge workers’ attention into slivers. ~ Cal Newport,
1124:It used to be, if you were a reporter, you wrote a story and then you moved on to the next one. We were used to people coming to the New York Times. We waited for them to turn on our website or to pick up our print paper and see what we have. We now understand that we have to make our stories available to our readers. A lot of people get their news from Facebook or Twitter and we want to make sure that they see some of our best stories there, too. We do this more aggressively now than we did before. ~ Dean Baquet,
1125:I told you not to take off work for this."
“And miss your big finale? No way.I’m all atwitter to see how things turn out.”
“That’s cute, Jordo.” Then he frowned as
Nick McCall was suddenly there, in their lives, and
Kyle was therefore being a little…cautious before
welcoming him into the family.
“Be nice, Kyle,” Jordan warned.
“What?” he asked innocently. “When have I ever
not been nice to Tall, Dark, and You Can’t Be
Serious About This Guy?”
“I like him. Get used to it. ~ Julie James,
1126:Each time we check a Twitter feed or Facebook update, we encounter something novel and feel more connected socially (in a kind of weird impersonal cyber way) and get another dollop of reward hormones. But remember, it is the dumb, novelty-seeking portion of the brain driving the limbic system that induces this feeling of pleasure, not the planning, scheduling, higher-level thought centers in the prefrontal cortex. Make no mistake: E-mail, Facebook, and Twitter checking constitute a neural addiction ~ Daniel J Levitin,
1127:The president had disappeared to a secure location but had responded with the full force of his Twitter account. He posted: “OUR ENEMIES DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY STARTED! PAYBACK IS A BITCH!!! #Denver #Colorado #America!!” The vice president had promised to pray as hard as he could for the survivors and the dead; he pledged to stay on his knees all day and all night long. It was reassuring to know our national leaders were using all the resources at their disposal to help the desperate: social media and Jesus. ~ Joe Hill,
1128:Priebus, Porter and others continued to try to persuade Trump to curtail his use of Twitter. “This is my megaphone,” Trump replied. “This is the way that I speak directly to the people without any filter. Cut through the noise. Cut through the fake news. That’s the only way I have to communicate. I have tens of millions of followers. This is bigger than cable news. I go out and give a speech and it’s covered by CNN and nobody’s watching, nobody cares. I tweet something and it’s my megaphone to the world. ~ Bob Woodward,
1129:Oxford, designed part of an exhibition for the Yorkshire Museum, worked as a researcher for a BBC documentary presented by Ian Hislop, and worked at Polesden Lacey with the National Trust. She has a degree in History and English, and a Masters in Medieval Studies, both from the University of York. Emily has a medieval series, a Regency series, and a Western series published, and is currently working on several new projects. You can follow her on twitter and instagram @emilyekmurdoch, find her on facebook ~ Emily Murdoch,
1130:For all my concerns, though, watching the Women’s March, I couldn’t help but be swept up in the joy of the moment and feel like the unmistakable vitality of American democracy was reasserting itself before our eyes. My Twitter feed filled up with photos of marchers holding funny, poignant, indignant signs: “So Bad, Even Introverts Are Here.” “Ninety, Nasty, and Not Giving Up!” “Science Is Not a Liberal Conspiracy.” One adorable little boy had this message around his neck: “I ♥ Naps but I Stay Woke. ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
1131:[On the Internet and activism:] The danger of the Internet is cocooning with the like-minded online - of sending an email or twitter and confusing that with action - while the real corporate and military and government centers of power go right on. In a way, the highest purpose of the Internet is to bring us together for empathy and action. After all, the reflector cells and empathy-producing chemicals in our brains only work when we're physically together with all five senses. You can't raise a baby online. ~ Gloria Steinem,
1132:The tweets are getting shorter, but the songs are still 4 minutes long. You're coming up with 140-character zingers, and the song is still 4 minutes long…I realized about a year ago that I couldn't have a complete thought anymore. And I was a tweetaholic. I had four million twitter followers, and I was always writing on it. And I stopped using twitter as an outlet and I started using twitter as the instrument to riff on, and it started to make my mind smaller and smaller and smaller. And I couldn't write a song. ~ John Mayer,
1133:Twitter was only the gateway, the portal into the endless city of the internet. Whole days went by on clicking, my attention snared over and over by pockets and ladders of information; an absent, ardent witness to the world, the Lady of Shalott with her back to the window, watching the shadows of the real appear in the lent blue glass of her magic mirror. I used to read like that, back in the age of paper, the finished century, to bury myself in a book, and now I gazed at the screen, my cathected silver lover. ~ Olivia Laing,
1134:What is a tremendous, unspeakable honor may feel insufficient for those who are used to being god of their own blogs and Twitter accounts. It feels insignificant to those who have erected their own shrines on Facebook and Instagram, filled with beautiful pictures of themselves. Herein lies the danger of clamoring for attention: we don’t realize that true joy comes from the opposite. Joy comes as we stand among those Jesus has redeemed and get lost in a sea of worship, becoming fully a part of something sacred. ~ Francis Chan,
1135:The media are used to being able to control the agenda of both their friends and their enemies, their buddies and their opponents, and Trump doesn't play by their rules because Trump is not afraid of them. And Trump knows that he doesn't need them. That's the big equalizer. Unlike most Republicans who think they can't get anywhere without at least some favorable treatment in the media or at least less criticism from the media, Trump doesn't need the media. He's got his Twitter account and he's got his rallies. ~ Rush Limbaugh,
1136:I consider us to be one of the first Internet-based bands, especially because we basically started our entire band via the Internet. Before MySpace Music even existed, we had a band MySpace page. We were one of the first fifty bands on PureVolume(.com), and we really built everything from the Internet. That's how we started talking to record labels, that's how we booked our first tours. Without the Internet social networking, like Twitter, we definitely wouldn't be where we are today. It is a huge part of the band. ~ Jack Barakat,
1137:It's funny, now that we have Twitter and Facebook and stuff, you can really see how you affect fans. Before all that, fans couldn't tell you exactly how they feel, unless they came up after a show, and even then you can't stand there and talk to everybody in the audience. So it's nice to see people tweet me and say, "Your music has changed my life," or "I had my baby to your music," or "I got married to your music." I've heard so many things, and it's amazing to hear people's stories and how you affect their life. ~ Robert Glasper,
1138:Valentine's Day
Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream;
I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth,
And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.
I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky,
And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest;
And if some one came and shot me dead, why then I could but die,
With my tiny life and tiny song just ended at their best.
~ Charles Kingsley,
1139:Of course that was before reality TV, Twitter, Twaddle, and the like managed to reduce the average attention span of most of the world’s population to two minutes, wither our long-term memory to fourteen months, and convince us that the most admirable of all individuals are not the likes of George Washington, Albert Einstein, Marie Curie, Jonas Salk, Mother Teresa, and Nikola Tesla, but instead whatever celebrity just won Dancing with the Stars and whatever dancing cat just drew ten million hits for its YouTube video. ~ Dean Koontz,
1140:Everybody has something now. It's become very over-saturated, and it's hard to weed out what's good, what you should watch and what you have time to watch. And Twitter was much less crowded, at the time, and it was an easier way to reach people. So, the combination of having a great video, a lot more access to people through Twitter, and having Kickstarter be this new thing in. We tapped into it, at its inception, and got people interested in it just based on the concept of what Kickstarter was. The timing was right. ~ Simon Helberg,
1141:Today, all our wives and husbands have Blackberries or iPhones or Android devices or whatever-the progeny of those original 950 and 957 models that put data in our pockets. Now we all check their email (or Twitter, or Facebook, or Instagram, or) compulsively at the dinner table, or the traffic light. Now we all stow our devices on the nightstand before bed, and check them first thing in the morning. We all do. It's not abnormal, and it's not just for business. It's just what people do. Like smoking in 1965, it's just life. ~ Ian Bogost,
1142:Given that there are seven billion people living on this earth, there is a consistent quantity of imbecile or idiot, okay. Previously, these people could express themselves only with their friends or at the bar after two or three glasses of something, and they said every silliness, and people laughed. Now they have the possibility to show up on the internet. And so, on the internet, along with the messages of a lot of interesting and important people - even the Pope is writing on Twitter - we have a great quantity of idiots. ~ Umberto Eco,
1143:Paradise, blooded daughter of Abalone, First Adviser to the King, frowned at the screen of her Apple lappy. She’d set herself up here in her father’s library ever since he’d started working each night for Wrath, son of Wrath, because in the old rambling Tudor mansion, Wi-Fi was strongest at this desk. Not that a good signal was helping her at the moment. Her Hotmail account was full of unread messages, because, with iMessage on her phone and her Twitter, Instagram, and FB accounts, there was no reason to sign into it very often. ~ J R Ward,
1144:When social media companies are paid directly by users instead of by hidden third parties, then they will serve those users. It’s so simple. Someone will be able to pay to see poisonous propaganda, but they won’t be able to pay to have that poison directed at someone else. The incentive for poisoning the world will be undone. I won’t have an account on Facebook, Google, or Twitter until I can pay for it—and I unambiguously own and set the price for using my data, and it’s easy and normal to earn money if my data is valuable. ~ Jaron Lanier,
1145:The whole press thing and who you are in the media, or what you have to project yourself to be, it feels very much like another person. People say to me, "Oh, your life must be changing," and I'm like, "Uh, I guess?" For me, it's such a gradual change, and I don't see it from the outside like everybody else does. It's weird, I see my face on a bus or online or somebody has my picture as their picture on Twitter and it's all a bit weird and I feel very disconnected from it and very much, "I guess that's me." It's very surreal. ~ Tatiana Maslany,
1146:I want to lie beside you and know the weight of your dreams,” he said, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I want to share whole worlds with you and write your name in the stars.” He moved closer and a chorus of songbirds twittered silver melodies. “I want to measure eternity with your laughter.” Now, he stood inches from me; his rough hands encircled my waist. “Be my queen and I promise you a life where you will never be bored. I promise you more power than a hundred kings. And I promise you that we will always be equals. ~ Roshani Chokshi,
1147:Twitter is the only brand of social media that I have ever taken to at all. I like the feeling of having my perception of the world expanded daily, 24/7, by being able to monitor the reactions of 100-and-some people throughout the world that I personally follow so I have some sense of who they are. There has never really been anything like that before, at least in terms of the digestible 140-character bandwidth that Twitter is based on. I am able to wake up, open Twitter, and sort of glance across the psychic state of the planet. ~ William Gibson,
1148:Mike Pence came out and said this was a courtesy call, then Donald Trump a few hours later went on Twitter, as is his wont, and essentially linked the call to Taiwan with a whole series of things he doesn't like about Chinese economic and foreign policies and implied that the U.S. views of the status of Taiwan are now up for negotiation, that he wants them to be part of a broader negotiation with China about a whole series of economic and foreign policy issues. So, we just don't really know what exactly they're planing to do with this. ~ Geoff Dyer,
1149:Here in America we have a man [Donald Trump] who is a master of a medium that is all about self-aggrandizement and/or cruelty to others. I have been off Twitter lately because I had this sudden sort of feeling of, this man is the president of this club and it's not a club that I want to be in. Sometimes I feel like, well, perhaps it's not right because as a political activist, this is where politics is happening right now. This is where the conversation is going on, but at the same time, I think there is something corrosive about it. ~ Ben H Winters,
1150:I have friends that I have made through Twitter or things like that, but they're all verified as real people - I've either seen them perform, or we're mutual fans of each other, something like that. I don't have any authentic. I have a lot of good people in my actual life, but I will say that it's a strange time that we live in - it's easy to make friends and to make connections through social media, and if you're a good-hearted person, sometimes you can just assume people are who they say they are, and that isn't always the case. ~ Katie Featherston,
1151:All the bad publicity they brought down on us, yes, it came, and yes, it hurt us—for a day. That’s how long the dirt clung, maybe a bit less. Twitter, Facebook, TV and internet news—you know how long a story stays up on a news website these days, unless it’s about some celebrity scandal? Guess. Go on—guess. Three hours. That’s how much we hurt. And then the world turned, and someone tweeted something new, and everyone retweeted it and moved on, and nothing fucking changes. That’s the world. That’s people power. That’s all it fucking means. ~ Claire North,
1152:I want to quit. Not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air, after reading a mean Twitter comment, and say, 'All right! You got it. You figured me out. I'm not pretty. I'm not thin. I do not deserve to use my voice. I'll start wearing a burqa and start waiting tables at a pancake house. All my self-worth is based on what you can see.' But then I think, F*** that ... I am a woman with thoughts and questions and s*** to say. I say if I'm beautiful. I say if I'm strong. You will not determine my story - I will. ~ Amy Schumer,
1153:Baumeister and his group wrote in the social-exclusion paper that being part of society means accepting a bargain between you and others. If you will self-regulate and not be selfish, then you get to stay and enjoy the rewards of having a circle of friends and society as a whole, but if you break that bargain, society will break its promise and reject you. Your friend groups will stop inviting you to parties and will unfollow you on Twitter. If you are too selfish in your larger social group, it might reject you by sending you to jail or worse. ~ David McRaney,
1154:Donald Trump is the kind of guy that wants you to like him. He wants to be the centre of attention. A TV reporter is somebody who gives him a very grand stage, and I was the first national television correspondent following his campaign. So he wanted to charm me - and when he couldn't do that, he attacked. And it's the same thing he does every day with senators; he'll be charming with them and the next day he will go out and attack them on Twitter and if they don't fall in line. He toggles back and forth between these two aspects of his personality. ~ Katy Tur,
1155:Magazines in the traditional sense were aggregators of novelty. A good magazine was a lot of novelty, stuff you've never heard of before, clearly aggregated by people who have been able to travel further and dig deeper than you have been able to do. And that used to be really an important source of stuff for me. And now it is less important because the Internet has eaten it all up. But my Twitter feed as an aggregator of novelty is like... I don't know what I would do if it became any more powerful, I would have to start reining it in somehow. ~ William Gibson,
1156:I ate a lot of candy and engaged in light stalking: I prowled Blythe’s Instagram and Twitter, I read her reviews, considered photos of her baked goods and watched from a distance as she got on her soapbox – at one point bragging she was the only person she knew who used her real name and profession online. As my fascination mounted, and my self-loathing deepened, I reminded myself that there are worse things than rabid bloggers (cancer, for instance) and that people suffer greater degradations than becoming writers. But still, I wanted to respond. ~ Kathleen Hale,
1157:The popular social network Twitter is handing over to data scientists at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s famed Media Lab every message ever tweeted. It’s part of a five-year $10 million program to develop new ways to understand and use social networks. The school is setting up a Laboratory for Social Machines,where researchers will work on methods for understanding public opinion through the messages we post online. The lab will be able to analyze all new Twitter messages in real time, as well as the company’s archive of all previous tweets. ~ Anonymous,
1158:One day the air was mild, the Luxembourg was flooded with sun and shade, the sky was as pure as if angels had rinsed it that morning, the sparrows were twittering deep in the chestnut trees, Marius had opened his whole soul to nature, he was not thinking anything, he lived and breathed, he passed close by the bench, the young girl glanced up at him and their eyes met. What was there this time in the young girl’s gaze? Marius could not have said. It was nothing and everything. It was a strange lightning flash. She dropped her gaze and he went on his way. ~ Victor Hugo,
1159:Sneaking, Following & Escaping! I got in trouble the first time I went out on a mission. It was just myself and an agent named [name deleted]. As the two of us made dead drops, staked out enemy agents, and stopped for a quick shopping trip (I had a coupon for pickles!), I’d tweet our precise location. (I did this so my mother would know that her favorite child was safe.) But when [name deleted] found out what I was doing, she was NOT amused. She took away my iPhone, broke my Twitter account, and confiscated my pickle jar. Luckily, I had another coupon! ~ Bart King,
1160:Believing that God is not only watching you but has high expectations creates one kind of society. Believing that getting “likes” on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or Snapchat (or whatever comes next) undoubtedly creates another kind. The average iPhone user unlocks his or her phone at least eighty times per day, and that number is rising every year. 8 And yet, despite the fact each of us has access to more information in our pockets than any scholar in the world had twenty years ago, we don’t use it. We drown in information but we starve for knowledge. ~ Jonah Goldberg,
1161:Participation in our democracy seems to be driven by the instant-gratification worlds of Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and the twenty-four-hour news cycle. We’re using modern technology to revert to primitive kinds of human relations. The media knows what sells—conflict and division. It’s also quick and easy. All too often anger works better than answers; resentment better than reason; emotion trumps evidence. A sanctimonious, sneering one-liner, no matter how bogus, is seen as straight talk, while a calm, well-argued response is seen as canned and phony. ~ Bill Clinton,
1162:When people say, "Show your face, you're not ugly." I want to say, "I know. I'm not doing it because I think I'm ugly; I'm trying to have some control over my image. And I'm allowed to maintain some modicum of privacy. But also I'd like not to be picked apart or for people to observe when I put on ten pounds or I have a hair extension out of place." Most people don't have to be under that pressure, and I'd like to be one of them. I don't go on Twitter. Because when people say things like, I don't know, "I hope you get cancer and die," it hurts my feelings. ~ Sia Furler,
1163:Research shows that great artists, scientists, and other types of creators have an abundance of dopamine in their system that allows them to deal with novelty,” Kaufman explained. In other words, they are extra-motivated to seek out the new and can then channel that novelty seeking into being creative. Kaufman calls dopamine “the mother of invention” and explains that because we have a limited amount of it, we must be judicious about choosing to spend it on “increasing our wonder and excitement for creating meaning and new things like art—or on Twitter. ~ Manoush Zomorodi,
1164:A $200 million contract just got awarded to develop software to provide the Department of Defense with all these sock puppets who have fake Twitter and Facebook accounts. Why not create ten fake Libyan Twitter users and then get one journalist to follow them. But the problem is, of course, it corrupts the entire process. One of the caveats is that anything they write is going to be in a foreign language so it won't affect Americans. But that doesn't make any sense because: A) it can be translated pretty easily, and B) Americans also speak other languages. ~ Michael Hastings,
1165:It was the combination of EC2 and S3 - storage and compute, two primitives linked together - that transformed both AWS and the technology world. Startups no longer needed to spend their venture capital on buying servers and hiring specialized engineers to run them. Infrastructure costs were variable instead of fixed, and they could grow in direct proportion to revenues. It freed companies to experiment, to change their business models with a minimum of pain, and to keep up with the rapidly growing audiences of erupting social networks like Facebook and Twitter. ~ Brad Stone,
1166:For every video that swiftly satuated the internet-I'd mom-danced with Jimmy Fallon, Nerf-dunked on LeBron James, and college-rapped with Jay Pharoah- we'd focused ourselves on doing more than trending for a few hours on Twitter. And we had results. Forty-five million kids were eating healthier breakfasts and lunches; eleven million students were getting sixty minutes of physical activity every day through our Let's Move! Active Schools Program. Children were overall eating more whole grains and produce. The era of supersized fast food was coming to a close. ~ Michelle Obama,
1167:I can write anywhere really. I have a hard time writing when the birds are tweeting and the brooks are running outside. I've tried that several times, for months at a time, trying to write in a quiet, wonderful place where birds are twittering and coffee's brewing. And nothing happens. But if I'm in an old dump like my old apartment and I can't find my fingernail clippers and nothing's working except the old tea maker, that's just great. You always have to find and live in a place that's a little uncomfortable when you're a writer. You need a burr in your side. ~ James McBride,
1168:In 2009, the Twitter homepage attempted to boost motivation. But by 2012, Twitter had discovered that no matter how much users knew about the service, driving them to open an account and start following people resulted in much higher engagement. Recently, Twitter’s homepage has been modified slightly to encourage downloading of the company’s mobile apps (figure 17). The simplicity of the large sign-in or sign-up triggers on the 2012 version remain, but Twitter now knows that driving users to install the app on their phones leads to the highest rates of repeat engagement. ~ Nir Eyal,
1169:I mean,” Rosalie went on in a tone of renewed encouragement, “here’s Vormoncrief, for instance.” “Here is not Vormoncrief,” Ekaterin said firmly, grasping for the one certain anchor in this whirlwind of confusion. “Absolutely not. You’ve never met the man, Rosalie, but take it from me, he’s a twittering idiot. Aunt Vorthys, am I right or not?” The Professora smiled fondly at her. “I would not put it so bluntly, dear, but really, Rosalie, shall we say, I think Ekaterin can do better. There’s plenty of time yet.” “Do you think so?” Rosalie took in this assurance ~ Lois McMaster Bujold,
1170:No doubt there was some time-wasting in coffee houses, as their critics claimed. But coffee houses also provided a lively intellectual and social environment in which people could meet and ideas could collide in unexpected ways, producing a stream of innovations that shaped the modern world. On balance, the introduction of coffee houses did far more good than harm, which should give those concerned about the time-wasting potential of Internet-based social platforms pause for thought. What new ideas and unexpected connections might be brewing in Twitter’s global coffeehouse? ~ Tom Standage,
1171:Democrats need to catch up and leapfrog ahead. And this isn’t just about data. We need an “always-on” content distribution network that can match what the right-wing has built. That means an array of loosely connected Facebook pages, Instagram accounts, Twitter feeds, Snapchat stories, and Reddit communities churning out memes, graphics, and videos. More sophisticated data collection and analysis can support and feed this network. I’m no expert in these matters, but I know enough to understand that most people get their news from screens, so we have to be there 24/7. ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
1172:When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye; Or overtaken too far from his nest, Hurrying low above the grove, some waif Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe! Now let the night be dark for all of me. Let the night be too dark for me to see Into the future. Let what will be, be. ~ Robert Frost,
1173:Having someone in your class call you fat, ugly, too tall and so on, you start to think all those things about yourself. And if you're like me, those words are played on repeat inside your head. When I was at home, I felt loved and safe. My sisters were always a safe haven for me. I knew they would always play with me and make me feel like I was one of them. Now we have so many more social outlets, there are so many ways to be stalked and bullied. If social media is too much for you to handle then don't have a Twitter or Facebook account, just be yourself. Be who you want to be. ~ Khloe Kardashian,
1174:MySpace is somehow more welcoming than Facebook. And Twittering, I just... Ugh. I like having radio silence. I think radio silence is an important part of any public figure's day. We haven't seen it yet, but there's going to be a generation that comes up where the new trend will be complete anonymity. It'll be cool to have never posted anything online, commented, opened a webpage or a MySpace. I think everyone in the future is going to be allowed to be obscure for 15 minutes. You'll have 15 minutes where no one is watching you, and then you'll be shoved back onto your reality show. ~ Patton Oswalt,
1175:Then what do you want form me?"

"I want to lie beside you and know the weight of your dreams," he said, brushing his lips against my knuckles. "I want to share whole worlds with you and write your name in the stars." He moved closer and a chorus of songbirds twittered silver melodies.

"I want to measure eternity with your laughter."

Now, he stood inches from me; his rough hands encircled my waist. "Be my queen and I promise you a life where you will never be bored. I promise you more power than a hundred kings. And I promise you that we will always be equals. ~ Roshani Chokshi,
1176:With the communication internet, whole industries have been disrupted. You're in the publishing industry, you understand that. Before, we had newspapers, magazines - now you're on the web. I'm in book publishing. I don't have to tell you what's happened to us. Television has taken a hit. The music industry. But, thousands of new businesses have emerged on this new communication revolution platform. Not just Google, Facebook, and Twitter. There are thousands of operations. Businesses that are doing the platforms, the apps. They're mining the big data. They're creating the connections. ~ Jeremy Rifkin,
1177:Twitter to najbardziej charakterystyczne medium nowych czasów; medium posttelewizyjne, postradiowe i postgazetowe. Medium, które jednocześnie jest portalem informacyjnym, lepszej generacji serwisem SMS, systemem alarmowym, gdy dzieje się coś ważnego w naszym mieście bądź w świecie, czatem pomiędzy użytkownikami, wyszukiwarką tendencji, trendów, opinii, miejscem publikacji i promowania prac, wypowiedzi, nagrań, zdjęć, klasycznym serwisem społecznościowym z elementami — dlaczegóż by nie — znajdowania najbardziej kreatywnych, inteligentnych współpracowników po wsłuchaniu się w ich opowieści. ~ Anonymous,
1178:You're gonna die. You're gonna die. And nobody's gonna care which version of the iPhone you used to make something on Twitter, or to go and post about your bowel movement on Facebook. And I'm not even talking about legacy; I'm talking about the fact that I personally feel most alive when I'm making something, and I feel least alive when I'm being led around by some obnoxious use of my attention that I wasn't aware of. To me, that's the thing. You can buy the jogging shoes and you can buy the Runner's World, but until you put them on and walk out the door every day, you're just a fat man. ~ Merlin Mann,
1179:Use tools like Alexa and Klout that measure influence to get a rough metric for who’s dominating a particular space. Peruse Twitter for best-of lists and to see who’s most frequently retweeted, then become their most charming stalker. Connect to them in social media, listen to what they’re saying, and over time, weigh in. Once you know what would truly interest them, upgrade communications with a value-added email ping. Don’t worry if you don’t get a response; in a month, send another. Watch for opportunities to meet these people in person at conferences, book signings, and other events. ~ Keith Ferrazzi,
1180:Las compañías de inversiones de riesgo que invirtieron en Duolingo saben que la posibilidad de que no recuperen su dinero es de 95%, porque la posibilidad de que un start-up tecnológico falle es de 95%. Pero ésa es, precisamente, la idea de una inversión de riesgo”, me dijo Von Ahn. “Hacen la inversión con la idea —y eso es lo que falta en Latinoamérica— de que si invierten en 100 start-ups, y todas son de alto riesgo, 95 de ellas van a fallar, pero 5 de ellas van a ser el próximo Google o el próximo Twitter. Y con esas 5 van a pagar por todo el resto, y aún van a ganar mucho dinero.”24 ~ Andr s Oppenheimer,
1181:As an example, here are a few of the more popular social media IFTTT tasks that may help you organize your social media: • Send all your Tweets to a Google spreadsheet. • Update your Twitter profile picture when you update your Facebook profile picture. • Automatically Tweet your Facebook status updates. • Post all pictures posted to Instagram on Twitter. • Archive photos you are tagged in on Facebook to Dropbox. • Archive all links you share on Facebook to a single file in Evernote. • Archive all photos you “like” on Instagram to Dropbox. • Have your iPhone pictures emailed to you as you take them. ~ S J Scott,
1182:She rose and washed and dressed herself and braided her hair freshly, and having made her room neat for the day she went into the peach-tree garden. It lay in the silence of the spring morning. Under the early sun the dew still hung in a bright mist on the grass, and the pool in the center of the garden was brimming its stone walls. The water was clear and the fish were flashing their golden sides near the surface. The great low-built house that surrounded the garden was still in sleep. Birds twittered in the eaves undisturbed and a small Pekingese dog slept on the threshold like a small lioness. ~ Pearl S Buck,

Being apart and lonely is like rain.
It climbs toward evening from the ocean plains;
from flat places, rolling and remote, it climbs
to heaven, which is its old abode.
And only when leaving heaven drops upon the city.

It rains down on us in those twittering
hours when the streets turn their faces to the dawn,
and when two bodies who have found nothing,
dissapointed and depressed, roll over;
and when two people who despise each other
have to sleep together in one bed-

that is when loneliness receives the rivers

~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Loneliness
1184:When bored, many people seek excitement and turn to dramatic news headlines. When we feel overly stressed we seek calm, perhaps finding relief in sites like Pinterest. When we feel lonely, destinations like Facebook and Twitter provide instant social connections. To ameliorate the sensation of uncertainty, Google is just a click away. Email, perhaps the mother of all habit-forming technology, is a go-to solution for many of our daily agitations, from validating our importance (or even, simply our existence) by checking to see if someone needs us, to providing an escape from life's more mundane moments. ~ Nir Eyal,
1185:...a new day was starting, the things of the garden were not concerned with our troubles. A blackbird ran across the rose-garden to the lawns in swift, short rushes, stopping now and again to stab at the earth with his yellow beak. A thrush, too, went about his business, and two stout, little wagtails, following one another, and a little cluster of twittering sparrows. A gull poised himself high in the air, silent and alone, and then spread his wings wide and swooped beyond the lawns to the woods and the Happy Valley. These things continued, our worries and anxieties had no power to alter them. ~ Daphne du Maurier,
1186:Given the incredible power that new technologies give both governments and terrorists we need a strong American Civil Liberties Union and a strong National Security Agency. In a cyberage, you should want an A.C.L.U. watching the watchers. But you should also want an N.S.A. watching the superempowered, cyberempowered angry people. Civil liberties absolutists may think the 9/11 era is over, but do the jihadist fanatics who use Facebook, Twitter and WhatsApp as their command and control system? We need to worry about Big Terrorist and Big Criminal as much as Big Brother if we want to prevent another 9/11. ~ Anonymous,
1187:It somehow made sense to me to draw big, sweeping analogies between the modern-day cultural avoidance of real social contact in favor of reasonable facsimiles thereof—Facebook, Twitter, interactive video games—and our modern-day cultural avoidance of real, fulfilling nourishment in favor of reasonable facsimiles thereof—fast food, processed food, convenience food. Is modern society based on our collective desire to run away from consciousness/deep feeling/God? Is it possible that a practice of what Alex called “Holly Food” could represent the fledgling beginnings of a way back to … what? Spirituality? ~ Eve O Schaub,
1188:MarkBaynard: If you start hanging out over here, won't your Facebook Friends miss you?

Abby Donovan: Those people weren't my friends. If they had been, they wouldn't have sent me all those annoying quizzes.

MarkBaynard: A true friend never asks you to feed their imaginary fish. Or fertilize their imaginary crops.

Abby Donovan: Although with a little coaxing, I might be persuaded to take home your imaginary kitten. So how is Twitter different from Facebook?

MarkBaynard: Twitter is the perpetual cocktail party where everyone is talking at once but nobody is saying anything. ~ Teresa Medeiros,
1189:Before all this started, I was happier than I had been in years. I was engaged to the woman of my dreams, fulfilled in my career and friendships. I smiled at people on the Tube, and woke up excited at life. By the time of the final court hearing, I was on anti-schizophrenic medication, with a shot immune system and an adrenal system on its knees. My Twitter and Facebook feeds were being monitored round the clock and anything the opposing lawyers felt was inappropriate (a generic tweet about free speech after the Charlie Hebdo atrocity, for example) led to instant threatening letters demanding their deletion. ~ Anonymous,
1190:Maybe you saw this soft-drink commercial. The camera follows a pleasant-looking, college-age young man at a social event in a large house. It’s the holidays, and he is busy introducing you to his various friends and family, singing a song, and passing out soft drinks. There’s his mom, his sis, his brother, his “surprisingly cool stepmother,” and the two kids his stepmom had before meeting his dad, plus aunts, cousins, office mates, his best friend, his judo coach, his allergist, even his Twitter fans. It was the clearest example I have seen that the definition of the American family is changing. Rapidly. It ~ John Medina,
1191:The First Swallow
gorse is yellow on the heath,
banks with speedwell flowers are gay,
oaks are budding, and, beneath,
hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,
silver wreath, of May.
The welcome guest of settled Spring,
The swallow, too, has come at last;
Just at sunset, when thrushes sing,
I saw her dash with rapid wing,
And hailed her as she passed.
Come, summer visitant, attach
To my reed roof your nest of clay,
And let my ear your music catch,
Low twittering underneath the thatch
At the gray dawn of day.
~ Charlotte Smith,
1192:This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,  
This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,  
This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.  
Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?  
Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the           side of a rock has.  
Do you take it I would astonish?  
Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering           through the woods?  
Do I astonish more than they?  
This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. ~ Walt Whitman,
1193:Are you sure you’re not a witch?” he teased lightly, his teeth nipping at the sensitive lobe of my ear.
My stomach twittered excitedly and I leaned into him.
“If I’m a witch, you’re a devil,” I returned breathlessly, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t stop, that we could just continue on in our little bubble of oblivion.
Jackson chuckled, a sound that sent chills racing down my back.
“Now that’s entirely possible,” Jackson admitted, leaning back to grin down into my face. When his eyes settled on mine, his smile died and I fell headlong into the intensity of his sky blue gaze. “I love you. ~ Michelle Leighton,
1194:There must be a concerted effort to turn people away from fundamentalist Islam. Imagine a platform for Muslim dissidents that communicated their message through YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Imagine ten reformist magazines for every one issue of IS’s “Dibuq” or Al-Qaeda’s “Inspire”. Such a strategy would also give us an opportunity to shift our alliances to those Muslim individuals and groups who actually share our values and practices – those who fight for a true Reformation and who find themselves maligned and marginalized by those nations and leaders and imams whom we now embrace as allies. ~ Ayaan Hirsi Ali,
1195:BERNIE: I think America should get a pony. HILLARY: How will you pay for the pony? Where will the pony come from? How will you get Congress to agree to the pony? BERNIE: Hillary thinks America doesn’t deserve a pony. BERNIE SUPPORTERS: Hillary hates ponies! HILLARY: Actually, I love ponies. BERNIE SUPPORTERS: She changed her position on ponies! #WhichHillary? #WitchHillary HEADLINE: “Hillary Refuses to Give Every American a Pony” DEBATE MODERATOR: Hillary, how do you feel when people say you lie about ponies? WEBSITE HEADLINE: “Congressional Inquiry into Clinton’s Pony Lies” TWITTER TRENDING: #ponygate ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
1196:A story by Alice Park on the aging effects of fat on kids' bodies drew some pointed comments about parental accountability. "Your story is horrifying," wrote Susan Stafford of Berkeley, Calif. "But no one gains weight out of nowhere. People live in denial about food. Parents eat garbage and feed their kids the same." Diabetic Peter Baxter of Brighton, England, advocated for home cooking to combat ubiquitous ads for meals "that will kill children." Meanwhile Katy Steinmetz's piece on state initiatives to ban big soda was widely shared on Twitter, where food writer Mark Bittman wrote, "The soda wars escalate. ~ Anonymous,
1197:They’re called sock puppets. We create armies of artificial online personas – user accounts that espouse views certain interested parties want espoused. We flood forums, online comment sections, social media. ... It’s amazing what a few people and a little money can accomplish online. Our puppets have turned whole elections. … Everything the public sees is managed. If there’s a valuable brand to protect – whether it’s a person or a dish soap – these fuckers are out there protecting it, shaping the narrative. I mean… who the hell follows dish soap on Twitter? How does anyone believe that shit’s real? (p. 292-294) ~ Daniel Suarez,
1198:Around 2010, Peter Thiel, the PayPal cofounder and early Facebook investor, began promoting the idea that the technology industry had let people down. “We wanted flying cars, instead we got 140 characters” became the tagline of his venture capital firm Founders Fund. In an essay called “What Happened to the Future,” Thiel and his cohorts described how Twitter, its 140-character messages, and similar inventions have let the public down. He argued that science fiction, which once celebrated the future, has turned dystopian because people no longer have an optimistic view of technology’s ability to change the world. I ~ Ashlee Vance,
1199:It’s super-important to have a strong social media presence, and Jane’s always going, When interviewers ask you about your Twitter, say you love reaching out directly to your fans, and I’m like, I don’t even know how to use Twitter or what the password is because you disabled my laptop’s wireless and only let me go on the Internet to do homework research or email Nadine assignments, and she says, I’m doing you a big favor, it’s for nobodies who want to pretend like they’re famous and for self-promoting hacks without PR machines, and adults act like teenagers passing notes and everyone’s IQ drops thirty points on it. ~ Teddy Wayne,
1200:When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be. ~ Robert Frost,
1201:Nicholas Was . . . older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die. The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories. Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time. He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher. Ho. Ho. Ho. ~ Neil Gaiman,
1202:Conventional software assumes that API users are second-class citizens who shouldn’t get full access to the software’s secret sauce for fear of losing competitive advantage. Twitter’s creators recognized that there was another kind of competitive advantage that came from complete openness: the advantage that comes from having the largest and most diverse ecosystem of software applications being built on your platform. Call it cooperative advantage. The burden of coming up with good ideas for the product is no longer shouldered exclusively by the company itself. On an open platform, good ideas can come from anywhere. ~ Steven Johnson,
1203:Qwilleran, never an early riser by choice, now found himself routed out of bed at dawn when the birds convened for their morning singsong and the Siamese wanted to join them. Koko and Yum Yum would station themselves outside his bedroom door, the one yowling in an operatic baritone and the other uttering soprano shrieks until he got up and transported them to the gazebo. Yum Yum simply wanted to bat insects on the screens, but Koko was fascinated by the chorus of trills, chirrups, whistles, warbles, and twitters. The cacophony reminded Qwilleran of the Pickax high school band tuning up for Pomp and Circumstance. ~ Lilian Jackson Braun,
1204:When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. ~ Kenneth Grahame,
1205:I thought of many an autumn I had known: Seemly autumns approaching deliberately, with amplitude. I thought of wild asters, Michaelmas daisies, mushrooms, leaves idling down the air, two or three at a time, warblers twittering and glittering in every bush ('Confusing fall warblers,' Peterson calls them, and how right he is): the lingering yellow jackets feeding on broken apples; crickets; amber-dappled light; great geese barking down from the north; the seesaw noise that blue jays seem to make more often in the fall. Hoarfrost in the morning, cold stars at night. But slow; the whole thing coming slowly. The way it should be. ~ Elizabeth Enright,
1206:The need for approval from Twitter users was something that her younger self probably would have sneered at, but now she saw it as the cost of doing business. It was fine to get likes, but what she really wanted was either a retweet or, even better, a completely original tweet commending her for a job well done, preferably one from someone in the tech world whose work she respected and who, ideally, had hundreds of thousands of followers. If the only people who liked the tweet were “eggs”—people whose Twitter presence was so lame that they hadn’t even bothered uploading avatars, or spambots, or both—she sometimes deleted the tweet. ~ Doree Shafrir,
1207:Griffin Scope looked puzzled. “Good news, Hoyt?” Hoyt tried a smile. “Very good news, I think.” “Wonderful,” Scope said. He glanced at Wu. Wu nodded but stayed where he was. Scope said, “So tell me this good news, Hoyt. I’m all atwitter.” Hoyt cleared his throat. “First of all, you have to understand. I never meant to harm you. In fact, I went to great lengths to make sure nothing incriminating ever got out. But I also needed to save my daughter. You can understand that, can’t you?” A shadow flickered across Scope’s face. “Do I understand the desire to protect a child?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble. “Yes, Hoyt, I think I do.” A ~ Harlan Coben,
1208:Twitter The “feed” has become a social staple of many online products. The stream of limitless information displayed in a scrolling interface makes for a compelling reward of the hunt. The Twitter timeline, for example, is filled with a mix of both mundane and relevant content. This variety creates an enticingly unpredictable user experience. On occasion a user might find a particularly interesting piece of news, while other times, she won’t. But to keep hunting for more information, all that is needed is a flick of the finger or scroll of a mouse. Users scroll and scroll and scroll to search for variable rewards in the form of relevant tweets ~ Nir Eyal,
1209:These days, in the world of apps and social media and … idiot friends, it is literally impossible to avoid spoilers.

If a character dies, it is gonna be the number one trending topic on Twitter, it is gonna be the top trending story on Facebook — and Reddit and Tumblr just turn into a completely uncensored memorial service of memes.

This happens all the time with sports results, but — I shit you not — I once got a notification from the BBC News app saying that a character in a show I was watching had just died! I thought that news notifications are supposed to be for impending natural disasters, not for just ruining my bloody afternoon. ~ Dan Howell,
1210:Hacks. When consumers or companies are creating off-label uses for something such that it becomes more useful; or when someone finds an experience related to technology or digital media so frustrating that she builds something smarter, more intuitive, and easier to use. Although Twitter was invented to make it easier for people to connect with each other, in the beginning users had no easy way to tag topics or follow conversations as they did within chat and message boards. Early adopter Chris Messina proposed using the number sign, or hashtag, as a workaround.25 His hack not only completely transformed how we aggregate and share content across social media ~ Amy Webb,
1211:Jack and Ev looked at each other for a moment in the boardroom. At that moment neither realized that they were both fundamental to what Twitter had become. The perfect equilibrium of two different ways of looking at the world: the need to talk about yourself, compared with the need to let people talk about what was happening around them. One could never have existed without the other. That balance, or battle, had created Twitter. A tool that could be used by corporate titans and teens, by celebrities and nobodies, by government officials and revolutionaries. A place where people with fundamentally different views of the world, like Jack and Ev, could converse. ~ Nick Bilton,
1212:like to see more of Vivian and Luca and maybe other Italian bachelors follow in Rafe’s footsteps, too. ;) I’d love to write a new romantic adventure for Rafe and Ari, too (but is that allowed for Kindle Worlds? Mm..).   Oh, and you can also write to me directly. I love hearing from readers. You can reach me via my website, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, or you can also email me.   A list of my works (arranged according to reading order) can be found here and you can also visit my author page on Amazon for book links.   Lastly, for updates on my newest releases and exclusive excerpts for upcoming releases, please consider signing up for my newsletter.   Thank you! ~ Marian Tee,
1213:Participation in our democracy seems to be driven by the instant-gratification worlds of Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and the twenty-four-hour news cycle. We’re using modern technology to revert to primitive kinds of human relations. The media knows what sells—conflict and division. It’s also quick and easy. All too often anger works better than answers; resentment better than reason; emotion trumps evidence. A sanctimonious, sneering one-liner, no matter how bogus, is seen as straight talk, while a calm, well-argued response is seen as canned and phony. It reminds me of the old political joke: Why do you take such an instant dislike to people? It saves a lot of time. ~ Bill Clinton,
1214:The social Web is revolutionizing the way institutions operate, and the way people communicate, but in the end it might not have much of an effect on the core social group you depend on for true friendship. You can maintain a giant number of weak ties to people on Facebook, Twitter, and whatever comes next, much like you can in a giant company. Strong ties, however, require constant grooming. People who use the number of friends they have on Facebook as a metric of their social standing are fooling themselves. You can share videos of fainting goats with hundreds of acquaintances and thousands of followers, but you can trust a secret only with a handful of true friends. ~ David McRaney,
1215:En el mundo actual, esta idea trasnochada de qué hace a los hombres deseables para las mujeres es absurda y obsoleta: como demuestra el hecho de que normalmente sea gente de más de cuarenta años la que habla de ello. Para casi todo el mundo por debajo de esa edad, vivimos en una época en la que realmente lo que hace a un hombre «alfa» es evitar peleas (el sistema legal es un coñazo, además de caro), ser divertido (estamos sentados sobre cincuenta años de anécdotas increíbles. Si hasta ahora no has descubierto un par de técnicas para contar un chiste, entonces eres un retrasado) y, además, saber cómo reinstalar el Adobe AIR cuando se cae el Twitter en tu portátil. Hablando ~ Caitlin Moran,
1216:She attended the French performance, but the play's content now had a connection to her life. She read a book and the book invariably had lines with sparks from her mind, the fire of her emotions flickered here and there, and words spoken the night before were written down, as if the author had overheard how her heart beat.

The forest held the same trees, but their sound had taken on special meaning; she had established a vibrant consonance with them. The birds did not simply twitter and chirp but were saying something to each other. Everything around her spoke and responded to her mood; a flower would blossom and she seemed to hear its breathing.

pp. 256-257 ~ Ivan Goncharov,
1217:If the only thing I did for the rest of my life was treat others kindly, file manila folders, and sit on the porch watching the grass grow it would be enough. It had to be. I did the math. The number of people who actually achieve a significant legacy is trifling compared to the vast number who go from birth to death living relatively unremarkable lives (at least on the surface). And maybe that wasn't the failure I'd been conditioned to believe. Maybe there was something to be said in praise of an outwardly unremarkable life. Maybe there were deep everyday forms of magic that had nothing to do with profound acomplishments or a Twitter feed that resonated down through the ages. ~ Clara Bensen,
1218:Just like Creation author Steve Grand had predicted, the creatures were evolving in ways that Bezos could not have imagined. It was the combination of EC2 and S3—storage and compute, two primitives linked together—that transformed both AWS and the technology world. Startups no longer needed to spend their venture capital on buying servers and hiring specialized engineers to run them. Infrastructure costs were variable instead of fixed, and they could grow in direct proportion to revenues. It freed companies to experiment, to change their business models with a minimum of pain, and to keep up with the rapidly growing audiences of erupting social networks like Facebook and Twitter. ~ Brad Stone,
1219:I laid it all out there: the Twitter page, the hundreds of thousands of followers, the news articles, the book publishers, the TV producers, all of it. He sat quietly and listened. Then he laughed, stood up, ironing out his pants with his hands, and said, “Have you seen my cell phone? Can you call it? I can’t find it.” “So you’re…cool with all this? You’re cool with me writing a book, the quotes, everything?” I asked. “What do I give a fuck? I don’t care what people think of me. Publish whatever you want. I just got two rules: I’m not talking to anyone, and whatever money you get, keep. I got my own fucking money. I don’t need yours,” he said. “Now, call my cell phone, goddamn it. ~ Justin Halpern,
1220:Shutting off [Twitter] without warning was jarring and isolating, like having a friend you rely on just vanish with no explanation. Jordan was right: I didn't have to be there, be it for work or for personal gain. I didn't have to play. I realized, though, that I wanted to -- I like attention and I like being able to control my own narrative. Above all, I like bothering people. I like being present in spaces where I am not welcome because you do not deserve to feel comfortable just because you're racist or sexist or small-minded. Something about ceding this territory, this part of the digital world that I felt ownership over, felt so deeply unfair. It's my house; why should I leave? ~ Scaachi Koul,
1221:Cambridge or Boston. The same urban tech migration is playing out in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle, and New York City as some of the hottest tech companies in those areas establish themselves in downtown offices. For example, Twitter Inc. is headquartered in the gritty Mid-Market neighborhood in San Francisco, and the crowdfunding site Kickstarter Inc. opened its headquarters in the Greenpoint section of Brooklyn, N.Y. “It didn’t surprise me that young people wanted to move back to the city, because cities are fun,’’ said Richard Florida, director of the Martin Prosperity Institute at the University of Toronto. “What really surprised me was this move among tech firms back to the cities. ~ Anonymous,
1222:If you have to put the disclaimer, "My opinions are my own and not my employers" on your Social Media, which means Facebook, Twitter, and even Goodreads, then you are broadcasting to your employers, clients, future clients and anyone who can hire you that you deviate much from your work persona. The truth is, to anyone looking to hire you, they look at the whole person. You are who you are at work and off work. If you use your social media in a positive way, your clients and employer will see that. If you use your social media to bully and harass people, then they will see that too. Be responsible with your Social Media. It is an extension of you. At work and off-work. - Strong by Kailin Gow ~ Kailin Gow,
1223:IMPROVE YOUR AUTHENTICITY. Social media can also be called “Individual media” as opposed to “Group Media.” Instead of a large group broadcasting your effort, you can build up your own presence by establishing your Facebook platform, your Twitter presence, your LinkedIn, Quora, Pinterest, blogging, Amazon, SlideShare, Scribd, reddit, etc., presence. All of these channels are used to create authenticity for your offering. Each follower, fan, etc., you are personally able to sway over to your side of the world continues to establish your authenticity, regardless of who is “rejecting” you. This is how you choose yourself and build your own platform rather than relying on the whims of a meager few. ~ James Altucher,
1224:Not long afterward, Crowley saw the first version of an Internet start-up called Twitter. The company was run by Evan Williams, the cofounder of Blogger, who had sold that firm to Google in February 2003 but left in October 2004, unhappy at the relative neglect with which it treated his service. Twitter was a dead-simple Internet and phone service that let people broadcast 140-character messages to anyone who chose to “follow” the stray thoughts of a given user. Crowley began sending emails to people at Google telling them that this was important and Google should jump on it. “It all fell on deaf ears,” Crowley says. “They just weren’t interested in social at the time. It just wasn’t their thing. ~ Steven Levy,
1225:¿Por qué no creó Rupert Murdoch The Huffington Post? ¿Por qué no lanzó AT&T Skype, ni Visa creó PayPal? La CNN podría haber creado Twitter, visto que de frases cortas e impactantes como titulares se trata, ¿no? General Motors o Hertz podrían haber lanzado Uber, y Marriott, Airbnb. Gannett podría haber creado Craigslist o Kijiji. Yellow Pages podría haber fundado perfectamente eBay. Microsoft tenía la posibilidad de crear Google o cualquier modelo de negocio basado en internet más que en el ordenador personal. ¿Por qué no inventó la NBC YouTube? Sony podría haberse adelantado al iTunes de Apple. ¿Dónde estaba Kodak cuando se inventaron Instagram o Pinterest? ¿Y si People o Newsweek hubieran creado BuzzFeed o Mashable? ~ Don Tapscott,
1226:l. She
dared one more quick look at the tat, but her attention soon
moved to the size of the muscle on which it had been inked.
Definitely leer-worthy. When he passed beside her on his
way toward the back of the room, she caught a whiff of sexy
aftershave and stifled a groan. Millicent was going to be all
a-twitter over him. Tara just knew it.
When she heard someone behind her whisper, “He’s
sooo hot,” she couldn’t help but silently agree.
But it was another girl’s answer that made her curious.
“Yeah . . . but no one in her right mind would mess with
“Bethany did.”
“But not for long.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Ahah. Bethany must be the girl glaring at him beside the
teacher’s desk. ~ Sharon Sala,
1227:Someone sent me a Facebook post that summed up the dynamic in which we were caught:
BERNIE: I think America should get a pony.
HILLARY: How will you pay for the pony? Where will the pony come from? How will you get Congress to agree to the pony?
BERNIE: Hillary thinks America doesn't deserve a pony.
BERNIE SUPPORTERS: Hillary hates ponies!
HILLARY: Actually, I love ponies.
BERNIE SUPPORTERS: She changed her position on ponies! #whichhillary #witchhillary
HEADLINE: 'Hillary Refuses to Give Every American a Pony"
DEBATE MODERATOR: Hillary, how do you feel when people say you lie about ponies?
WEBSITE HEADLINE: 'Congressional Inquiry into Clinton's Pony Lies'
TWITTER TRENDING: #ponygate ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
1228:Birds Sing I Love You, Love
Birds sing "I love you, love" the whole day through,
And not another song can they sing right;
But, singing done with, loving's done with quite,
The autumn sunders every twittering two.
And I'd not have love make too much ado
With sweet parades of fondness and delight,
Lest iterant wont should make caresses trite,
Love-names mere cuckoo ousters of the true.
Oh heart can hear heart's sense in senseless nought,
And heart that's sure of heart has little speech.
What shall it tell? The other knows its thought.
What shall one doubt or question or beseech
Who is assured and knows and, unbesought,
Possesses the dear trust that each gives each.
~ Augusta Davies Webster,
1229:What a night it was! The jagged masses of heavy dark cloud were rolling at intervals from horizon to horizon, and thin white wreaths covered the stars. Through all the rush of the cloud river the moon swam, breasting the waves and disappearing again in the darkness.

I walked up and down, drinking in the beauty of the quiet earth and the changing sky. The night was absolutely silent. Nothing seemed to be abroad. There was no scurrying of rabbits, or twitter of the half-asleep birds. And though the clouds went sailing across the sky, the wind that drove them never came low enough to rustle the dead leaves in the woodland paths. Across the meadows I could see the church tower standing out black and grey against the sky. ("Man Size In Marble") ~ E Nesbit,
1230:And the hot new things that were just starting out—Facebook and Twitter—certainly did not look like their predecessors—Hewlett-Packard, Intel, Sun Microsystems—that made physical products and employed tens of thousands of people in the process. In the years that followed, the goal went from taking huge risks to create new industries and grand new ideas, to chasing easier money by entertaining consumers and pumping out simple apps and advertisements. “The best minds of my generation are thinking about how to make people click ads,” Jeff Hammerbacher, an early Facebook engineer, told me. “That sucks.” Silicon Valley began to look an awful lot like Hollywood. Meanwhile, the consumers it served had turned inward, obsessed with their virtual lives. ~ Ashlee Vance,
1231:Yet lost in the debate about America’s true intentions in the Middle East was the fact that large majorities in every Muslim-majority state surveyed told pollsters they wanted to see their countries move toward greater democracy. A wave of democratic fervor across the Middle East created a renewed sense of hope for scores of people who had spent their lives in autocratic societies but who now looked forward to the possibility of having a say, even if in the most limited of ways, in their own political destinies. The Green Movement in Iran lit the fuse, employing new social media technologies like Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube to break the government’s monopoly over the media and to demonstrate to the world their aspiration for freedom and liberty. ~ Reza Aslan,
1232:Confidence is just entitlement. Entitlement has gotten a bad rap because it’s used almost exclusively for the useless children of the rich, reality TV stars, and Conrad Hilton Jr., who gets kicked off an airplane for smoking pot in the lavatory and calling people peasants or whatever. But entitlement in and of itself isn’t so bad. Entitlement is simply the belief that you deserve something. Which is great. The hard part is, you’d better make sure you deserve it. So, how did I make sure that I deserved it? To answer that, I would like to quote from the Twitter bio of one of my favorite people, Kevin Hart. It reads: My name is Kevin Hart and I WORK HARD!!! That pretty much sums me up!!! Everybody Wants To Be Famous But Nobody Wants To Do The Work! HARD ~ Mindy Kaling,
1233:The diversity of the Twitter platform is no accident. It derives from a deliberate strategy that Dorsey, Williams, and Stone embraced from the outset: they built an emergent platform first, and then they built An open platform in software is often called an API, which stands for application programming interface. An API is a kind of lingua franca that software applications can use reliably to communicate with each other, a set of standardized rules and definitions that allow programmers to build new tools on top of another platform, or to weave together information from multiple platforms. When Web users make geographic mashups using Google Maps, they write programs that communicate with Google’s geographic data using their mapping API. ~ Steven Johnson,
1234:It was beginning to get late in the afternoon. On the edge of the earth, the sun slowly diminished. An unexpected calmness dropped in the atmosphere. In one short life, this drama would end. And that would be the end of it all; those, who suffered the worst, were the ones most deluded by the notion that this life was forever. Oh, how calm? How peacefully the River Murma flowed today? A mere twitter of a bird in the heavy groves, the shepherd’s distant tune caught in the flute wafted through the air. There appeared to be no grimy crimes threatening such delightful sensations of undulated serenity. The night forest illuminated by fireflies everywhere. Lights sparkled, as they flew ubiquitous around the slim, tall trees and the heavy bushes of the blue forest. ~ Mehreen Ahmed,
1235:Other factors strengthen or weaken a platform’s ability to pull users. One is the value of the currency available for exchange on the platform. As we’ve discussed, some platform exchanges are paid for in intangible forms of currency: attention, popularity, influence, and so on. Thus, one form of network effect is the increased attractiveness of the currency available on a platform that is growing in size. Because Twitter has achieved such an enormous user base, a successful tweet is likely to attract far more currency in the form of attention than the same message disseminated on some other platform. So Twitter’s huge size enlarges its pull, encouraging still more participant activity and making a competitive challenge to the platform increasingly unlikely. ~ Geoffrey G Parker,
1236:Sandra, I need one of the IT guys to send me the feeds for all of Everly Jensen’s social media accounts.”

Wait. What?

“She’s a senior at Penn. Grew up in Ridgefield, Connecticut. You should be able to locate her easily enough.”

“What are you doing?” I interrupt, confused and annoyed.

“Facebook, Twitter, Instagram,” he rattles off. “And whatever other sites college girls are currently using to post selfies on the internet. That will be all, Sandra.” He ends the call with a tap to a control on the steering wheel.

“Hello, I’m sitting right here. Did you want me to friend-request you or something?” I wave the phone in my hand as I talk. “Because that”—I point in the direction of the speakers in the dashboard—“was a little melodramatic. ~ Jana Aston,
1237:In February 2018, the United States District Court for the District of Columbia filed an indictment in the United States versus the Internet Research Agency, Concorde Management and Consulting, LLC, and Concorde Catering. The indictment alleges that the internet research organization is a Russian organization engaged in operations to interfere with elections in political processes. According to the indictment, beginning in late 2013, the organization hired staff and planned to manipulate the US Presidential election by creating false personas of American citizens. They would set up social media websites, group Facebook pages, and Twitter feeds to attract US audiences. They name 13 Russians who are the key managers of the organization starting with Yevgeniy Prigozhin. ~ Malcolm W Nance,
1238:Yeah about the test...
The test will measure wether you are an informed, engaged, productive citizen of the world, and it will take place in schools and bars and hospitals and dorm rooms and places of worship. You will be tested on first dates, in job interviews, in job interviews, while watching football, and while scrolling through your Twitter feed. The test will judge your ability to think about things other than celebrity marriages, whether you'll be easily persuaded by empty political rhetoric, and whether you'll be able to place your life and your community in a broader context. The test will last your entire life and it will be comprised of the millions of decisions that, when taken together, will make your life yours. And everything, everything, will be on it. ~ John Green,
1239:They're not just looking to be offended. They are hunting for opportunities to vilify people. These opportunistic attacks are impossible to anticipate because in many cases the target doesn't even know the SJW who complained to Human Resources or contacted the media, and even in the case of a public accusation on Twitter or a blog, he probably won't be aware of the attack until it has already blown up on social media because he doesn't follow his accuser. Sir Tim Hunt had probably made similar jokes about female scientists in laboratories before, but he had not made them in front of a status-seeking SJW like Connie St. Louis. Sensing an opportunity to make a name for herself by vilifying a Nobel Prize winner, she struck, and in doing so promptly put herself in front of the charge. ~ Vox Day,
1240:Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth,
  This autumn morning! How he sets his bones
To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet
For the ripple to run over in its mirth;
  Listening the while, where on the heap of stones
The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.
That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;
  Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
  Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!
Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.
The lyrical form of this poem is abcabc.

~ Robert Browning, Among The Rocks
1241:Yeah, about the test...

The test will measure whether you are an informed, engaged, and productive citizen of the world, and it will take place in schools and bars and hospitals and dorm rooms and in places of worship. You will be tested on first dates, in job interviews, while watching football, and while scrolling through your Twitter feed. The test will judge your ability to think about things other than celebrity marriages, whether you’ll be easily persuaded by empty political rhetoric, and whether you’ll be able to place your life and your community in a broader context. The test will last your entire life, and it will be comprised of the millions of decisions that, when taken together, will make your life yours. And everything, everything, will be on it.

...I know, right? ~ John Green,
1242:When the plane landed at O’Hare Airport, the flight attendants asked the passengers to remain in their seats. Sitting eight rows back, Kyle watched as two men wearing standard-issue government suits—clearly FBI agents—boarded the plane and handed over a document to the pilot.

“Yep, that would be me,” Kyle said, grabbing his backpack from underneath the seat in front of him.

The elderly Hispanic man sitting next to him lowered his voice to a whisper. “Drugs?”

“Twitter,” Kyle whispered back.

He stood up, backpack in hand, and nodded at the FBI agents that had stopped at his row. “Morning, gentlemen.”

The younger agent held out his hand, all business. “Hand over the computer, Rhodes.”

“I guess we’re skipping the pleasantries,” Kyle said, handing over his backpack ~ Julie James,
1243:Summer Morn In New Hampshire
All yesterday it poured, and all night long
I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat
Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,
Upon the grass like running children's feet.
And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,
Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed,
Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,
And nestled soft against the earth's wet breast.
But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!
The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze,
The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,
The songsters twittered in the rustling trees.
And all things were transfigured in the day,
But me whom radiant beauty could not move;
For you, more wonderful, were far away,
And I was blind with hunger for your love.
~ Claude McKay,
1244:The First Spring Day
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing;
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the springtide of this year
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;
If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me;
Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring,
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
1245:I remember once after sharing an article on Twitter about racism in the US, when a white Canadian tweeted back, “You should move to Canada, we aren’t racist here.” I pointed out that, according to recent news of the reluctance of government officials to fully investigate the murders of dozens of indigenous women, the controversy over “carding” of black Canadians by police, and the testimony of my Canadian friends of color—Canada was plenty racist. This white Canadian stranger kept insisting that no, there was no racism in Canada because he had not seen it. When some of my Canadian friends chimed in with helpful links about high-profile incidences of racism and investigations into systemic racism in Canada, the white Canadian continued to insist that they were wrong, and that racism doesn’t exist in Canada. ~ Ijeoma Oluo,
1246:Of course, Ev didn’t have a chance to assuage anyone’s fears. As far as he knew, everything was just fine at Twitter. He held his weekly meetings with Campbell, receiving his boisterous pep talk. “You’re doing a fucking great job!” Campbell would bellow. At board meetings Campbell would appear to listen to Ev’s presentations on the state of the company. After Ev’s sermons were done, the coach would clap loudly and hug his protégé, proclaiming again to everyone in the room that Ev was “doing a fucking great job!” and asking them to clap (none of this was a usual occurrence in a corporate board meeting). Then, after Ev left the room, proud that his mentor thought he was doing such a great job, Campbell would shout at the group: “You gotta get rid of this fucking guy! He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing! ~ Nick Bilton,
1247:Whatever the perversion or barbarity, ISIS has a ready-made justification. The salability of its dark vision cannot be underestimated. Recently, the US State Department created a Twitter account called “Think Again Turn Away.” It tweets photographs of ISIS atrocities and casualties and links to news stories describing them. It also engages with pro-ISIS accounts, in effect trolling them. Thus, in opposition to @OperationJihad, who wrote to no one in particular, quoting a jihadist anthem, “We have nothing to achieve in this world, except martyrdom, [i]n the mountains we will be buried and snow will be our shroud,” the State Department rejoined: “Much more honorable to give a Syrian child a pair of boots than drive him from his home into snow w/your quest for death.” @OperationJihad didn’t bother to reply. ~ Michael Weiss,
1248:Every so often she’d see a reporter complaining on Twitter about how far the quality of journalism had tumbled, thanks to the internet, and that journalists with real skills and experience who knew how to write original stories were getting shoved aside in favor of young people who leeched off the hard work of these allegedly hardworking journalists, and it was all because their greedy overlords were obsessed with clicks and traffic—again, at the expense of “real” journalists. Aggregation had become a dirty word, and the people who suffered were the readers, who were now faced with piles of online news dreck, according to this line of thinking, and every story was the same, and no one checked sources, and eventually everyone was just going to die under a pile of clickbait, which was the dirtiest word of all. ~ Doree Shafrir,
1249:The tweets were not incidental to his presidency. They were central. He ordered printouts of his recent tweets that had received a high number of likes, 200,000 or more. He studied them to find the common themes in the most successful. He seemed to want to become more strategic, find out whether success was tied to the subject, the language or simply the surprise that the president was weighing in. The most effective tweets were often the most shocking. Later, when Twitter announced the number of permissible characters in a single tweet was being doubled from 140 to 280, Trump told Porter he thought the change made sense on one level. Now he would be able to flesh out his thoughts and add more depth. “It’s a good thing,” Trump said, “but it’s a bit of a shame because I was the Ernest Hemingway of 140 characters. ~ Bob Woodward,
1250:You’re right,” Phoebe said. “We both need coffee.”
“And a change in subject. Come on. Zane sent me to find you and bring you back for breakfast.” She grinned. “Apparently he’s worried about you.”
“He worries about everyone,” Phoebe said, trying not to be pleased by Maya’s words. “It’s his nature.”
“That’s true. Zane would love to be in charge of the world. He gets off on bossing people around.”
“It’s not that,” Phoebe said. “He takes his responsibilities seriously.”
“Defending him again?”
Phoebe waved goodbye to Manny and started down the path. “He doesn’t need me to defend him. He’s strong enough to take care of himself.”
“Interesting.” Maya walked next to her. “So here’s this big, hunky guy who doesn’t need you to rescue him. No wonder you’re all atwitter around him. You don’t know what to do. ~ Susan Mallery,
1251:So Rhodes will go to his corner, leading a charge he can’t really control because his caucus twitches at each tweet. Some days, my side isn’t much better. Participation in our democracy seems to be driven by the instant-gratification worlds of Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and the twenty-four-hour news cycle. We’re using modern technology to revert to primitive kinds of human relations. The media knows what sells—conflict and division. It’s also quick and easy. All too often anger works better than answers; resentment better than reason; emotion trumps evidence. A sanctimonious, sneering one-liner, no matter how bogus, is seen as straight talk, while a calm, well-argued response is seen as canned and phony. It reminds me of the old political joke: Why do you take such an instant dislike to people? It saves a lot of time. ~ Bill Clinton,
1252:This generation has lost the true meaning of romance. There are so many songs that disrespect women. You can’t treat the woman you love as a piece of meat. You should treat your love like a princess. Give her love songs, something with real meaning. Maybe I’m old fashioned but to respect the woman you love should be a priority. " Wait a minute! I'm actually a Tom Hiddleston fan just putting it out there that this quote and others that you find around the internet are completely fake. Only believe quotes that are written in professional interviews, because I'm here right now to show you that anything can be made up easily by anyone, I could write anything I want here and you could think it's a real quote. So go to interviews or the verified twitter to see the real words someone has said - anything else can be made up! :) ~ Tom Hiddleston,
1253:Markets can govern behavior through the use of mechanism design and various incentives—not money alone, but the trifecta of human motivations that may be summarized as fun, fame, and fortune. In fact, on many platforms, money is far less important than the more intangible, subjective form of value known as social currency. The idea behind social currency is to give something in order to get something. If you give fun in a photo, you can get people to share it. Social currency, measured as the economic value of a relationship, includes favorites and shares.39 It also includes the reputation a person builds up for good interactions on eBay, good news posts on Reddit, or good answers on Stack Overflow. It includes the number of followers a user attracts on Twitter and the number of skill endorsements she garners on LinkedIn. ~ Geoffrey G Parker,
1254:Most Web activities do not generate jobs and revenue at the rate of past technological breakthroughs. When Ford and General Motors were growing in the early part of the twentieth century, they created millions of jobs and helped build Detroit into a top-tier U.S. city. Today, Facebook creates a lot of voyeuristic pleasure, but the company doesn’t employ many people and hasn’t done much for Palo Alto; a lot of the “work” is performed more or less automatically by the software and the servers. You could say that the real work is done by its users, in their spare time and as a form of leisure. Web 2.0 is not filling government coffers or supporting many families, even though it’s been great for users, programmers, and some information technology specialists. Everyone on the Web has heard of Twitter, but as of Fall 2010, only about three hundred people work there. ~ Tyler Cowen,
1255:Bei Hennef
The little river twittering in the twilght,
The wan, wandering look of the pale sky.
This is almost bliss.
And everything shut up and gone to sleep,
All the troubles and anxieties and pain
Gone under the twilight.
Only the twilight now, and the soft 'Sh! ' of the river
That will last for ever.
And at last I know my love for you is here;
I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight,
It is large, so large, I could not see it before,
Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions,
Troubles, anxieties and pains.
You are the call and I am the answer.
You are the wish, and I the fufilment.
You are the night, and I the day.
What else? It is perfect enough.
It is perfectly complete,
You and I,
What more--?
Strange how we suffer in spite of this.
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
My shadow -I woke to a wind swirling the curtains light and dark
and the birds twittering on the roofs, I lay cold
in the early light in my room high over London.
What fear was it that made the wind sound like a fire
so that I got up and looked out half-asleep
at the calm rows of street-lights fading far below?
Without fire
Only the wind blew.
But in the dream I woke from, you
came running through the traffic, tugging me, clinging
to my elbow, your eyes spoke
what I could not grasp -Nothing, if you were here!
The wind of the early quiet
merges slowly now with a thousand rolling wheels.
The lights are out, the air is loud.
It is an ordinary January day.
My shadow, do you hear the streets?
Are you at my heels? Are you here?
And I throw back the sheets.
Anonymous Submission
~ Edwin Morgan,
1257:The story here is not the old chestnut of living in a connected age where information flows more quickly than ever before. The information is not simply flowing in this system; it’s being recycled and put to new uses, transformed by a diverse network of other species in the ecosystem, each with its own distinct function. You write a tweet about what you had for lunch—the original sin of Twitter banality—and within minutes that information is being harnessed to assist a staggering number of different tasks: neighbors forging new personal connections, foodies seeking a delicious cup of potato and leek soup, restaurant owners getting unvarnished feedback from their patrons, Google organizing all the world’s information, newspapers improving their neighborhood coverage at lower cost, and local businesses seeking the attention of the people in their immediate community. ~ Steven Johnson,
1258:There's something about evening service in a country church that makes a fellow feel drowsy and peaceful. Sort of end-of-a-perfect-day feeling. Old Heppenstall was up in the pulpit, and he has a kind of regular, bleating delivery that assists thought. They had left the door open, and the air was full of a mixed scent of trees and honeysuckle and mildew and villagers' Sunday clothes. As far as the eye could reach, you could see farmers propped up in restful attitudes, breathing heavily; and the children in the congregation who had fidgeted during the earlier part of the proceedings were now lying back in a surfeited sort of coma. The last rays of the setting sun shone through the stained-glass windows, birds were twittering in the trees, the women's dresses crackled gently in the stillness. Peaceful. That's what I'm driving at. I felt peaceful. Everybody felt peaceful. ~ P G Wodehouse,
1259:Uber, a car service start-up founded by Travis Kalanick and Garrett Camp, has been giving out free rides during Austin’s SXSW conference for several years. During a single week, thousands of potential Uber customers—tech-obsessed, high-income young adults who cannot find a cab—are motivated to try out this service. One year Uber offered free rides. Another year, it offered BBQ delivery. Instead of spending millions on advertising or countless resources trying to reach these potential users in their respective cities, Uber just waited for the one week a year when they were all in one place and did something special. And Uber did this because a few years earlier they’d watched Twitter take SXSW by storm with a similar collaboration with the conference. This is thinking like a growth hacker—it’s how you get the most bang for your buck and how you get it from the right people. ~ Ryan Holiday,
1260:In 1948, long before the louder, faster, and busier world of Twitter and social media, Paul Lazarsfeld and Robert Merton wrote: The interested and informed citizen can congratulate himself on his lofty state of interest and information and neglect to see that he has abstained from decision and action. In short, he takes his secondary contact with the world of political reality, his reading and listening and thinking, as a vicarious performance…. He is concerned. He is informed. And he has all sorts of ideas as to what should be done. But, after he has gotten through his dinner and after he has listened to his favored radio programs and after he has read his second newspaper of the day, it is really time for bed.5 This is the exact reaction that web content is designed to produce. To keep you so caught up and consumed with the bubble that you don’t even realize you’re in one. ~ Ryan Holiday,
1261:Bei Hennef

The little river twittering in the twilight,
The wan, wondering look of the pale sky,
This is almost bliss.

And everything shut up and gone to sleep,
All the troubles and anxieties and pain
Gone under the twilight.

Only the twilight now, and the soft “Sh!” of the river
That will last forever.

And at last I know my love for you is here,
I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight,
It is large, so large, I could not see it before
Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions,
Troubles, anxieties, and pains.

You are the call and I am the answer,
You are the wish, and I the fulfillment,
You are the night, and I the day.
What else—it is perfect enough,
It is perfectly complete,
You and I.
Strange, how we suffer in spite of this! ~ D H Lawrence,

All's over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!


And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that, to-day;
One day more bursts them open fully
-You know the red turns grey.


To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?
May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we,-well, friends the merest
Keep much that I resign:


For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart's endeavour,-
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever!-


Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
Or so very little longer!

~ Robert Browning, The Lost Mistress
1263:After a moment I turned back to Twitter and messages were flying past. It was clear now that something huge had just happened. I flipped on the TV and soon learned some of the basics. The quake was centered in the northeast and that we only got a small taste of the full force. People outside of Japan were asking what had happened. News hit of a huge earthquake in Japan, but there were few details. Rummaging through the mess on the floor I found my video camera and a laptop and set up a quick livestream broadcast of the news on TV. For hours I kept the video running as I started to clean up my apartment. I stayed on Twitter throughout the night, as aftershock after aftershock rocked my building, each threatening, then backing down. Soon hundreds of people had logged onto my video as I continued passing information on Twitter to people at work, walking home, or outside of Japan altogether. ~ Jake Adelstein,
1264:The air turned syrupy, slow, flecked with dust. The last few seconds before a battle. And with the last bow pulled free, he reached inside, and amidst a whirring, chaotic clatter of wings and feet and talons and a high-pitched twittering and it’s all happening at once, the man pulls an enormous, enormous hawk out of the box and in a strange coincidence of world and deed a great flood of sunlight drenches us and everything is brilliance and fury. The hawk’s wings, barred and beating, the sharp fingers of her dark-tipped primaries cutting the air, her feathers raised like the scattered quills of a fretful porpentine. Two enormous eyes. My heart jumps sideways. She is a conjuring trick. A reptile. A fallen angel. A griffon from the pages of an illuminated bestiary. Something bright and distant, like gold falling through water. A broken marionette of wings, legs and light-splashed feathers. ~ Helen Macdonald,
1265:Sometimes I want to quit - not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air after reading a mean Twitter comment and say, "All right, you got me. You figured me out. I'm not pretty. I'm not thin. I don't deserve love. I have no right to use my voice. I will start wearing a burka and move to a small town upstate and wait tables at a pancake house."
So much has changed about me since I was that confident, happy girl in high school. In the years since then, I've experienced a lot of desperation and self-doubt, but in a way, I've come full circle. I know my worth. I embrace my power. I say if I'm beautiful. I say if I'm strong. You will not determine my story. I will. I'll speak and share and fuck and love, and I will never apologise for it. I am amazing for you, not because of you. I am not who I sleep with. I am not my weight. I am not my mother. I am myself. And I am all of you. ~ Amy Schumer,
1266:BlockChalk is a virtual community bulletin board for neighborhoods in nearly nine thousand cities. In function, it is like a hyper-local version of Twitter. From your cell phone, you can leave a message for someone on your block or street, whether it is to report something you found, announce something happening in your neighborhood, ask to borrow an item, warn people of something to watch out for, or just chat. A typical “chalk” (BlockChalks’s word for a message) reads, “Found dog while running last night @River Bank De & Poppy Way in Edgewater . . . Please post on here if he’s yours, or you know who he belongs to.” It was created by Josh Whiting, who was formerly a senior engineer for craigslist and, to make it easy for neighbors to interact with each other. Recognizing that some users will want to keep their identity and location anonymous, you can reply privately or respond publicly, “chalkback. ~ Rachel Botsman,
1267:From the follower side of the equation, the more Twitter users curate the list of people they follow, the better the service will be at delivering interesting content. Investing in following the right people increases the value of the product by displaying more relevant and interesting content in each user’s Twitter feed. It also tells Twitter a lot about its users, which in turn improves the service overall. For the tweeter seeking followers, the more followers one has, the more valuable the service becomes as well. Content creators on Twitter seek to reach as large an audience as possible. The only way to legitimately acquire new followers is to send tweets others think are interesting enough to warrant following the sender. Therefore, to acquire more followers, content creators must invest in producing more — and better — tweets. The cycle increases the value of the service for both sides the more the service is used. ~ Nir Eyal,
1268:No más de seis frases. De los cientos de miles de correos que la gente me ha enviado, no soy capaz de recordar ninguno que fuera demasiado breve. Por el contrario, el 95 % son demasiado largos. La extensión ideal son seis frases o menos, y no debe contener nada más que la siguiente información: 1) por qué te pones en contacto (véase «peloteo» en el párrafo siguiente); 2) quién eres; 3) cuál es tu causa; 4) qué quieres; 5) por qué debería ayudarte el receptor; y 6) cuál es el paso siguiente. Peloteo. Una manera políticamente más correcta de decirlo sería «Haz los deberes», pero el resultado es el mismo. Tu primera frase debe indicar que te pones en contacto con el receptor por una buena razón y que sabes algo de esa persona. Por ejemplo, «Te sigo en Twitter y me he fijado en que a menudo cuelgas tweets sobre fotografía. Mi empresa ha desarrollado una nueva manera para ayudar a los principiantes a tomar mejores fotografías». ~ Guy Kawasaki,
1269:Above the decorous walking around me, sounds of footsteps leaving the verandas of far-flung buildings and moving toward the walks and over the walks to the asphalt drives lined with whitewashed stones, those cryptic messages for men and women, boys and girls heading quietly toward where the visitors waited, and we moving not in the mood of worship but of judgement; as though even here in the filtering dusk, here beneath the deep indigo sky, here, alive with looping swifts and darting moths, here in the hereness of the night not yet lighted by the moon that looms blood-red behind the chapel like a fallen sun, its radiance shedding not upon the here-dusk of twittering bats, nor on the there-night of cricket and whippoorwill, but focused short-rayed upon our place of convergence; and we drifting forward with rigid motions, limbs stiff and voices now silent, as though on exhibit even in the dark, and the moon a white man's bloodshot eye. ~ Ralph Ellison,
1270:Because when we weaken all top-down authority structures and strengthen bottom-up ones; when we create a world with not only superpowers but also super-empowered individuals; when we put so many distant strangers into proximity; when we accelerate the flow of ideas and innovation energy; when we give machines the power to think, alter DNA to remove diseases, and design plants and new materials; when Greeks not paying taxes can undermine bond markets and banks in both Bonn, Germany, and Germantown, Maryland; when a Kosovar hacker in Malaysia can break into the files of an American retailer and sell them to an Al Qaeda operative who can go on Twitter and threaten the U.S. servicemen whose identities were hacked; when all of this is happening at once, we’ve collectively created a world in which what every single person imagines, believes, and aspires to matters more than ever, because they can now act on their imaginations, beliefs, ~ Thomas L Friedman,
1271:Of course, women are capable of all sorts of major unpleasantness, and there are violent crimes by women, but the-called war of the sexes is extraordinarily lopsided when it comes to actual violence. Unlike the last (male) head of the International Monetary Fund, the current (female) head is not going to assault an employee at a luxury hotel; top-ranking female officers in the US military, unlike their male counterparts, are not accused of any sexual assaults; and young female athletes, unlike those male football players in Steubenville, aren't likely to urinate on unconscious boys, let alone violate them and boast about it in YouTube videos and Twitter feeds. No female bus riders in India have ganged up to sexually assault a man so badly he dies of his injuries, nor are marauding packs of women terrorizing men in Cairo's Tahrir Square, and there's no maternal equivalent to the 11 percent of rapes that are by fathers or stepfathers. ~ Rebecca Solnit,
1272:Nowadays, being “connected” means 24/7 availability. Emailing, texting, Twittering, calling, keeping one’s website and Facebook status current seem essential to being and remaining relevant in the world. In addition to the positive impact of globally interconnecting humanity, the information era is also contributing to the creation of a high-tech, low-touch society. It is impacting language, the publishing world, education, and social revolts. Neurologists and other pundits, including Nicholas Carr in his Atlantic article, “Is Google Making Us Stupid?”, point out the paradoxical downsides of not setting healthy boundaries or applying discipline to how we engage technology. Some have gone so far as to suggest that it is making us “spiritually stupid” by keeping us too distracted to participate in spiritual practices. But how about this: can using technology with mindfulness lead to beneficial social and spiritual connection? ~ Michael Bernard Beckwith,
1273:Of course, women are capable of all sorts of major unpleasantness, and there are violent crimes by women, but the so-called war of the sexes is extraordinarily lopsided when it comes to actual violence. Unlike the last (male) head of the International Monetary Fund, the current (female) head is not going to assault an employee at a luxury hotel; top-ranking female officers in the US military, unlike their male counterparts, are not accused of any sexual assaults; and young female athletes, unlike those male football players in Steubenville, aren't likely to urinate on unconscious boys, let alone violate them and boast about it in YouTube videos and Twitter feeds. No female bus riders in India have ganged up to sexually assault a man so badly he dies of his injuries, nor are marauding packs of women terrorizing men in Cairo's Tahrir Square, and there's no maternal equivalent to the 11 percent of rapes that are by fathers or stepfathers. ~ Rebecca Solnit,
1274:Thomas Trevelyan
Reading in Ovid the sorrowful story of Itys,
Son of the love of Tereus and Procne, slain
For the guilty passion of Tereus for Philomela,
The flesh of him served to Tereus by Procne,
And the wrath of Tereus, the murderess pursuing
Till the gods made Philomela a nightingale,
Lute of the rising moon, and Procne a swallow!
Oh livers and artists of Hellas centuries gone,
Sealing in little thuribles dreams and wisdom,
Incense beyond all price, forever fragrant,
A breath whereof makes clear the eyes of the soul!
How I inhaled its sweetness here in Spoon River!
The thurible opening when I had lived and learned
How all of us kill the children of love, and all of us,
Knowing not what we do, devour their flesh;
And all of us change to singers, although it be
But once in our lives, or change -- alas! -- to swallows,
To twitter amid cold winds and falling leaves!
~ Edgar Lee Masters,
1275:But too many kids get to college and try to collapse it, to make it as comfortable and recognizable as possible. They replicate the friends and friendships they've previously enjoyed. They join groups that perpetuate their high school cliques. Concerned with establishing a "network" they seek out peers with aspirations identical to their own. In doing so, they frequently default to a clannishness that too easily becomes a lifelong habit. ....Open your laptops . Delete at least one of every four bookmarks. Replace it with something entirely different, even anti ethical. Go to twitter, Facebook etc start falling or connecting with views that diverge from your own. Conduct your social lives along the same lines, mixing it up. Do not go only to the campus basketball games....wander beyond the periphery of campus, and not to find equally enchanted realms-if you study abroad, don't choose the destination for its picturesqueness-but to see something else. ~ Frank Bruni,
1276:And yet how surprised we are to find ourselves faced today with widespread pollution, overpopulation, and global warming. The only surprise is that we find this surprising. Still, until very recently, we could probably have avoided the worst of it. Because in the late nineteenth century something happened that greatly accelerated our decline. Conservative social critics have sometimes lamented the loss of a religious consciousness in the age of TV, Twitter, and the Internet. But they are coming into the argument far too late in the game. That loss was already inevitable once the incandescent light bulb came into common use. That was the real tipping point that would eventually guarantee the excesses of the twentieth century—from world wars to climate change to the widespread pollution of rivers, lakes, and streams. For all these spring directly from the overflow of human consciousness, for which the flood of light is both the metaphor and the means. ~ Clark Strand,
1277:Social networking technology allows us to spend our time engaged in a hypercompetitive struggle for attention, for victories in the currency of “likes.” People are given more occasions to be self-promoters, to embrace the characteristics of celebrity, to manage their own image, to Snapchat out their selfies in ways that they hope will impress and please the world. This technology creates a culture in which people turn into little brand managers, using Facebook, Twitter, text messages, and Instagram to create a falsely upbeat, slightly overexuberant, external self that can be famous first in a small sphere and then, with luck, in a large one. The manager of this self measures success by the flow of responses it gets. The social media maven spends his or her time creating a self-caricature, a much happier and more photogenic version of real life. People subtly start comparing themselves to other people’s highlight reels, and of course they feel inferior. ~ David Brooks,
1278:Brené Brown, a social scientist and TED speaker who has researched shame, worthiness, courage, and vulnerability, recently published a book called Daring Greatly, which I fortuitously picked up at a Boston bookstore when I was just beginning to write this book. I was so blown away by the commonalities between our books that I twittered her, praising her work and asking her if she would give me a foreword for this book.3 She writes: The perception that vulnerability is weakness is the most widely accepted myth about vulnerability and the most dangerous. When we spend our lives pushing away and protecting ourselves from feeling vulnerable or from being perceived as too emotional, we feel contempt when others are less capable or willing to mask feelings, suck it up, and soldier on. We’ve come to the point where, rather than respecting and appreciating the courage and daring behind vulnerability, we let our fear and discomfort become judgment and criticism. ~ Amanda Palmer,
1279:"The most dangerous people are those who have passion but lack wisdom." ~ Haemin SunimThe most dangerous risk of all:-The risk of spending your life not doing what u want on the bet u can buy urself the freedom to do it later."The most decisive qualities in a person are often unconscious and can be perceived only by others, or have to be laboriously discovered with outside help." ~ Carl JungThe most difficult subjects can be explained to the most slow-witted man if he has not formed any idea of them already; but the simplest thing cannot be made clear to the most intelligent man if he is firmly persuaded that he knows already what is laid before him. TolstoyThe most difficult thing I have ever had to do is follow the guidance I prayed for. Albert SchweitzerThe most difficult times for many of us are the ones we give ourselves. ~ Pema Chödrön most effective act is, once the mind is made up, to go on without looking backward. — D. T. Suzuki,
1280:The Wheatfield At Gettysburg
THESE famous acres bear a mystic wheat
That waits the Reaper’s scythe
Alike in Summer shine and Winter sleet
And when the May is blithe.
Here phantom squirrels fenceward haste with grains
Of gleeful-taken toll
From waist-high stalks that hide meandering lanes
Of phantom mouse and mole.
Forever twittering wheat to nesting mate
A spirit oriole cries,
And ghostly bands of plundering crows elate
Caw beneath long-past skies.
In vain did Valor’s fiery onset tread
The actual straw to dust,
And steep the living grain in pulsing red
From bullet and from thrust.
The Field stands wealthy with immortal wheat
Man never reaped for bread,
Touched by funereal zephyrs passing sweet
Where lay The Nameless Dead.
Imperishably set as Round Top’s stones
The wheat forever waves
Peaceful as Gettysburg’s white steeple drones
Over the host of graves.
~ Edward William Thomson,
1281:Normal people assume that SJWs are inclined to take on their ideological opponents, people like me. But the truth is that although they certainly don't like those they invariably label “right-wing extremists”, for the most part they leave us alone because we are impervious to their influence. Oh, they will certainly complain about us, take advantage of any tactical missteps on our part, and block us on Twitter, but they very seldom make the sort of concerted effort that one saw in the hounding of Brendan Eich or the metaphorical stoning of Dr. James Watson because they know their efforts will largely be futile. Instead, they prey on the naïve and the unsuspecting. They prey on the moderates, the middle-grounders, and the fence-sitters. They prey on people like you: good, decent individuals who try to treat everyone fairly and who can't even imagine having done anything that anyone could possibly find objectionable. Why? Because soft targets are always easier to destroy than hard ones. ~ Vox Day,
1282:The poet Robert Browning caused considerable consternation by including the word twat in one of his poems, thinking it an innocent term. The work was Pippa Passes, written in 1841 and now remembered for the line "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world." But it also contains this disconcerting passage:

Then owls and bats

Cowls and twats

Monks and nuns in a cloister's moods,

Adjourn to the oak-stump pantry!

Browning had apparently somewhere come across the word twat--which meant precisely the same then as it does now--but pronounced it with a flat a and somehow took it to mean a piece of headgear for nuns. The verse became a source of twittering amusement for generations of schoolboys and a perennial embarrassment to their elders, but the word was never altered and Browning was allowed to live out his life in wholesome ignorance because no one could think of a suitably delicate way of explaining his mistake to him. ~ Bill Bryson,
1283:By timbre, temperament, and sheer force of personality, Donald Trump is the ideal manifestation of Facebook culture. Trump himself uses Twitter habitually both as a bully pulpit and as an antenna for reaction to his expressions. Twitter has a limited reach among the American public, and his off-the-cuff, unpracticed, and untested expressions could do him more harm than good. But Facebook, with its deep penetration into American minds and lives, is Trump’s natural habitat. On Facebook his staff makes sure Trump expresses himself in short, strong bursts of indignation or approval. Trump has always been visually deft but close to illiterate. His attention span runs as quickly and frenetically as a Facebook News Feed. After a decade of deep and constant engagement with Facebook, Americans have been conditioned to experience the world Trump style. It’s almost as if Trump were designed for Facebook and Facebook were designed for him.

Facebook helped make America ready for Trump. ~ Siva Vaidhyanathan,
1284:The stillness was so profound that he heard a little animal twittering somewhere near by under the snow. It made a small frightened cheep like a field mouse, and he wondered languidly if it were hurt. Then he understood that it must be in pain: pain so excruciating that he seemed, mysteriously, to feel it shooting through his own body. He tried in vain to roll over in the direction of the sound, and stretched his left arm out across the snow. And now it was as though he felt rather than heard the twittering; it seemed to be under his palm, which rested on something soft and springy. The thought of the animal's suffering was intolerable to him and he struggled to raise himself, and could not because a rock, or some huge mass, seemed to be lying on him. But he continued to finger about cautiously with his left hand, thinking he might get hold of the little creature and help it; and all at once he knew that the soft thing he had touched was Mattie's hair and that his hand was on her face. ~ Edith Wharton,
1285:Noel: A lot of people see friends as something you have on Twitter or Facebook or wherever. If someone wants to read your updates and you want to read their updates, then you’re friends. You don’t ever have to see each other. But that seems like a stupid definition to me.

Roo: Yeah.

Noel: Although on the other hand, rethink. Maybe a friend is someone who wants your updates. Even if they’re boring. Or sad. Or annoyingly cutesy. A friend says, “Sign me up for your boring crap, yes indeed” – because he likes you anyway. He’ll tolerate your junk.

Roo: You have lots of friends.

Noel: No, I don’t.

Roo: You do. You know everyone at school. You get invited to parties.

Noel: I get invited to parties, yeah. And I know people. But I don’t want their updates.

Roo: Oh.

Noel: And I sincerely doubt they want mine.

Roo: I want your updates.

Noel: I want your updates. (He looks down, bashfully.) I do. I want all your updates, Ruby. ~ E Lockhart,
1286:Twitter came close to melting down in the same way, but managed to recover in time to build a massive business. When Twitter began its rise in the late 2000s, it became infamous for its “Fail Whale,” a whimsical error message that appeared whenever its servers couldn’t handle the load. Unfortunately for Twitter, the Fail Whale made fairly regular appearances, especially when big news hit, such as the death of the recording artist Michael Jackson in 2009 (to be fair, Twitter was hardly the only website that had these issues when the King of Pop passed away) or the 2010 World Cup. Twitter invested serious resources into rearchitecting both its systems and its engineering processes to be more efficient. Even with this strenuous effort, it took several years to “tame” the Fail Whale; it wasn’t until after Twitter made it through the 2012 US presidential election night without melting down that the company’s then–creative director Doug Bowman announced that the Great Blue Whale had been put to death. ~ Reid Hoffman,
1287:Did you ever bring girls back here?” I ask, broaching dangerous territory. I’m thinking dangerous thoughts. Having dangerous fantasies. Wanting dangerous things.

“Never,” he says earnestly.

“Yeah, I don’t believe you.” I cross over to his DVD case by the door, pretending to be curious about what he liked to watch when he was a teenager—and I am—but really, I just need to have some space from him before I let this crazy twitterpated feeling get the best of me.

But Chase follows me. “I’m dead serious. Pop has a shotgun. He was always threatening to shoot my dick off if I knocked a girl up. Scared the shit out of me.”

I laugh nervously, keeping my eyes on the movies. “And here you are trying to knock a girl up now. You must have gotten over your fear.”

“Pop has arthritis. He’d have too much trouble loading the gun.” There’s a soft thud of a door closing, and I look up to see that he has shut us in. “And I have always regretted the lack of action this room has seen. ~ Laurelin Paige,
1288:Based on the findings of a recent qualitative survey carried out in Switzerland, in fact, most of us have up to ten discreet interdependent social identities—identities, the study concludes, which are often in conflict.16 Let’s imagine a middle-aged bank teller living in Pensacola, Florida. He is a father, a son and a husband. He is a Floridian. He is a bank employee. He is also a bicyclist and a recreational runner, and at night, drinking with his friends, he is “the funny one.” He is also a vegetarian, an amateur guitarist, and on weekends he helps coach soccer at his daughter’s high school. Then there are his online identities, including his Facebook, Twitter and Instagram selves. Most surprising is that the man’s ethical mind-set, honesty, sociability and even level of social engagement changes from personality to personality. Imagine that in his professional role, for example, he may be primed to dissembling, or outright deceit, while simultaneously, as a dad, he finds dishonesty repellent. ~ Martin Lindstrom,
1289:Bueno, lo que pasó es que hace dos semanas acudí a una entrevista de trabajo y los tipos giraron un portátil para que pudiera ver la pantalla y me soltaron: «¿Este eres tú?». Y lo que había allí era todo lo que yo había publicado hace años, fotos mías colocado, borracho, aquellas largas diatribas adolescentes sobre cualquier estupidez, ya sabes. Así que no hace falta decir que no conseguí el trabajo. De modo que antes de ESTA entrevista lo borré TODO, borré lo de Facebook, lo de Twitter, todo lo que pude encontrar. Me presento allí y lo primero que me preguntan es si tengo Facebook. Digo que no. Me preguntan si tengo alguna web de la facultad, LinkedIn, cualquier cosa. Digo que no. Se miran el uno al otro y me sueltan que a su empresa le gusta «sentirse a gusto» con el background de los nuevos empleados, pero parece que yo no tengo ninguno. No es que me digan que he hecho algo malo, pero cuando alguien no tiene Facebook, da la impresión de que tiene algo que ocultar. En serio, no hay forma de ganar en esto. ~ Anonymous,
1290:Mimo że jest 2014 rok, to jedynie Ameryka szaleje na punkcie treści generowanych przez userów, czyli właśnie YouTube’a czy Twittera. W Polsce to dopiero raczkuje. Słyszałem o akcji jednego z operatorów komórkowych, który stawia bardzo mocno na reklamę z gwiazdami dużego formatu i do tej pory w ogóle nie współpracował z blogerami. I to jest właśnie zabawne. Słyszałem, że były zakusy na akcję, w której liczący się youtuberzy będą w sieci jednego operatora. Byłby to dość ciekawy zabieg marketingowy pokazujący zasięg tej sieci komórkowej w internecie. Akcja jednak spełzła na niczym, a pieniądze, które miały być na nią przeznaczone, poszły na zwykłe banerki na To nie jest wymyślona historia. W: Być może to było zorganizowane. K: To się nawet nie zaczęło, ktoś by chociaż napomknął, do kogoś by uderzyli – nie mówię, że do nas, ale to dziwne: w 2014 roku operator komórkowy, czyli ktoś, kto naprawdę musi walczyć o nowych ludzi, młodych ludzi, którzy mają swoją pierwszą komórkę, pierwszy abonament, nie atakuje rynku internetowego, tylko nadal woli mieć banerki klikalne na portalach. ~ Anonymous,
1291:The Internet is a beautiful thing and you sent a tweet an hour after we met that day: I smell cheeseburgers. #CornerBistroIsMakingMeFat

And let me tell you, for a moment there, I was concerned. Maybe I wasn’t special. You didn’t even mention me, our conversation. Also: I talk to strangers is a line in your Twitter bio. I talk to strangers. What the fuck is that, Beck? Children are not supposed to talk to strangers but you are an adult. Or is our conversation nothing to you? Am I just another stranger? Is your Twitter bio your subtle way of announcing that you’re an attention whore who has no standards and will give audience to any poor schmuck who says hello? Was I nothing to you? You don’t even mention the guy in the bookstore? Fuck, I thought, maybe I was wrong. Maybe we had nothing. But then I started to explore you and you don’t write about what really matters. You wouldn’t share me with your followers. Your online life is a variety show, so if anything, the fact that you didn’t put me in your stand-up act means that you covet me. Maybe even more than I realize... ~ Caroline Kepnes,
1292:We no longer live in a mass-media world with a few centralized choke points with just a few editors in charge, operated by commercial entities and governments. There is a new, radically different mode of information and attention flow: the chaotic world of the digitally networked public sphere (or spheres) where ordinary citizens or activists can generate ideas, document and spread news of events, and respond to mass media. This new sphere, too, has choke points and centralization, but different ones than the past. The networked public sphere has emerged so forcefully and so rapidly that it is easy to forget how new it is. Facebook was started in 2004 and Twitter in 2006. The first iPhone, ushering in the era of the smart, networked phone, was introduced in 2007. The wide extent of digital connectivity might blind us to the power of this transformation. It should not. These dynamics are significant social mechanisms, especially for social movements, since they change the operation of a key resource: attention… Attention is oxygen for movements. Without it, they cannot catch fire. ~ Zeynep Tufekci,
1293:The admiral tossed the report at Molina and said to me, “Tell us about it.” “Jade Helm is an exercise about how the government will put down a right-wing uprising, or rebellion, and arrest everyone they think might be sympathetic with the rebels. They’ll use these paramilitary police they have tucked into every government alphabet agency as storm troopers and SS troops—” That was as far as I got. Molina exploded. “Comparing the federal government to Nazis is unacceptable. I am not going to sit here listening to that kind of shit, Carmellini.” I didn’t say anything. Sal Molina couldn’t fire me, and if Grafton did, I was ready to be on my way. Truth was, I had been in the belly of the beast for far too long. “Go on, Tommy,” Grafton prompted, ignoring Molina. “They’ll arrest every prominent Republican they can find and hold them in guarded camps, mainly at military bases. They have computer-generated lists. Gun owners, people who run their mouths on Facebook and Twitter, radio talk-show hosts, editors and publishers of Republican newspapers. . .you know, dangerous enemies of society. ~ Stephen Coonts,
1294:People should be part of building the future rather than feeling like the future is being forced upon them. Blitzscaling is what separates the start-ups that get disrupted and disappear as the world changes from the ones that scale up to become market leaders and shape the future. This book was born out of a class we taught at Stanford in which we dissected the process that went into growing the world’s largest technology companies and then codified a series of tactics and choices that made it work. The result was a specific set of principles that describes how to grow multibillion-dollar companies in a handful of years. While writing this book, we talked to hundreds of entrepreneurs and CEOs, including those of the world’s most valuable companies, such as Facebook, Alphabet (Google), Netflix, Dropbox, Twitter, and Airbnb. (You can hear a number of these conversations on my podcast, Masters of Scale.) Even though the stories of their companies’ rise were very different in many ways, the one thing they all had in common was an extreme, unwieldy, risky, inefficient, do-or-die approach to growth. ~ Reid Hoffman,
1295:few days after she had talked to Ben Weatherstaff, Mary stopped to notice this and wondered why it was so. She had just paused and was looking up at a long spray of ivy swinging in the wind when she saw a gleam of scarlet and heard a brilliant chirp, and there, on the top of the wall, forward perched Ben Weatherstaff's robin redbreast, tilting forward to look at her with his small head on one side. "Oh!" she cried out, "is it you—is it you?" And it did not seem at all queer to her that she spoke to him as if she were sure that he would understand and answer her. He did answer. He twittered and chirped and hopped along the wall as if he were telling her all sorts of things. It seemed to Mistress Mary as if she understood him, too, though he was not speaking in words. It was as if he said: "Good morning! Isn't the wind nice? Isn't the sun nice? Isn't everything nice? Let us both chirp and hop and twitter. Come on! Come on!" Mary began to laugh, and as he hopped and took little flights along the wall she ran after him. Poor little thin, sallow, ugly Mary—she actually looked almost pretty ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett,
1296:I hoped you would choose me,” he said.
I blushed, suddenly aware of my unbraceleted arms and simple sari. “I have no dowry.”
He laughed, a hesitant, half-nervous sound that did not match his stern features. “I don’t care.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
“I want to lie beside you and know the weight of your dreams,” he said, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I want to share whole worlds with you and write your name in the stars.” He moved closer and a chorus of songbirds twittered silver melodies. “I want to measure eternity with your laughter.” Now, he stood inches from me; his rough hands encircled my waist. “Be my queen and I promise you a life where you will never be bored. I promise you more power than a hundred kings. And I promise you that we will always be equals.”
I grinned. “Not my soul then, Dharma Raja?”
“Would you entrust me with something so precious?”
I was silent for a moment before reaching for my foot and slipping off the worn slipper. “Here, my love, the dowry of a sole.”
I began to laugh, giddily, drunkenly, before he swallowed my laughter in a kiss. ~ Roshani Chokshi,
1297:Cade studied her for a moment, then sat forward in his chair. “Seriously, what is it about this guy? He’s just a rich computer geek with good hair.”

Rylann smiled. “I think there’s a little more to it than that.”

“Christ, you are smitten.” He threw up his hands. “What is going on with everyone these days? Sam Wilkins is babbling about a meet-cute, Cameron’s sneaking off to get hitched, and now you’re all starry-eyed over the Twitter Terrorist. Has everyone been sneaking happy pills out of the evidence room when I’m not looking?”

"No, just some really good pot.”

Cade laughed out loud at that. “You are a funny one, Pierce. I’ll say that.”

“So does that mean we’re still on for Starbucks later today?”

He studied her suspiciously. “You’re not going to want to talk about Kyle Rhodes the whole time, are you?”

“Actually, yes. And then we’ll go shoe shopping together and get mani-pedis.” She threw him a get-real look. “We’ll talk about the same stuff we always talk about.”

With a grin, he finally nodded. “Fine. Three o’clock, Pierce. I’ll swing by your office ~ Julie James,
1298:Ironically, in an age of instant global connection, my certainty about anything has decreased. Rather than receiving truth from an authority, I am reduced to assembling my own certainty from the liquid stream of facts flowing through the web. Truth, with a capital T, becomes truths, plural. I have to sort the truths not just about things I care about, but about anything I touch, including areas about which I can’t possibly have any direct knowledge. That means that in general I have to constantly question what I think I know. We might consider this state perfect for the advancement of science, but it also means that I am more likely to have my mind changed for incorrect reasons. While hooked into the network of networks I feel like I am a network myself, trying to achieve reliability from unreliable parts. And in my quest to assemble truths from half-truths, nontruths, and some noble truths scattered in the flux, I find my mind attracted to fluid ways of thinking (scenarios, provisional belief, subjective hunches) and toward fluid media like mashups, twitterese, and search. But as I flow through this slippery web of ~ Kevin Kelly,
1299:The first line of defense for any society is always going to be its guardrails—laws, stoplights, police, courts, surveillance, the FBI, and basic rules of decency for communities like Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube. All of those are necessary, but they are not sufficient for the age of accelerations. Clearly, what is also needed—and is in the power of every parent, school principal, college president, and spiritual leader—is to think more seriously and urgently about how we can inspire more of what Dov Seidman calls “sustainable values”: honesty, humility, integrity, and mutual respect. These values generate trust, social bonds, and, above all, hope. This is opposed to what Seidman calls “situational values”—“just doing whatever the situation allows”—whether in the terrestrial realm or cyberspace. Sustainable values do “double duty,” adds Seidman, whose company, LRN, advises global companies on how to improve their ethical performance. They animate behaviors that produce trust and healthy interdependencies and “they inspire hope and resilience—they keep us leaning in, in the face of people behaving badly.” When ~ Thomas L Friedman,
1300:Minding less can also serve the greater good. Some people have changed the course of history by stepping up to say the unsayable or do the undoable in later life. Rosa Parks was 42 when she refused to give up her seat on that bus in Montgomery, Alabama. Today we need that willingness to rock the boat and speak truth to power more than ever. Why? Because we live in a world ruled by bullshit and branding, where spin trumps sincerity, where the pressure to perform is relentless, where online echo chambers insulate us from views that contradict our own, where Twitter mobs police opinions, jokes and language, where the keys to the kingdom are handed to those who find the most marketable way of saying what everyone else wants to hear. One remedy for this culture of conformity is to have more people around who are prepared to speak their mind because they mind less what others think of them – and that is exactly what the longevity revolution can deliver. As Oliver James, a prominent British psychologist and psychotherapist, puts it: ‘That bluntness, that refreshing authenticity you find in older people, is hugely to be valued. ~ Carl Honor,
1301:Each day, Internet users share more than 1.8 billion photos, according to a report by venture firm Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers. For advertisers, the social media posts that include those photos are more valuable than those with just text because pictures reveal how consumers act "in the wild." "You have a window into their world," said Duncan Alney, CEO of Firebelly Marketing in Indianapolis, which uses Ditto Labs' service. Alney, whose firm represents a beer company, learned from Ditto that people drink beer not just with pub grub but also with healthier snacks like hummus. And that consumers who favor mainstream beers also consume craft brews. Other companies use it to interact with fans. Nissan North America found a photo on Twitter of a baby peeking out from behind a cardboard cutout of a Nissan race car driver. Nissan got the Twitter user's permission and reposted the photo on the company's account, garnering 17 retweets and 37 favorites. The original photo was not tagged with "Nissan," so without Ditto the company never would have found it, said Rob Robinson, a senior specialist in social communications at the automaker. ~ Anonymous,
1302:FAR SIDE: We know you’re on Twitter. (Leaning in conspiratorially) And if you’re willing to tweet about loving Sunshine Cupcakes, this cupcake (gesturing to the one I was buying) is free. I did not know it was possible to be triple offended. First of all, Manager Woman, if you notice that a thirty-two-year-old woman is coming to your cupcake bakery every day for a week, keep that information to yourself. I don’t need to be reminded of how poor my food choices are on a regular basis. Second, how cheap and/or poor do you think I am? A cupcake costs two bucks! You think I’m miserly enough to think, like, Oh goody, I can save those two bucks for some other tiny purchase later today! And third, even if I were to buy into this weird bribey situation where I endorse your product, you think the cost of it would be one measly cupcake? The implications of this offer were far worse than anything she meant to propose, obviously, but I hate her forever nonetheless. This is why I never eat cupcakes anymore. The connotations are too disturbing. Lucky for me, the mighty doughnut is making a comeback. No one better ruin doughnuts for me, or I will be so pissed. ~ Mindy Kaling,
1303:So whenever that brittle voice of dissatisfaction emerges within me, I can say "Ah, my ego! There you are, old friend!" It's the same thing when I'm being criticized and I notice myself reaching with outrage, heartache, or defensiveness. It's just my ego, flaring up and testing its power. In such circumstances, I have learned to watch my heated emotions carefully, but I try not to take them too seriously, because I know that it's merely my ego that has been wounded--never my soul It is merely my ego that wants revenge, or to win the biggest prize. It is merely my ego that wants to start a Twitter war against a hater, or to sulk at an insult or to quit in righteous indignation because I didn't get the outcome I wanted.

"At such times, I can always steady my life one more by returning to my soul. I ask it, "And what is it that you want, dear one?"

"The answer is always the same: "More wonder, please."

"As long as I'm still moving in that direction---toward wonder--then I know I will always be fine in my soul, which is where it counts. And since creativity is still the most effective way for me to access wonder, I choose it. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,
1304:creating a company for acquisition or IPO is different from building a profitable enterprise; it’s about building a sellable enterprise. Startups are not trying to earn revenue (which is a liability); they are setting themselves up to win more capital. They are not part of the real economy or even the real world but part of the process through which working assets are converted into new stockpiles of dead ones. That’s all they have really accomplished with whatever digital fad they’ve foisted onto the market or sold to yesterday’s tech winners. They thought they were engineering a new technology, when they were actually engineering a reallocation of capital. That’s why digital entrepreneurs who do win often end up becoming the next generation of venture capitalists. Everyone from Marc Andreessen (Netscape) to Sean Parker (Napster) to Peter Thiel (PayPal) to Jack Dorsey (Twitter) now runs venture funds of his own. Facebook and Google, once startups themselves, now acquire more businesses than they incubate internally. With each new generation, firms and investors leverage the startup economy more deliberately, or even cynically. After all, a win is a win. ~ Douglas Rushkoff,
1305:You can’t blame your boss for not giving you the support you need. Plenty of people will say, ‘It’s my boss’s fault.’ No, it’s actually your fault because you haven’t educated him, you haven’t influenced him, you haven’t explained to him in a manner he understands why you need this support that you need. That’s extreme ownership. Own it all.” A Good Reason to Be an Early Riser “I’m up and getting after it by 4: 45. I like to have that psychological win over the enemy. For me, when I wake up in the morning—and I don’t know why—I’m thinking about the enemy and what they’re doing. I know I’m not on active duty anymore, but it’s still in my head: that there’s a guy in a cave somewhere, he’s rocking back and forth, and he’s got a machine gun in one hand and a grenade in the other. He’s waiting for me, and we’re going to meet. When I wake up in the morning, I’m thinking to myself: What can I do to be ready for that moment, which is coming? That propels me out of bed.” TF: This story has compelled so many listeners to start waking early that there is a #0445club hashtag on Twitter, featuring pictures of wristwatches. It’s still going strong more than a year after the podcast. ~ Timothy Ferriss,
1306:The Princess: A Medley: O Swallow
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,
Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,
And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,
That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,
And dark and true and tender is the North.
O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light
Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,
And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.
O were I thou that she might take me in,
And lay me on her bosom, and her heart
Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.
Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,
Delaying as the tender ash delays
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?
O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:
Say to her, I do but wanton in the South,
But in the North long since my nest is made.
O tell her, brief is life but love is long,
And brief the sun of summer in the North,
And brief the moon of beauty in the South.
O Swallow, flying from the golden woods,
Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine,
And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson,
1307:Kyle worked in technology; he knew it would only be a matter of time before the video of Daniela and the A-list actor went viral and spread everywhere. So he did what any pissed-off, red-blooded computer geek would do after catching his girlfriend giving an underwater blowjob to another man: he hacked into Twitter and deleted both the video and her earlier tweet from the site. Then, raging at the world that had devolved so much in civility that 140-character breakups had become acceptable, he shut down the entire network in a denial-of-service attack that lasted two days.

And so began the Great Twitter Outage of 2011.

The Earth nearly stopped on its axis.

Panic and mayhem ensued as Twitter unsuccessfully attempted to counteract what it deemed the most sophisticated hijacking they’d ever experienced. Meanwhile, the FBI waited for either a ransom demand or political statement from the so-called “Twitter Terrorist.” But neither was forthcoming, as the Twitter Terrorist had no political agenda, already was worth millions, and had most inconveniently taken off to Tijuana, Mexico to get shit-faced drunk on cheap tequila being served by an eight-fingered bartender named Esteban. ~ Julie James,
1308:platforms cannot be entirely planned; they also emerge. Remember that one of the key characteristics that distinguishes a platform from a traditional business is that most of the activity is controlled by users, not by the owners or managers of the platform. It’s inevitable that participants will use the platform in ways you never anticipated or planned. Twitter was never meant to have a discovery mechanism. It originated as simply a reverse-chronological stream of feeds. There was no way to seek out tweets on particular topics other than by scrolling through pages of unrelated and irrelevant content. Chris Messina, an engineer at Google, originally suggested the use of hashtags to annotate and discover similar tweets. Today, the hashtag has become a mainstay of Twitter. Platform designers should always leave room for serendipitous discoveries, as users often lead the way to where the design should evolve. Close monitoring of user behavior on the platform is almost certain to reveal unexpected patterns—some of which may suggest fruitful new areas for value creation. The best platforms allow room for user quirks, and they are open enough to gradually incorporate such quirks into the design of the platform. ~ Geoffrey G Parker,
1309:The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the back of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory-nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble field. The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around them. There was the honest cock robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker with his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the cedar bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that nosy coxcomb, in his gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the grove. ~ Washington Irving,
1310:In short order, I became America’s foremost “irregardless” apologist. I recorded a short video for Merriam-Webster’s website refuting the notion that “irregardless” wasn’t a word; I took to Twitter and Facebook and booed naysayers who set “irregardless” up as the straw man for the demise of English. I continued to find evidence of the emphatic “irregardless” in all sorts of places—even in the oral arguments of a Supreme Court case. One incredulous e-mail response to my video continued to claim “irregardless” wasn’t a real word. “It’s a made-up word that made it into the dictionary through constant use!” the correspondent said, and I cackled gleefully before responding. Of course “irregardless” is a made-up word that was entered into the dictionary through constant use; that’s pretty much how this racket works. All words are made-up: Do you think we find them fully formed on the ocean floor, or mine for them in some remote part of Wales? I began telling correspondents that “irregardless” was much more complex than people thought, and it deserved a little respectful respite, even if it still was not part of Standard English. My mother was duly horrified. “Oh, Kory,” she tutted. “So much for that college education.” — ~ Kory Stamper,
1311:When I called you in your garden
Mango blooms were rich in fragrance -
Why did you remain so distant,
Keep your doors so tightly fastened?
Blossoms grew to ripe fruit-clusters -
Your rejected my cuppded handfuls,
Closed your eyes to perfectness.

In the fierce harsh storms of Baisakh,
Golden ripened fruit fell tumbling.
'Dust, I said, 'defiles such offerings:
Let your hands be heaven to them.'
Still you showed no friendliness.

Lampless were your doors at evening,
Pitch-black as I played my vina.
How the starlight twanged my heartstrings!
How I set my vina dancing!
You showed no responsiveness.

Sad birds twittered sleeplessly,
Calling, calling lost companions.
Gone the right time for our union -
Low the moon while still you brooded,
Sunk in lonely pensiveness.

Who can understand another!
Heart cannot restrain its passion.
I had hoped that some remaining
Tear-soaked memories would sway you,
Stir your feet to lightsomeness.

Moon fell at the feet of morning,
Loosened from the night's fading necklace.
While you slept, O did my Vina
Lull you with its heartache? Did you
Dream at least of happiness?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Unyielding
1312:Many of us who have observed our own behavior don't need science to prove that technology is altering us, but let's bring some in anyway. Dopamine, the neurotransmitter that records certain experiences in our brain (typically described as pleasurable) and prompts us to repeat them, plays a part not only in sex and drugs, but also the swiping and tapping we do on our smartphones.

Scott Barry Kaufman--- scientific director of the Imagination Institute...gave me the straight dope on dopamine. "It's a misconception that dopamine has to do with our feelings of happiness and pleasure," he said. "It's a molecule that helps influence our expectations." Higher levels of dopamine are linked to being more open to new things and novelty seeking. Something novel could be an amazing idea for dinner or a new book. . . or just getting likes on a Facebook post or the ping of a text coming in. Our digital devices activate and hijack this dopamine system extremely well, when we let them.
...Kaufman calls dopamine "the mother of invention" and explains that because we have a limited amount of it, we must be judicious about choosing to spend it on "increasing our wonder and excitement for creating meaning and new things like art--- or on Twitter. ~ Manoush Zomorodi,
1313:During the period in which newspapers were initially reporting on how asylum-seeking immigrants were having their young children ripped from them, presidential daughter and advisor Ivanka Trump tweeted a photograph of herself beatifically embracing her small son. When Samantha Bee performed a fierce excoriation of Trump’s incivility in both supporting her father’s administration, and posting such a cruel celebration of her own intact family, she called her a “feckless cunt.” It was this epithet, one that Donald Trump had himself used as an insult against women on multiple past occasions, that sent the media into a spiral of shocked alarm and prompted Trump himself to recommend, via Twitter, that Bee’s network, TBS, fire her. But neither Trump’s past use of the word to demean women, nor his possible violation of the First Amendment, provoked as much horror as the feminist comedian’s deployment of a slur that she had used before on her show often in reference to herself. Typically only the incivility of the less powerful toward the more powerful can be widely understood as such, and thus be subject to such intense censure. Which is what made #metoo so fraught and revolutionary. It was a period during which some of the most powerful faced repercussion. ~ Rebecca Traister,
1314:Before such people can act together, a kind of telepathic feeling has to flow through them and ripen to the point when they all know that they are ready to begin. Anyone who has seen the martins and swallows in September, assembling on the telephone wires, twittering, making short flights singly and in groups over the open, stubbly fields, returning to form longer and even longer lines above the yellowing verges of the lanes-the hundreds of individual birds merging and blending, in a mounting excitement, into swarms, and these swarms coming loosely and untidily together to create a great, unorganized flock, thick at the centre and ragged at the edges, which breaks and re-forms continually like clouds or waves-until that moment when the greater part (but not all) of them know that the time has come: they are off, and have begun once more that great southward flight which many will not survive; anyone seeing this has seen at the work the current that flows (among creatures who think of themselves primarily as part of a group and only secondarily, if at all, as individuals) to fuse them together and impel them into action without conscious thought or will: has seen at work the angel which drove the First Crusade into Antioch and drives the lemmings into the sea. ~ Richard Adams,
1315:She heard a chirp and a twitter, and when she looked at the bare flower-bed at her left side there he was hopping about and pretending to peck things out of the earth to persuade her that he had not followed her. But she knew he had followed her and the surprise so filled her with delight that she almost trembled a little.
"You do remember me!" she cried out. "You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!"
She chirped, and talked, and coaxed and he hopped, and flirted his tail and twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like satin and he puffed his tiny breast out and was so fine and so grand and so pretty that it was really as if he were showing her how important and like a human person a robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had ever been contrary in her life when he allowed her to draw closer and closer to him, and bend down and talk and try to make something like robin sounds.
Oh! to think that he should actually let her come as near to him as that! He knew nothing in the world would make her put out her hand toward him or startle him in the least tiniest way. He knew it because he was a real person—only nicer than any other person in the world. She was so happy that she scarcely dared to breathe. ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett,
1316:Consider the case of two very similar companies, Twitter and Tumblr. Both had brilliant, product-oriented founders in Evan “Ev” Williams and David Karp. Both were hot social media start-ups. Both grew at a remarkable rate after establishing product/ market fit. Both had a major impact on popular culture. Yet Twitter went public and achieved a market capitalization that peaked at nearly $ 37 billion, while Tumblr was acquired by Yahoo!—another start-up that used blitzscaling to become a scale-up, only to decline and fade away—for “only” $ 1 billion. Was this dumb luck on Twitter’s side? Perhaps. Luck always plays a larger role than founders, investors, and the media would like to admit. But a major difference was that Twitter could draw on numerous networks for advice and help that Tumblr could not. For example, Twitter was able to bring in Dick Costolo, a savvy executive with prior scaling experience at Google. In contrast, even though Tumblr was arguably the most prominent start-up in its New York City ecosystem, it couldn’t easily draw upon a pool of local talent who had experience dealing with rapid growth. According to Greylock’s John Lilly, for every executive role that Tumblr needed to fill, there were less than a handful of candidates in all of New York City. ~ Reid Hoffman,
The walls have seemed to say to me
Where have the sticky fingers gone
That always found their way to me,
And left their prints to gaze upon.
The halls have worn a gloomy air
And seemed like tunnels, dark and black,
And it has seemed that every chair
Has asked me when they're coming back.
The stairs have seemed to speak to me
Each night as I have climbed alone,
And pitifully squeak to me:
'Where have the little people flown?'
The beds all smooth and sternly kept
Have said with faces drawn and white
Where are the curly heads that slept
On us, so sweetly, every night?
The untouched toys have stared at me
As if to say the days are long,
And all their dolls have glared at me
As though accusing me of wrong.
And every rug so straight and stiff
Has seemed to sigh for rumpling feet,
And worn a sorry look as if
It missed the mud-tracks of the street.
The bird has twittered low to me
A sort of solemn, sad refrain
As though he tried to show to me
He wishes they were near again.
But soon the walls and halls and chairs
Will know once more the charm they lack,
And little feet will race the stairs,
They've sent me word they're coming back.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1318:Camelot—Camelot," said I to myself.  "I don't seem to remember hearing of it before.  Name of the asylum, likely." It was a soft, reposeful summer landscape, as lovely as a dream, and as lonesome as Sunday.  The air was full of the smell of flowers, and the buzzing of insects, and the twittering of birds, and there were no people, no wagons, there was no stir of life, nothing going on.  The road was mainly a winding path with hoof-prints in it, and now and then a faint trace of wheels on either side in the grass—wheels that apparently had a tire as broad as one's hand. Presently a fair slip of a girl, about ten years old, with a cataract of golden hair streaming down over her shoulders, came along. Around her head she wore a hoop of flame-red poppies. It was as sweet an outfit as ever I saw, what there was of it.  She walked indolently along, with a mind at rest, its peace reflected in her innocent face.  The circus man paid no attention to her; didn't even seem to see her.  And she—she was no more startled at his fantastic make-up than if she was used to his like every day of her life.  She was going by as indifferently as she might have gone by a couple of cows; but when she happened to notice me, then there was a change!  Up went her hands, and she was turned to stone; ~ Mark Twain,
1319:PERCY AND PADFOOT Harry was the first to awake in his dormitory next morning. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the chink of sunlight falling through the gap in his four-poster’s hangings and savored the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on forever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson. Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up, and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill, and headed out of the dormitory for the common room. Making straight for his favorite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars, and candy wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone, as were all Hermione’s elf hats. Wondering vaguely how many elves had now been set free whether they wanted to be or not, Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, ~ J K Rowling,
1320:Once upon a time an Athenian princesss named Prokne was wed to Tereus, king of the barbarous Thracians of the north. When Prokne's unfortunate sister, Philomela, came for a visit, Tereus fell madly in love with the girl locked her away and raped her, then cut out her tongue to prevent her from telling anyone of the crime. Philomela, however, wove into a cloth the story of her misfortune. When Prokne, receiving the cloth, understood what had befallen, she freed her sister, killed her own son, Itys, whom she had borne to Tereus, and served the child up to his father at a feast--the vilest revenge she could think of. When Tereus discovered the truth, in wrath he pursued the two sisters, thinking to kill them, but the gods transformed all three into birds: Tereus into the hoopoe (a large, crested bird with a daggerlike beak), Philomela into the swallow, which can only twitter unintelligibly, and Prokne into the nightingale, which spends the night singing 'Itys Itys!' in mourning for her dead son. All these birds have reddish spots, it is said, from getting spattered with the blood of the child.
It is interesting in our purposes because it shows in yet another way the great importance that clothmaking had in women's lives, becoming central to their mythology as well. ~ Elizabeth Wayland Barber,
1321:Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d
alone, bare-headed, barefoot,
Down from the shower’d halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous’d words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing. ~ Walt Whitman,
1322:The Ferry
DRAW close the curtains, and shut out
The spring's green glow and glitter;
The resurrection-life of spring
To me brings no fresh blossoming;
I'm wearied of the flowers about-The London sparrows' twitter.
If I could dream--if I could see
Once more the slow smooth river,
The narrow path she used to tread,
The sunlight on her little head,
The white fire of the hawthorn tree-But I shall see them never.
Only the boat in dreams I steer
Among the tufted rushes,
I see her white gown through the grass,
That thrills with love to feel her pass;
Only in dreams again I hear
Those unforgotten thrushes.
Sometimes in dreams I see her stand,
Her hand held out, and making
The sweet unreal so vivid seem,
I only know it is a dream
When I reach out to take her hand,
And find no hand for taking.
So once she stood; and I--too weak
To dare to say, 'I love her'-I dropped her hand, and took the oar
And rowed her to the farther shore;
I had my chance, and did not speak,
And chances now are over.
How dark the room has grown!--yet no,
The sky is blue above me;
This is the boat--the hawthorn tree
Is showering blossoms down on me;
And she is here as long ago,
And she has learned to love me!
~ Edith Nesbit,
1323:With 21 million people following her on Facebook and 18 million on Twitter, pop singer Ariana Grande can’t personally chat with each of her loves, as she affectionately calls her fans. So she and others are spreading their messages through new-style social networks, via mobile apps that are more associated with private, intimate conversation, hoping that marketing in a cozier digital setting adds a breath of warmth and a dash of personality. It’s the Internet’s equivalent of mailing postcards rather than plastering a billboard. Grande could have shared on Twitter that her most embarrassing moment on stage was losing a shoe. The 21-year-old instead revealed the fact during a half-hour live text chat on Line, an app built for close friends to exchange instant messages. It’s expensive to advertise on Facebook and Twitter, and the volume of information being posted creates uncertainty over what people actually notice. Chat apps including Line, Kik, Snapchat, WeChat and Viber place marketing messages front and center. Most-used apps The apps threaten to siphon advertising dollars from the social media leaders, which are already starting to see chat apps overtake them as the most-used apps on smartphones, according to Forrester Research. Chat apps “demand attention,” said Rebecca Lieb, an analyst at consulting firm Altimeter Group. ~ Anonymous,
1324:Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,  Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,  Out of the Ninth-month midnight,  Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d alone, bare-headed, barefoot,  Down from the shower’d halo,  Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they were alive,  Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,  From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,  From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,  From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears,  From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist,  From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,  From the myriad thence-arous’d words,  From the word stronger and more delicious than any,  From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,  As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,  Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,  A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,  Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves.  I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,  Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping beyond them,  A reminiscence sing. ~ Walt Whitman, Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking, from Leaves of Grass, 1860 edition.,
1325:Twilight In The North
O THE long northern twilight between the day and the night,
When the heat and the weariness of the world are ended quite:
When the hills grow dim as dreams, and the crystal river seems
Like that River of Life from out the Throne where the blessèd walk in white.
O the weird northern twilight, which is neither night nor day,
When the amber wake of the long-set sun still marks his western way:
And but one great golden star in the deep blue east afar
Warns of sleep, and dark, and midnight--of oblivion and decay.
O the calm northern twilight, when labor is all done,
And the birds in drowsy twitter have dropped silent one by one:
And nothing stirs or sighs in mountains, waters, skies,-Earth sleeps--but her heart waketh, till the rising of the sun.
O the sweet, sweet twilight, just before the time of rest,
When the black clouds are driven away, and the stormy winds suppressed:
And the dead day smiles so bright, filling earth and heaven with light,-You would think 't was dawn come back again--but the light is in the west.
O the grand solemn twilight, spreading peace from pole to pole!-Ere the rains sweep o'er the hillsides, and the waters rise and roll,
In the lull and the calm, come, O angel with the palm-In the still norther twilight, Azrael, take my soul.
~ Dinah Maria Mulock Craik,
The swallows made twitter incessant,
The thrushes were wild with their mirth.
The ways and the woods were made pleasant,
And the flowering nooks of the earth.
And the sunshine sufficed to rejoice me,
And the air was as bracing as wine,
And the sky and the shadows and grasses
Were enough to make living divine.
Then I saw on the ground two gray robins,
One with glorious flame-colored vest,
'Neath the shade of some delicate bluebells,
By the breeze of the morning caressed.
They were singing of love in the shadow;
She was bashful, and modest, and coy,
And he sang to her tenderest love-songs,
And madrigals full of his joy.
And his song came forth clearer and clearer,
With each passionate, musical note;
Like the ripple of silvery waters,
It gushed from his beautiful throat.
His whole little bird-soul he offers,—
Ah! she listens to him as he sings:
Then he ceases, awaiting her answer,
With bright eyes and with quivering wings.
And I, too, stood awaiting it, breathless,
For his song was too sweet to disdain,
Till it came, little notes full of gladness,
With a plaintive and tender refrain.
And the songs died away in the distance,
And the forest alone heard the rest,
As the two little lovers flew upward,
To build them together a nest.
~ Emma Lazarus,
1327:Social networks including Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest took a step closer to offering ecommerce on their own platforms this week, as the battle to win over retailers hots up. Facebook announced on Thursday it is trialling a “buy” button to allow people to purchase a product without ever leaving the social network’s app. The initial test, with a handful of small and medium-sized businesses in the US, could lead to more ecommerce companies buying adverts on the network. It could also allow Facebook to compile payment information and encourage people to make more transactions via the platform as it would save them typing in card numbers on smartphones. But the social network said no credit or debit card details will be shared with other advertisers. Twitter acquired CardSpring, a payments infrastructure company, this week for an undisclosed price as part of plans to feature more ecommerce around live events or, as it puts it, “in-the-moment commerce experiences”. CardSpring connects payment details with loyalty cards and coupons for transactions online and in stores. The home of the 140-character message hired Nathan Hubbard, former chief executive of Ticketmaster, last year to work on creating an ecommerce product. It has since worked with Amazon, to allow people to add things to their online basket by tweeting, and with Starbucks to encourage people to tweet to buy a coffee for a friend. ~ Anonymous,
1328:People complain about the obscurity of poetry, especially if they're assigned to write about it, but actually poetry is rather straightforward compared to ordinary conversation with people you don't know well which tends to be jumpy repartee, crooked, coded, allusive to no effect, firmly repressed, locked up in irony, steadfastly refusing to share genuine experience--think of conversation at office parties or conversation between teenage children and parents, or between teenagers themselves, or between men, or between bitter spouces: rarely in ordinary conversation do people speak from the heart and mean what they say. How often in the past week did anyone offer you something from the heart? It's there in poetry. Forget everything you ever read about poetry, it doesn't matter--poetry is the last preserve of honest speech and the outspoken heart. All that I wrote about it as a grad student I hereby recant and abjure--all that matters about poetry to me is directness and clarity and truthfulness. All that is twittery and lit'ry: no thanks, pal. A person could perish of entertainment, especially comedy, so much of it casually nihilistic, hateful, glittering, cold, and in the end clueless. People in nusing homes die watching late-night television and if I were one of them, I'd be grateful when the darkness descends. Thank God if the pastor comes and offers a psalm and a prayer, and they can attain a glimmer of clarity at the end. ~ Garrison Keillor,
1329:You’re right,” Phoebe said. “We both need coffee.”
“And a change in subject. Come on. Zane sent me to find you and bring you back for breakfast.” She grinned. “Apparently he’s worried about you.”
“He worries about everyone,” Phoebe said, trying not to be pleased by Maya’s words. “It’s his nature.”
“That’s true. Zane would love to be in charge of the world. He gets off on bossing people around.”
“It’s not that,” Phoebe said. “He takes his responsibilities seriously.”
“Defending him again?”
Phoebe waved goodbye to Manny and started down the path. “He doesn’t need me to defend him. He’s strong enough to take care of himself.”
“Interesting.” Maya walked next to her. “So here’s this big, hunky guy who doesn’t need you to rescue him. No wonder you’re all atwitter around him. You don’t know what to do.”
Phoebe wanted to kick a rock. It figured Maya would manage to put it all together in about fifteen seconds. It was her own fault for having a smart friend.
Maya was right. If Zane didn’t need Phoebe to take care of him, what on earth would he need her for? And if he didn’t need her, why would he want her? She understood the theory that some men cared about women just because. That the women didn’t have to do anything to earn the affection. It wasn’t anything she’d ever experienced in her own life.
“Zane isn’t for me,” she said firmly.
Maya laughed. “That sounds really good, but I can’t help wondering who you’re trying to convince. ~ Susan Mallery,
1330:I want to lie beside you and know the weight of your dreams,” he said, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I want to share whole worlds with you and write your name in the stars.” He moved closer and a chorus of songbirds twittered silver melodies. “I want to measure eternity with your laughter.” Now, he stood inches from me; his rough hands encircled my waist. “Be my queen and I promise you a life where you will never be bored. I promise you more power than a hundred kings. And I promise you that we will always be equals.”
I grinned. “Not my soul then, Dharma Raja?”
“Would you entrust me with something so precious?”
I was silent for a moment before reaching for my foot and slipping off the worn slipper. “Here, my love, the dowry of a sole.”
I began to laugh, giddily, drunkenly, before he swallowed my laughter in a kiss. I melted against him, arcing into the enclosure of his arms, my breath catching as his fingers entwined in the down of my hair. The music of the songbirds could not compare to the euphony billowing inside me, pressing against my bones and manifesting in a language of gentle touch.
In Naraka, he drew me into the small universe of his embrace, laying kisses at my neck, the inside of my wrists, the dip in my abdomen. Now, the hum had settled to a lustrous melody, ribboning us like silk. And when we clung together, we drank in the other’s gaze, reveling in the secret hope and happiness that blossomed in the space between our lips. ~ Roshani Chokshi,
1331:For the Resistance, the only organizing principle is: Which position will be worse for Trump? Is Russia a colorful country with a noble history of giving socialism a try—or the most evil regime since Nazi Germany? Do I enjoy coarseness in popular culture—or am I a hothouse flower offended by dirty language? Am I enraged by the idea of the government secretly spying on American citizens—or is that a vital part of national security? Is it outrageous that private communications of the Democratic National Committee were publicly revealed (on WikiLeaks) during a campaign, or is it totally fantastic that a secret recording of Trump (the Access Hollywood tape) was blasted all over the world a month before the election? Is transparency in government something that I support, or do I think Trump has got to get off Twitter—a novel and independent thought that has occurred only to me? In that environment, we may give Trump more than the usual latitude if he acts as if he’s under siege. He is under siege. Is he unhinged? No, he’s hinged, fighting back against the left’s infantile, knee-jerk reaction to everything he does. Instead of governing, Trump is spending his presidency refuting questions like “Did you boil and eat a small child today?” It’s one ginned-up, fake story after another. And the people doing this are the most corrupt and conflicted in the history of the world—James Comey, Robert Mueller, Brian Williams, George Stephanopoulos, Nancy Pelosi, Hillary Clinton, and on and on. ~ Ann Coulter,
1332:Her beak was open, her hackles raised; her wild eyes were the colour of sun on white paper, and they stared because the whole world had fallen into them at once. One, two, three. I tucked the hood over her head. There was a brief intimation of a thin, angular skull under her feathers, of an alien brain fizzing and fusing with terror, then I drew the braces closed. We checked the ring numbers against the form. It was the wrong bird. This was the younger one. The smaller one. This was not my hawk. Oh. So we put her back and opened the other box, which was meant to hold the larger, older bird. And dear God, it did. Everything about this second hawk was different. She came out like a Victorian melodrama: a sort of madwoman in the attack. She was smokier and darker and much, much bigger, and instead of twittering, she wailed; great, awful gouts of sound like a thing in pain, and the sound was unbearable. This is my hawk, I was telling myself and it was all I could do to breathe. She too was bareheaded, and I grabbed the hood from the box as before. But as I brought it up to her face I looked into her eyes and saw something blank and crazy in her stare. Some madness from a distant country. I didn’t recognise her. This isn’t my hawk. The hood was on, the ring numbers checked, the bird back in the box, the yellow form folded, the money exchanged, and all I could think was, But this isn’t my hawk. Slow panic. I knew what I had to say, and it was a monstrous breach of etiquette. ‘This ~ Helen Macdonald,
1333:guiding users through a process quickly and easily is good for business, because the fewer people who get frustrated or confused, the more sales or sign-ups are completed. The problem, though, is that making interactions feel smooth and simple sounds nice, but it starts to fail as soon as you’re asking users for messy, complicated information. And as you’ll see in this chapter, all kinds of everyday questions can be messy and complicated—often in ways designers haven’t predicted. NAMING THE PROBLEM Sara Ann Marie Wachter-Boettcher. That’s how my birth certificate reads: five names, one hyphen, and a whole lot of consonant clusters (thanks, Mom and Dad!). I was used to it being misspelled. I was used to it being pronounced all sorts of ways. I was even used to everyone who looks at my driver’s license commenting that it takes up two whole lines. But I didn’t expect my name to cause me so many problems online. As it turns out, tons of services haven’t thought much about the wide range of names out there. So, on Twitter I forgo spaces to fit my professional name in: SaraWachterBoettcher. On online bill pay, they’ve truncated it for me: Sara Wachter-Boettch. In my airline’s online check-in system, hyphens straight up don’t exist. The list goes on. It’s irritating. It takes some extra time (do I enter a space between my last names, or just squish them together?). I see more error messages than I’d like. But it’s still a minor inconvenience, compared to what other people experience. ~ Sara Wachter Boettcher,
1334:I would dance all day in my basement listening to Off the Wall. You young people really don’t understand how magical Michael Jackson was. No one thought he was strange. No one was laughing. We were all sitting in front of our TVs watching the “Thriller” video every hour on the hour. We were all staring, openmouthed, as he moonwalked for the first time on the Motown twenty-fifth anniversary show. When he floated backward like a funky astronaut, I screamed out loud. There was no rewinding or rewatching. No next-day memes or trends on Twitter or Facebook posts. We would call each other on our dial phones and stretch the cord down the hall, lying on our stomachs and discussing Michael Jackson’s moves, George Michael’s facial hair, and that scene in Purple Rain when Prince fingers Apollonia from behind. Moments came and went, and if you missed them, you were shit out of luck. That’s why my parents went to a M*A*S*H party and watched the last episode in real time. There was no next-day M*A*S*H cast Google hangout. That’s why my family all squeezed onto one couch and watched the USA hockey team win the gold against evil Russia! We all wept as my mother pointed out every team member from Boston. (Everyone from Boston likes to point out everyone from Boston. Same with Canadians.) We all chanted “USA!” and screamed “YES!” when Al Michaels asked us if we believed in miracles. Things happened in real time and you watched them together. There was no rewind. HBO arrived in our house that same year. We had ~ Amy Poehler,
1335:What was in New York?”

“I had to sign a new contract. A Thin Blue Line was renewed for another season.”

“Oh, that’s awesome!” I heard rumblings on a few of the news outlets that the show might get dropped. “I really hope you’re finally able to get a new partner. I don’t know why they keep pushing that story line. Tina is not a good match for Jimmy. Brody and I have been riding together for almost seven years, and I would punch myself in the face before I ever kissed him. The show needs to give Jimmy a woman who he saved or something. That would be an interesting plot. Also, your brother on the show has to stop sleeping with that model. Twitter went nuts when he went back to her. She’s a bitch.”

Eli’s gaze shifts to mine, and he chuckles. “I thought you didn’t watch the show.”

Crap. I did say that. I chew on my thumb and shrug. “I guess I’ve seen a few seasons.” I say the last word under my breath, hoping he didn’t catch it.


No such luck.

“Whatever. It’s just to see how bad you butcher my job.”

Eli shakes his head and grabs my hand. His fingers thread with mine and then he gently squeezes. “Sounds like you’re a little more invested than that.”

“Fine,” I admit. “I watch it religiously."

He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I knew you liked me.”

I laugh and hit his chest with our entwined hands. “You’re crazy. I like your show, but seriously, tell the writers they need to clear that up. ~ Corinne Michaels,
1336:Imagine a young Isaac Newton time-travelling from 1670s England to teach Harvard undergrads in 2017. After the time-jump, Newton still has an obsessive, paranoid personality, with Asperger’s syndrome, a bad stutter, unstable moods, and episodes of psychotic mania and depression. But now he’s subject to Harvard’s speech codes that prohibit any “disrespect for the dignity of others”; any violations will get him in trouble with Harvard’s Inquisition (the ‘Office for Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion’). Newton also wants to publish Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica, to explain the laws of motion governing the universe. But his literary agent explains that he can’t get a decent book deal until Newton builds his ‘author platform’ to include at least 20k Twitter followers – without provoking any backlash for airing his eccentric views on ancient Greek alchemy, Biblical cryptography, fiat currency, Jewish mysticism, or how to predict the exact date of the Apocalypse.

Newton wouldn’t last long as a ‘public intellectual’ in modern American culture. Sooner or later, he would say ‘offensive’ things that get reported to Harvard and that get picked up by mainstream media as moral-outrage clickbait. His eccentric, ornery awkwardness would lead to swift expulsion from academia, social media, and publishing. Result? On the upside, he’d drive some traffic through Huffpost, Buzzfeed, and Jezebel, and people would have a fresh controversy to virtue-signal about on Facebook. On the downside, we wouldn’t have Newton’s Laws of Motion. ~ Geoffrey Miller,
1337:An Autumn Landscape
No wind there is that either pipes or moans;
The fields are cold and still; the sky
Is covered with a blue-gray sheet
Of motionless cloud; and at my feet
The river, curling softly by,
Whispers and dimples round its quiet gray stones.
Along the chill green slope that dips and heaves
The road runs rough and silent, lined
With plum-trees, misty and blue-gray,
And poplars pallid as the day,
In masses spectral, undefined,
Pale greenish stems half hid in dry gray leaves.
And on beside the river's sober edge
A long fresh field lies black. Beyond,
Low thickets gray and reddish stand,
Stroked white with birch; and near at hand,
Over a little steel-smooth pond,
Hang multitudes of thin and withering sedge.
Across a waste and solitary rise
A ploughman urges his dull team,
A stooped gray figure with prone brow
That plunges bending to the plough
With strong, uneven steps. The stream
Rings and re-echoes with his furious cries.
Sometimes the lowing of a cow, long-drawn,
Comes from far off; and crows in strings
Pass on the upper silences.
A flock of small gray goldfinches,
Flown down with silvery twitterings,
Rustle among the birch-cones and are gone.
This day the season seems like one that heeds,
With fixed ear and lifted hand,
All moods that yet are known on earth,
All motions that have faintest birth,
If haply she may understand
The utmost inward sense of all her deeds.
~ Archibald Lampman,
1338:But as people become anxious to be accepted by the group, their personal values and behaviors are exchanged for more negative ones. We can too easily become more intense, abusive, fundamentalist, fanatical—behaviors strange to our former selves, born out of our intense need to belong. This may be one explanation for why the Internet, which gave us the possibility of self-organizing, is devolving into a medium of hate and persecution, where trolls6 claiming a certain identity go to great efforts to harass, threaten, and destroy those different from themselves. The Internet, as a fundamental means for self-organizing, can’t help but breed this type of negative, separatist behavior. Tweets and texts spawn instant reactions; back and forth exchanges of only a few words quickly degenerate into comments that push us apart. Listening, reflecting, exchanging ideas with respect—gone. But this is far less problematic than the way the Internet has intensified the language of threat and hate. People no longer hide behind anonymity as they spew hatred, abominations, and lurid death threats at people they don’t even know and those that they do. Trolls, who use social media to issue obscene threats and also organize others to deluge a person with hateful tweets and emails, are so great a problem for people who come into public view that some go off Twitter, change their physical appearance, or move in order to protect their children.7 Reporters admit that they refuse to publish about certain issues because they fear the blowback from trolls. ~ Margaret J Wheatley,
1339:The Cummerbund: An Indian Poem
She sate upon her Dobie,
To watch the Evening Star,
And all the Punkahs as they passed,
Cried, 'My! how fair you are!'
Around her bower, with quivering leaves,
The tall Kamsamahs grew,
And Kitmutgars in wild festoons
Hung down from Tchokis blue.
Below her home the river rolled
With soft meloobious sound,
Where golden-finned Chuprassies swam,
In myriads circling round.
Above, on talles trees remote
Green Ayahs perched alone,
And all night long the Mussak moan'd
Its melancholy tone.
And where the purple Nullahs threw
Their branches far and wide,-And silvery Goreewallahs flew
In silence, side by side,-The little Bheesties' twittering cry
Rose on the fragrant air,
And oft the angry Jampan howled
Deep in his hateful lair.
She sate upon her Dobie,--
She heard the Nimmak hum,-When all at once a cry arose,-'The Cummerbund is come!'
In vain she fled: -- with open jaws
The angry monster followed,
And so, (before assistence came,)
That Lady Fair was swallowed.
They sought in vain for even a bone
Respectfully to bury,-They said, -- 'Hers was a dreadful fate!'
(And Echo answered 'Very.')
They nailed her Dobie to the wall,
Where last her form was seen,
And underneath they wrote these words,
In yellow, blue, and green:-Beware, ye Fair! Ye Fair, beware!
Nor sit out late at night,-Lest horrid Cummerbunds should come,
And swallow you outright.
~ Edward Lear,
1340:When it first emerged, Twitter was widely derided as a frivolous distraction that was mostly good for telling your friends what you had for breakfast. Now it is being used to organize and share news about the Iranian political protests, to provide customer support for large corporations, to share interesting news items, and a thousand other applications that did not occur to the founders when they dreamed up the service in 2006. This is not just a case of cultural exaptation: people finding a new use for a tool designed to do something else. In Twitter's case, the users have been redesigning the tool itself. The convention of replying to another user with the @ symbol was spontaneously invented by the Twitter user base. Early Twitter users ported over a convention from the IRC messaging platform and began grouping a topic or event by the "hash-tag" as in "#30Rock" or "inauguration." The ability to search a live stream of tweets - which is likely to prove crucial to Twitter's ultimate business model, thanks to its advertising potential - was developed by another start-up altogether. Thanks to these innovations, following a live feed of tweets about an event - political debates or Lost episodes - has become a central part of the Twitter experience. But for the first year of Twitter's existence, that mode of interaction would have been technically impossible using Twitter. It's like inventing a toaster oven and then looking around a year later and discovering that all your customers have, on their own, figured out a way to turn it into a microwave. ~ Steven Johnson,
1341:Bryan Del Monte (Author | Entrepreneur | Advertising & Marketing Expert | April 26, 2016
That's like asking - what's considered a good day... it's so broad it depends.

That said, here's some realities about website traffic generally...
  Under 10K unique visitors a month, it's very hard to draw any meaningful conclusions from your analytics. You're just way too small.
  Around 100K a month, you'll be able to really spot some decent trends in your analytics that will allow you to make better content...
  If you're drawing a million unique visitors a year, you're rapidly approaching the top 2% of all websites in the world.
  If you're at 5-10M a year in unique visitors, you're a name brand site in your niche that is routinely visited. It also means you probably have 1000's of articls that are drawing a few hundred visits a month through SEO.
  To be in the top 1/2 1% - you need to draw over 10M unique views a month. If you're at that level... you're on the level of Drudge, Facebook, Amazon, Pintrest, Twitter, etc...
  Most websites have less than 3000 visitors a month... and by most I mean like 98%.

Putting all the aggregate stuff aside, here are some things to think about:

  New/Returning matters. Do people find your content useful or not? Anything under 80% is a win... which is the average bounce rate.
  A thousand true fans can lead to a successful website - it's not all about aggregate stats. (see Kevin Kelly's post - The Technium: 1,000 True Fans ~ Bryan Del Monte, Quora,
1342:The more the State of Israel relied on force to manage the occupation, the more compelled it was to deploy hasbara. And the more Western media consumers encountered hasbara, the more likely they became to measure Israel’s grandiose talking points against the routine and petty violence, shocking acts of humiliation, and repression that defined its relationship with the Palestinians. Under the leadership of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, a professional explainer who spent the early years of his political career as a frequent guest on prime time American news programs perfecting the slickness of the Beltway pundit class, the Israeli government invested unprecedented resources into hasbara. Once the sole responsibility of the Israeli foreign ministry, the task of disseminating hasbara fell to a special Ministry of Public Diplomacy led by Yuli Edelstein, a rightist settler and government minister who called Arabs a “despicable nation.” Edelstein’s ministry boasted an advanced “situation room,” a paid media team, and coordination of a volunteer force that claimed to include thousands of volunteer bloggers, tweeters, and Facebook commenters fed with talking points and who flood social media with hasbara in five languages. The exploits of the propaganda soldiers conscripted into Israel’s online army have helped give rise to the phenomenon of the “hasbara troll,” an often faceless, shrill and relentless nuisance deployed on Twitter and Facebook to harass public figures who expressed skepticism of official Israeli policy or sympathy for the Palestinians. ~ Max Blumenthal,
1343:...we are changed as technology offers us substitutes for connecting with each other face-to-face. We are offered robots and a whole world of machine-mediated relationships on networked devices. As we instant-message, e-mail, text, and Twitter, technology redraws the boundaries between intimacy and solitude. We talk of getting “rid” of our e-mails, as though these notes are so much excess baggage. Teenagers avoid making telephone calls, fearful that they “reveal too much.” They would rather text than talk. Adults, too, choose keyboards over the human voice. It is more efficient, they say. Things that happen in “real time” take too much time. Tethered to technology, we are shaken when that world “unplugged” does not signify, does not satisfy. After an evening of avatar-to avatar talk in a networked game, we feel, at one moment, in possession of a full social life and, in the next, curiously isolated, in tenuous complicity with strangers. We build a following on Facebook or MySpace and wonder to what degree our followers are friends. We recreate ourselves as online personae and give ourselves new bodies, homes, jobs, and romances. Yet, suddenly, in the half-light of virtual community, we may feel utterly alone. As we distribute ourselves, we may abandon ourselves. Sometimes people experience no sense of having communicated after hours of connection. And they report feelings of closeness when they are paying little attention. In all of this, there is a nagging question: Does virtual intimacy degrade our experience of the other kind and, indeed, of all encounters, of any kind? ~ Sherry Turkle,
1344:To Autumn"

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. ~ John Keats,
1345:I remembered meeting the Dharma Raja’s gaze and wreathing his neck with a wedding garland of sweet marigold and blood red roses. Death clung to him subtly, robbing the warmth of his eyes and silvering his beauty with a wintry touch. And yet, I saw how he was beautiful. It was his presence that conjured the brilliant peacock shades of the late-season monsoon sky. It was his aura that withered sun-ripe mangos and ushered in the lush winter fruits of custard apple and singhora chestnuts. And it was his stride that adorned the Kalidas Mountains with coronets of snow clouds.
His hands moved to my shoulders, warm and solid, and his arms were a universe for me alone. He had enthralled me, unwound the seams of my being until I was filled with the sight of him and still ached with want.
“I hoped you would choose me,” he said.
I blushed, suddenly aware of my unbraceleted arms and simple sari. “I have no dowry.”
He laughed, a hesitant, half-nervous sound that did not match his stern features. “I don’t care.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
“I want to lie beside you and know the weight of your dreams,” he said, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I want to share whole worlds with you and write your name in the stars.” He moved closer and a chorus of songbirds twittered silver melodies. “I want to measure eternity with your laughter.” Now, he stood inches from me; his rough hands encircled my waist. “Be my queen and I promise you a life where you will never be bored. I promise you more power than a hundred kings. And I promise you that we will always be equals. ~ Roshani Chokshi,
1346:The Swallows
AH! swallows, is it so?
Did loving lingering summer, whose slow pace
Tarried among late blossoms, loth to go,
Gather the darkening cloud-wraps round her face
And weep herself away in last week's rain?
Can no new sunlight waken her again?
'Yes,' one pale rose a-blow
Has answered from the trellised lane;
The flickering swallows answer 'No.'
From out the dim grey sky
The arrowy swarm breaks forth and specks the air,
While, one by one, birds wheel and float and fly,
And now are gone, then suddenly are there;
Till lo, the heavens are empty of them all.
Oh, fly, fly south, from leaves that fade and fall,
From shivering flowers that die;
Free swallows, fly from winter's thrall,
Ye who can give the gloom good-bye.
But what for us who stay
To hear the winds and watch the boughs grow black,
And in the soddened mornings, day by day,
Count what lost sweets bestrew the nightly track
Of frost-foot winter trampling towards his throne?
Swallows, who have the sunlight for your own,
Fly on your sunward way;
For you has January buds new blown,
For us the snows and gloom and grey.
On, on, beyond our reach,
Swallows, with but your longing for a guide:
Let the hills rise, let the waves tear the beach,
Ye will not balk your course nor turn aside,
But find the palms and twitter in the sun.
And well for them whose eager wings have won
The longed for goal of flight;
But what of them in twilights dun
Who long, but have no wings for flight?
~ Augusta Davies Webster,
1347:From the vast, invisible ocean of moonlight overhead fell, here and here, a slender, broken stream that seemed to plash against the intercepting branches and trickle to earth, forming small white pools among the clumps of laurel. But these leaks were few and served only to accentuate the blackness of his environment, which his imagination found it easy to people with all manner of unfamiliar shapes, menacing, uncanny, or merely grotesque.

He to whom the portentous conspiracy of night and solitude and silence in the heart of a great forest is not an unknown experience needs not to be told what another world it all is - how even the most commonplace and familiar objects take on another character. The trees group themselves differently; they draw closer together, as if in fear. The very silence has another quality than the silence of the day. And it is full of half-heard whispers, whispers that startle - ghosts of sounds long dead. There are living sounds, too, such as are never heard under other conditions: notes of strange night birds, the cries of small animals in sudden encounters with stealthy foes, or in their dreams, a rustling in the dead leaves - it may be the leap of a wood rat, it may be the footstep of a panther. What caused the breaking of that twig? What the low, alarmed twittering in that bushful of birds? There are sounds without a name, forms without substance, translations in space of objects which have not been seen to move, movements wherein nothing is observed to change its place. Ah, children of the sunlight and the gaslight, how little you know of the world in which you live! ("A Tough Tussle") ~ Ambrose Bierce,
1348:The white nationalist, nativist politics that we see today were first imagined and applied by David Duke during the heyday of his Grand Wizardshop, and the time of my undercover Klan investigation. This hatred is never gone away, but has been reinvigorated in the dark corners of the internet, Twitter trolls, alt-right publications, and a nativist president in Trump.

The Republican Party of the 19th century, being the party of Lincoln, was the opposition to the rise of the Ku Klux Klan and white supremacist domination insofar as America's newly freed Black slaves were concerned; it is my belief that the Republican Party of the 21st century finds a symbiotic connection to white nationalist groups like the Klan, neo-Nazis, skinheads, militias, and alt-right white supremacist thinking. Evidence of this began in the Lyndon Johnson administration with the departure of Southern Democrats (Dixiecrats) to the Republican Party in protest of his civil rights agenda. The Republicans began a spiral slide to the far right that embrace all things abhorrent to nonwhites.

David Duke twice ran for public office in Louisiana as a Democrat and lost. When he switched his affiliation to Republican, because he was closer in ideology and racial thinking to the GOP than to the Democrats, and ran again for the Louisiana House of Representatives, the conservative voters in his district rewarded him with a victory. In each case his position on the issues remain the same; white supremacist/ethno-nationalist endorsement of a race-centered rhetoric and nativist populism. What change were the voters. Democrats rejected Duke politics while Republicans embraced him. ~ Ron Stallworth,
1349:Tu-whoo! Ahem! Lord Regent," said the Owl, stooping down a little and holding its beak near the Dwarf's ear.
"Heh? What's that?" said the Dwarf.
"Two strangers, my Lord," said the Owl.
"Rangers! What d'ye mean?" said the Dwarf. "I see two uncommonly grubby man-cubs. What do they want?"
"My name's Jill," said Jill, pressing forward. She was very eager to explain the important business on which they had come.
"The girl's called Jill," said the Owl, as loud as it could.
"What's that?" said the Dwarf. "The girls are all killed! I don't believe a word of it. What girls? Who killed 'em?"
"Only one girl, my Lord," said the Owl. "Her name is Jill."
"Speak up, speak up," said the Dwarf. "Don't stand there buzzing and twittering in my ear. Who's been killed?"
"Nobody's been killed," hooted the Owl.
"All right, all right. You needn't shout. I'm not so deaf as all that. What do you mean by coming here to tell me that nobody's been killed? Why should anyone have been killed?"
"Better tell him I'm Eustace," said Scrubb.
"The boy's Eustace, my Lord," hooted the Owl as loud as it could.
"Useless?" said the Dwarf irritably. "I dare say he is. Is that any reason for bringing him to court? Hey?"
"Not useless," said the Owl. "EUSTACE."
"Used to it, is he? I don't know what you're talking about, I'm sure. I'll tell you what it is, Master Glimfeather; when I was a young Dwarf there used to be talking beasts and birds in this country who really could talk. There wasn't all this mumbling and muttering and whispering. It wouldn't have been tolerated for a moment, Sir. Urnus, my trumpet please- ~ C S Lewis,
1350:At evening, sitting on this terrace,
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ...
When the tired flower of Florence is in gloom beneath the glowing
Brown hills surrounding ...
When under the arches of the Ponte Vecchio
A green light enters against stream, flush from the west,
Against the current of obscure Arno ...
Look up, and you see things flying
Between the day and the night;
Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together.
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
And you think:
'The swallows are flying so late!'
Dark air-life looping
Yet missing the pure loop ...
A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight
And serrated wings against the sky,
Like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light,
And falling back.
Never swallows!
The swallows are gone.
At a wavering instant the swallows gave way to bats
By the Ponte Vecchio ...
Changing guard.
Bats, and an uneasy creeping in one's scalp
As the bats swoop overhead!
Flying madly.
Black piper on an infinitesimal pipe.
Little lumps that fly in air and have voices indefinite, wildly vindictive;
Wings like bits of umbrella.
Creatures that hang themselves up like an old rag, to sleep;
And disgustingly upside down.
Hanging upside down like rows of disgusting old rags
And grinning in their sleep.
Not for me!
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
1351:Sometimes I think my ability to concentrate is being nibbled away by the internet; other times I think it's being gulped down in huge, Jaws-shaped chunks. In those quaint days before the internet, once you made it to your desk there wasn't much to distract you. You could sit there working or you could just sit there. Now you sit down and there's a universe of possibilities – many of them obscurely relevant to the work you should be getting on with – to tempt you. To think that I can be sitting here, trying to write something about Ingmar Bergman and, a moment later, on the merest whim, can be watching a clip from a Swedish documentary about Don Cherry – that is a miracle (albeit one with a very potent side-effect, namely that it's unlikely I'll ever have the patience to sit through an entire Bergman film again).

Then there's the outsourcing of memory. From the age of 16, I got into the habit of memorising passages of poetry and compiling detailed indexes in the backs of books of prose. So if there was a passage I couldn't remember, I would spend hours going through my books, seeking it out. Now, in what TS Eliot, with great prescience, called "this twittering world", I just google the key phrase of the half-remembered quote. Which is great, but it's drained some of the purpose from my life.

Exactly the same thing has happened now that it's possible to get hold of out-of-print books instantly on the web. That's great too. But one of the side incentives to travel was the hope that, in a bookstore in Oregon, I might finally track down a book I'd been wanting for years. All of this searching and tracking down was immensely time-consuming – but only in the way that being alive is time-consuming. ~ Geoff Dyer,
1352:ON HER WAY home from the restaurant, Rylann’s cell phone rang. For a moment, as she dug around in her purse to find it, she wondered if it would be Kyle, calling her about the Scene and Heard column. She could practically hear his low, teasing voice already. Just calling to check up on my favorite brunette bombshell, counselor. Thought I’d see if you’d be up for round four tonight.

Rylann finally found her phone.

Oh. Just her mother.

“Mom…hi,” she answered.

“Looks like I was right to warn you about that Kyle Rhodes.”

Rylann stopped at a four-way intersection, immediately on high alert. How could her mother, down in Florida, possibly know anything? So she played it cool. “Not sure what you mean, Mom.”

“I was just reading the Trib online,” Helen said. “The Twitter Terrorist made the Scene and Heard column again.”

“You read Scene and Heard?” Rylann asked.

“Sure. How else am I supposed to keep up with all the local gossip while we’re down here for the winter?”

And by winter, she meant early May. “I haven’t seen this morning’s column,” Rylann said. And technically, that was true—she’d only heard it. “I was busy this morning, then went to lunch with Rae. I’m just walking home now.”

“Apparently, he was spotted at some hot new nightclub. Leaving with a mysterious brunette bombshell in a red dress. Probably some skank he met that night.”

Then her mother changed the subject, cheerfully moving on. “Anyway, what’s new with you, sweetie? Did you do anything exciting last night?”

Yes. Kyle Rhodes. “Um, nothing special. Rae and I went out for a few drinks.” Rylann figured it was best to gloss over the rest of the details, seeing how her mother had just called her a skank. ~ Julie James,
Lords of the Nursery
Wait in a row,
Five on the high wall,
And four on the low;
Big Kings and Little Kings,
Brown Bears and Black,
All of them waiting
Till John comes back.
Some think that John boy
Is lost in the wood,
Some say he couldn’t be,
Some say he could.
Some think that John boy
Hides on the hill;
Some say he won’t come back,
Some say he will.
High was the sun, when
John went away . . .
Here they’ve been waiting
All through the day;
Big Bears and Little Bears,
White Kings and Black,
All of them waiting
Till John comes back.
Lords of the Nursery
Looked down the hill,
Some saw the sheep-fold,
Some say the mill;
Some saw the roofs
Of the little grey town . . .
And their shadows grew long
As the sun slipt down.
Gold between the poplars
An old moon shows;
Silver up the star-way
The full moon rose;
Silver down the star-way
The old moon crept . . .
And, one by another,
The grey fields slept.
Lords of the Nursery
Their still watch keep . . .
They hear from the sheep-fold
The rustle of sheep.
A young bird twitters
And hides its head;
A little wind suddenly
Breathes, and is dead.
Slowly and slowly
Dawns the new day . . .
What’s become of John boy?
No one can say.
Some think that John boy
Is lost on the hill;
Some say he won’t come back,
Some say he will.
What's become of John boy?
Nothing at all,
He played with his skipping rope,
He played with his ball.
He ran after butterflies,
Blue ones and red;
He did a hundred happy things—
And then went to bed.
~ Alan Alexander Milne,
1354:Ascent To The Sierras

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Poems by Robinson Jeffers : 8 / 140 « prev. poem next poem »
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,
1355:There were, he had come to the conclusion after many tedious evenings at Almack’s, two types of chaperone. Given the number of events he had been forced to squire Hen to, Richard considered he had conducted something of an exhaustive study of chaperones.

Both types were aging spinsters (Richard discounted young widows looking after their younger sisters’ debuts; those tended to need a chaperone even more than the young ladies they were ostensibly supervising), but that was all they had in common. The first was the frumpy henwit. Although of indeterminate age, she dressed in the ruffles of a seventeen-year-old. Her hair, no matter how sparse or grey, was curled and frizzed until it looked like a nest built by a particularly talentless blue jay. She twittered and simpered when spoken to, read the sappiest sort of novels in her spare time, and generally contrived to accidentally lose her charge at least twice a
day. Rogues and seducers loved the first sort of chaperone; she made their endeavours that much easier.

And then there was the other type of chaperone. The grim dragon of a chaperone. The sort who looked like her spine had been reinforced with a few Doric columns. Chaperone number two would sneer at a flounce or a frizz. She never simpered when she could snarl, read forbidding sermons by seventeenth-century puritans, and all but chained her charge to her wrist.

As the woman bore down on him, Richard, using his brilliant powers of deduction, was quickly able to conclude that this chaperone fell into the second type. Grey hair rigidly pulled back. Mouth pressed into a grim line. The only incongruous note was the cluster of alarmingly purple flowers on the top of her otherwise severe grey bonnet. Maybe the milliner confused her order and she didn’t have time to change it, Richard concluded charitably. ~ Lauren Willig,
1356:The Season of Phantasmal Peace
Then all the nations of birds lifted together
the huge net of the shadows of this earth
in multitudinous dialects, twittering tongues,
stitching and crossing it. They lifted up
the shadows of long pines down trackless slopes,
the shadows of glass-faced towers down evening streets,
the shadow of a frail plant on a city sill—
the net rising soundless as night, the birds' cries soundless, until
there was no longer dusk, or season, decline, or weather,
only this passage of phantasmal light
that not the narrowest shadow dared to sever.
And men could not see, looking up, what the wild geese drew,
what the ospreys trailed behind them in silvery ropes
that flashed in the icy sunlight; they could not hear
battalions of starlings waging peaceful cries,
bearing the net higher, covering this world
like the vines of an orchard, or a mother drawing
the trembling gauze over the trembling eyes
of a child fluttering to sleep;
it was the light
that you will see at evening on the side of a hill
in yellow October, and no one hearing knew
what change had brought into the raven's cawing,
the killdeer's screech, the ember-circling chough
such an immense, soundless, and high concern
for the fields and cities where the birds belong,
except it was their seasonal passing, Love,
made seasonless, or, from the high privilege of their birth,
something brighter than pity for the wingless ones
below them who shared dark holes in windows and in houses,
and higher they lifted the net with soundless voices
above all change, betrayals of falling suns,
and this season lasted one moment, like the pause
between dusk and darkness, between fury and peace,
but, for such as our earth is now, it lasted long.
~ Derek Walcott,
1357:Out Of Doors
The kids are out-of-doors once more;
The heavy leggins that they wore,
The winter caps that covered ears
Are put away, and no more tears
Are shed because they cannot go
Until they're bundled up just so.
No more she wonders when they're gone
If they have put their rubbers on;
No longer are they hourly told
To guard themselves against a cold;
Bareheaded now they romp and run
Warmed only by the kindly sun.
She's put their heavy clothes away
And turned the children out to play,
And all the morning long they race
Like madcaps round about the place.
The robins on the fences sing
A gayer song of welcoming,
And seems as though they had a share
In all the fun they're having there.
The wrens and sparrows twitter, too,
A louder and a noisier crew,
As though it pleased them all to see
The youngsters out of doors and free.
Outdoors they scamper to their play
With merry din the livelong day,
And hungrily they jostle in
The favor of the maid to win;
Then, armed with cookies or with cake,
Their way into the yard they make,
And every feathered playmate comes
To gather up his share of crumbs.
The finest garden that I know
Is one where little children grow,
Where cheeks turn brown and eyes are bright,
And all is laughter and delight.
Oh, you may brag of gardens fine,
But let the children race in mine;
And let the roses, white and red,
Make gay the ground whereon they tread.
And who for bloom perfection seeks,
Should mark the color on their cheeks;
No music that the robin spouts
Is equal to their merry shouts;
There is no foliage to compare
With youngsters' sun-kissed, tousled hair:
Spring's greatest joy beyond a doubt
Is when it brings the children out.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1358:Footsteps sounded on the porch, and she felt a twitter of excitement as Wyatt walked in, hat in hand. He stopped and stared. First at the table, then at her. “Well . . . this is sure a nice welcome.” She grew warm beneath his attention, and warmer still as he crossed the room toward her. He lifted a curl from her bodice and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “It smells good in here.” He smelled good too. She caught a whiff of fresh soap and sunshine, and his hair was still damp. “You bathed in the creek,” she said softly. “Yes, ma’am, I did.” “Well . . .” She gave a breathless laugh. “Breakfast is ready. I hope you’re hungry.” “Yes, ma’am.” His gaze captured hers and held. “I am.” If not for his self-declared patience, she might have been unnerved by the transparency of desire in his eyes. But Wyatt Caradon was her husband. She could stand on tiptoe right now and kiss him full on the mouth if she wanted to. That was her right. And the thing was—she slowly realized—she wanted to. Even more, he wanted her to. Yet he didn’t move. However, he did smile, ever so slightly, and it gave her the encouragement she needed. She rose on tiptoe, and could all but reach him. “You might want to meet me halfway, Mr. Caradon.” Wordless, he did, but stopped just short of completing the journey. Their breaths mingling, she sensed his growing lack of patience, which, oddly enough, only increased hers. She ran a finger along his stubbled jawline and saw his eyes narrow ever so slightly. She’d never been one to toy with a man, but then she’d never been married to one with whom she could toy. She kissed him on one corner of his mouth, then the other. On his cheek, and then gently on the lips, like he’d done with her yesterday at the ceremony. His arms didn’t come around her like she half expected, but not for a moment did she question his response. He was letting her take the lead . . . and she liked it. ~ Tamera Alexander,
1359:Before we left, I asked Sven to catch me up on the sixteen months of history that I’d overshot since November 2016. Big mistake. After twenty minutes, I made him stop playing me Internet clips. “David, you look kind of green,” worried Sven. I took a deep breath. “He pulled out of the Paris climate deal because climate change is a hoax. He threatened to start a nuclear war with North Korea. He gave away intel methods to the Russians. In the Oval Office. “He says the FBI and the CIA are conspiring against him. He admits he fired the head of the FBI because of the Russia probe. He tried to fire the Special Counsel investigating him. He called the press ‘enemies of the people.’ He calls everything that isn’t from Fox News or The National Enquirer ‘fake news.’ “He starts every day posting boasts and threats on Twitter like a disturbed ten-year-old. He insulted the widow of a dead war hero. He dictated a false statement for his son about why he met with Russians. He says there are good people marching with the KKK and the Nazis. Everyone in his inner circle is either being investigated or indicted for obstruction, perjury, wife beating, failure to register as a foreign agent, money laundering and/or breaking campaign finance laws. “He called Africa a shithole. He paid off a porn star he screwed right after his son was born. And told her she reminded him of his daughter. He’s being sued for rape. And the only person he hasn’t got a single bad thing to say about is the journalist-murdering Russian dictator he colluded with.” “’Fraid so,” said Sven. “All that happened in just sixteen months?” I exclaimed. “How is he still president?” Sven shrugged, sympathetic. “It’s not like we weren’t warned. Bottom line, some very rich, powerful people are going to get far richer, and that’s how America is run at the moment.” “I swear to God, Sven, I’m tempted to go back and save Lincoln all over again. That can’t turn out any worse than this. ~ Doug Molitor,
1360:Do I feel empathy for Trump voters? That’s a question I’ve asked myself a lot. It’s complicated. It’s relatively easy to empathize with hardworking, warmhearted people who decided they couldn’t in good conscience vote for me after reading that letter from Jim Comey . . . or who don’t think any party should control the White House for more than eight years at a time . . . or who have a deeply held belief in limited government, or an overriding moral objection to abortion. I also feel sympathy for people who believed Trump’s promises and are now terrified that he’s trying to take away their health care, not make it better, and cut taxes for the superrich, not invest in infrastructure. I get it. But I have no tolerance for intolerance. None. Bullying disgusts me. I look at the people at Trump’s rallies, cheering for his hateful rants, and I wonder: Where’s their empathy and understanding? Why are they allowed to close their hearts to the striving immigrant father and the grieving black mother, or the LGBT teenager who’s bullied at school and thinking of suicide? Why doesn’t the press write think pieces about Trump voters trying to understand why most Americans rejected their candidate? Why is the burden of opening our hearts only on half the country? And yet I’ve come to believe that for me personally and for our country generally, we have no choice but to try. In the spring of 2017, Pope Francis gave a TED Talk. Yes, a TED Talk. It was amazing. This is the same pope whom Donald Trump attacked on Twitter during the campaign. He called for a “revolution of tenderness.” What a phrase! He said, “We all need each other, none of us is an island, an autonomous and independent ‘I,’ separated from the other, and we can only build the future by standing together, including everyone.” He said that tenderness “means to use our eyes to see the other, our ears to hear the other, to listen to the children, the poor, those who are afraid of the future. ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
1361:Summer Gone
SMALL wren, mute pecking at the last red plum
Or twittering idly at the yellowing boughs
Fruit-emptied, over thy forsaken house,-Birdie, that seems to come
Telling, we too have spent our little store,
Our summer's o'er:
Poor robin, driven in by rain-storms wild
To lie submissive under household hands
With beating heart that no love understands,
And scarèd eye, like a child
Who only knows that he is all alone
And summer's gone;
Pale leaves, sent flying wide, a frightened flock
On which the wolfish wind bursts out, and tears
Those tender forms that lived in summer airs
Till, taken at this shock,
They, like weak hearts when sudden grief sweeps by,
Whirl, drop, and die:-All these things, earthy, of the earth--do tell
This earth's perpetual story; we belong
Unto another country, and our song
Shall be no mortal knell;
Though all the year's tale, as our years run fast,
Mourns, 'summer's past.'
O love immortal, O perpetual youth,
Whether in budding nooks it sits and sings
As hundred poets in a hundred springs,
Or, slaking passion's drouth,
In wine-press of affliction, ever goes
Heavenward, through woes:
O youth immortal--O undying love!
With these by winter fireside we'll sit down
Wearing our snows of honor like a crown;
And sing as in a grove,
Where the full nests ring out with happy cheer,
'Summer is here.'
Roll round, strange years; swift seasons, come and go;
Ye leave upon us but an outward sign;
Ye cannot touch the inward and divine,
While God alone does know;
There sealed till summers, winters, all shall cease
In His deep peace.
Therefore uprouse ye winds and howl your will;
Beat, beat, ye sobbing rains on pane and door;
Enter, slow-footed age, and thou, obscure,
Grand Angel--not of ill;
Healer of every wound, where'er thou come,
Glad, we'll go home.
~ Dinah Maria Mulock Craik,
1362:Like you?” My face twisted in abhorrence, spitting the words like they were revolting. Her eyes widened. I shook my head, a dark chuckle on my lips. “You think I fucking like you? Are you kidding me here? I don’t like you. I love you. Even that’s an under-fucking-statement. I live for you. I breathe for you. I will die for you. It. Has. Always. Been. You. Ever since I saw your sorry ass for the first time on that threshold and you fucking poked me in the chest like I was a toy. We’ve been apart for ten years, Rose LeBlanc, and not even one day has passed without me thinking of you. And not just in passing. You know, the occasional she-could-have-been-a-g reat-fuck. I mean really taking my time to think about you. Wondering what you looked like. Where youwere. What you were doing. Who you were with. I stalked you on Facebook. And Twitter—which, by the way, you need to deactivate because you never once bothered to tweet—but you aren’t exactly a social media animal. I asked about you. Every time I was in town. And once I realized you were in New York with Millie…” “Rosie, I bought a new penthouse in TriBeca a few months before you moved into our building.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She blinked away her tears, but fresh ones rolled down to replace them time. “Because I had to sell it and lost a shit-ton of money the moment I realized you were going to be my neighbor if I stayed in my current place. Real talk, Rosie, you are all I ever wanted. Even when you wanted me to be with your sister. She was a comforting candle. You were the dazzling sun. I’d lived in the dark—for your selfish ass. And if you think I’m going to settle for something , you’re dead wrong. I am taking everything . We will have kids, Rose LeBlanc. We will have a wedding. And we will have joy and vacations and days where we just fuck and days where we just fight and days where we just live. Because this is life, Baby LeBlanc, and I love the fuck out of you, so I’m going to give you the best one there is. Got it? ~ L J Shen,
1363:Most of the successful innovators and entrepreneurs in this book had one thing in common: they were product people. They cared about, and deeply understood, the engineering and design. They were not primarily marketers or salesmen or financial types; when such folks took over companies, it was often to the detriment of sustained innovation. “When the sales guys run the company, the product guys don’t matter so much, and a lot of them just turn off,” Jobs said. Larry Page felt the same: “The best leaders are those with the deepest understanding of the engineering and product design.”34 Another lesson of the digital age is as old as Aristotle: “Man is a social animal.” What else could explain CB and ham radios or their successors, such as WhatsApp and Twitter? Almost every digital tool, whether designed for it or not, was commandeered by humans for a social purpose: to create communities, facilitate communication, collaborate on projects, and enable social networking. Even the personal computer, which was originally embraced as a tool for individual creativity, inevitably led to the rise of modems, online services, and eventually Facebook, Flickr, and Foursquare. Machines, by contrast, are not social animals. They don’t join Facebook of their own volition nor seek companionship for its own sake. When Alan Turing asserted that machines would someday behave like humans, his critics countered that they would never be able to show affection or crave intimacy. To indulge Turing, perhaps we could program a machine to feign affection and pretend to seek intimacy, just as humans sometimes do. But Turing, more than almost anyone, would probably know the difference. According to the second part of Aristotle’s quote, the nonsocial nature of computers suggests that they are “either a beast or a god.” Actually, they are neither. Despite all of the proclamations of artificial intelligence engineers and Internet sociologists, digital tools have no personalities, intentions, or desires. They are what we make of them. ~ Walter Isaacson,
Four miles at a leap, over the dark hollow land,
To the frosted steep of the down and its junipers black,
Travels my eye with equal ease and delight:
And scarce could my body leap four yards.
This is the best and the worst of it Never to know,
Yet to imagine gloriously, pure health.
To-day, had I suddenly health,
I could not satisfy the desire of my heart
Unless health abated it,
So beautiful is the air in its softness and clearness, while
Promises all and fails in nothing as yet;
And what blue and what white is I never knew
Before I saw this sky blessing the land.
For had I health I could not ride or run or fly
So far or so rapidly over the land
As I desire: I should reach Wiltshire tired;
I should have changed my mind before I could be in Wales.
I could not love; I could not command love.
beauty would still be far off
However many hills I climbed over;
Peace would still be farther.
Maybe I should not count it anything
To leap these four miles with the eye;
And either I should not be filled almost to bursting with desire,
Or with my power desire would still keep pace.
Yet I am not satisfied
Even with knowing I never could be satisfied.
With health and all the power that lies
In maiden beauty, poet and warrior,
In Caesar, Shakespeare, Alcibiades,
Mazeppa, Leonardo, Michelangelo,
In any maiden whose smile is lovelier
Than sunlight upon dew,
I could not be as the wagtail running up and down
The warm tiles of the roof slope, twittering
Happily and sweetly as if the sun itself
Extracted the song
As the hand makes sparks from the fur of a cat:
I could not be as the sun.
Nor should I be content to be
As little as the bird or as mighty as the sun.
For the bird knows not the sun,
And the sun regards not the bird.
But I am almost proud to love both bird and sun,
Though scarce this Spring could my body leap four yards.
~ Edward Thomas,
1365:So let’s talk a little about April May’s theory of tiered fame. Tier 1: Popularity You are a big deal in your high school or neighborhood. You have a peculiar vehicle that people around town recognize, you are a pastor at a medium-to-large church, you were once the star of the high school football team. Tier 2: Notoriety You are recognized and/or well-known within certain circles. Maybe you’re a preeminent lepidopterist whom all the other lepidopterists idolize. Or you could be the mayor or meteorologist in a medium-sized city. You might be one of the 1.1 million living people who has a Wikipedia page. Tier 3: Working-Class Fame A lot of people know who you are and they are distributed around the world. There’s a good chance that a stranger will approach you to say hi at the grocery store. You are a professional sports player, musician, author, actor, television host, or internet personality. You might still have to hustle to make a living, but your fame is your job. You’ll probably trend on Twitter if you die. Tier 4: True Fame You get recognized by fans enough that it is a legitimate burden. People take pictures of you without your permission, and no one would scoff if you called yourself a celebrity. When you start dating someone, you wouldn’t be surprised to read about it in magazines. You are a performer, politician, host, or actor whom the majority of people in your country would recognize. Your humanity is so degraded that people are legitimately surprised when they find out that you’re “just like them” because, sometimes, you buy food. You never have to worry about money again, but you do need a gate with an intercom on your driveway. Tier 5: Divinity You are known by every person in your world, and you are such a big deal that they no longer consider you a person. Your story is much larger than can be contained within any human lifetime, and your memory will continue long after your earthly form wastes away. You are a founding father of a nation, a creator of a religion, an emperor, or an idea. You are not currently alive. ~ Hank Green,
1366:And the days move on and the names of the months change and the four seasons bury one another and it is spring again and yet again and the small streams that run over the rough sides of Gormenghast Mountain are big with rain while the days lengthen and summer sprawls across the countryside, sprawls in all the swathes of its green, with its gold and sticky head, with its slumber and the drone of doves and with its butterflies and its lizards and its sunflowers, over and over again, its doves, its butterflies, its lizards, its sunflowers, each one an echo-child while the fruit ripens and the grotesque boles of the ancient apple trees are dappled in the low rays of the sun and the air smells of such rotten sweetness as brings a hunger to the breast, and makes of the heart a sea-bed, and a tear, the fruit of salt and water, ripens, fed by a summer sorrow, ripens and falls … falls gradually along the cheekbones, wanders over the wastelands listlessly, the loveliest emblem of the heart’s condition. And the days move on and the names of the months change and the four seasons bury one another and the field-mice draw upon their granaries. The air is murky, and the sun is like a raw wound in the grimy flesh of a beggar, and the rags of the clouds are clotted. The sky has been stabbed and has been left to die above the world, filthy, vast and bloody. And then the great winds come and the sky is blown naked, and a wild bird screams across the glittering land. And the Countess stands at the window of her room with the white cats at her feet and stares at the frozen landscape spread below her, and a year later she is standing there again but the cats are abroad in the valleys and a raven sits upon her heavy shoulder. And every day the myriad happenings. A loosened stone falls from a high tower. A fly drops lifeless from a broken pane. A sparrow twitters in a cave of ivy. The days wear out the months and the months wear out the years, and a flux of moments, like an unquiet tide, eats at the black coast of futurity. And Titus Groan is wading through his boyhood. ~ Mervyn Peake,
1367:how I see the distinction between sexism and misogyny. When a husband tells his wife, “I can’t quite explain why and I don’t even like admitting this, but I don’t want you to make more money than me, so please don’t take that amazing job offer,” that’s sexism. He could still love her deeply and be a great partner in countless ways. But he holds tight to an idea that even he knows isn’t fair about how successful a woman is allowed to be. Sexism is all the big and little ways that society draws a box around women and says, “You stay in there.” Don’t complain because nice girls don’t do that. Don’t try to be something women shouldn’t be. Don’t wear that, don’t go there, don’t think that, don’t earn too much. It’s not right somehow, we can’t explain why, stop asking. We can all buy into sexism from time to time, often without even noticing it. Most of us try to keep an eye out for those moments and avoid them or, when we do misstep, apologize and do better next time. Misogyny is something darker. It’s rage. Disgust. Hatred. It’s what happens when a woman turns down a guy at a bar and he switches from charming to scary. Or when a woman gets a job that a man wanted and instead of shaking her hand and wishing her well, he calls her a bitch and vows to do everything he can to make sure she fails. Both sexism and misogyny are endemic in America. If you need convincing, just look at the YouTube comments or Twitter replies when a woman dares to voice a political opinion or even just share an anecdote from her own lived experience. People hiding in the shadows step forward just far enough to rip her apart. Sexism in particular can be so pervasive, we stop seeing it. It reminds me of the opening anecdote from author David Foster Wallace’s 2005 commencement speech at Kenyon College. Two young fish are swimming along. They meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, “Morning, boys, how’s the water?” The two young fish swim on for a bit, until one looks at the other and asks, “What’s water?” “In other words,” Wallace said, “the most obvious realities are often the ones that are the hardest to see and talk about. ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
1368: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.
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,
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,
1369:Viaggi gratis per ex deputati Partiti divisi sull’abolizione Carlo Bertini | 382 parole «Campa cavallo che il rimborso cresce», sfotte il leghista Davide Caparini, che su twitter si scaglia contro quella che il grillino Riccardo Fraccaro bolla come la «Casta crociere». La Camera spende ogni anno quasi un milione di euro per far viaggiare gratis gli ex onorevoli e da mesi si sta valutando un taglio. Ma non netto, come molti chiedono: la novità è che gli ex avranno un plafond di 900 euro, non a fondo perduto ma a fronte di un rimborso dei biglietti. Solo per la tratta fino a Roma. E non a vita, ma per dieci anni, che dalla prossima legislatura caleranno a cinque. Perché non viene abolito del tutto? Il questore del Pd, Paolo Fontanelli, spiega che questi benefit ora vengono ridotti, lasciando che venga riconosciuto agli ex deputati che ancora fanno politica di poter ancora dare un contributo, senza sposare la tesi che le loro esperienze non servono più a nulla. «Noi siamo per linea di un graduale riduzione, per non demonizzare chi ha fatto politica». Lo sfogo dei due deputati di Lega e M5S uniti nella battaglia di abolire tout court il beneficio è dovuto all’ennesimo rinvio, deciso la scorsa settimana, di una grana che per i vertici di Montecitorio è un nodo irto di spine. Non c’è infatti accordo tra i partiti per far cessare questa prassi che con i tempi che corrono è considerata a dir poco anacronistica. «In ufficio di presidenza (l’organo che gestisce e organizza la Camera) con i pentastellati abbiamo proposto l’abolizione dei viaggi gratuiti per gli ex deputati, ma la votazione è stata rinviata (abbiamo iniziato a parlarne il 28 ottobre scorso)», attacca Caparini. E Fraccaro non è da meno, perché «spendere ogni anno 900 mila euro per il rimborso dei viaggi degli ex deputati è uno scandalo che grida vendetta. Sono moltissime le voci di bilancio da tagliare dei costi della politica. A breve si svolgerà una nuova riunione e chiediamo alla Boldrini, ai questori e a tutti i partiti di accogliere la nostra proposta per cancellare subito i rimborsi viaggi agli ex deputati, un privilegio assurdo». Tra due settimane la sentenza, la folta truppa degli ex parlamentari attende con ansia il verdetto. ~ Anonymous,
1370:The Season
And must I wear a silken life,
Hemmed in by city walls?
And must I give my garden up
For theatres and balls?
Nay, though the cage be made of gold,
'Tis better to be free;
The green of the green meadows, love,
Is quite enough for me.
I'd rather ramble through the lanes
Than drive about in town;
I'd rather muse or dream than dance,
When the stars are shining down.
I do not care for diamonds, dear,
But I care a deal for flowers;
And thousands are just creeping out
For the sunshine and the showers.
I like to hear the Household band,
But I love the bird-songs best;
And hark! how they are twittering now
Round each half-hidden nest!
The wind is whispering in the leaves,
And the downy bees begin
To hum in the blossoming sycamores,
And the brook is chiming in.
There is such melody in the woods,
Such music in the air!
The streets are full of life and sound,
And yet 'tis silent there.
I like to see the pictures—ay,
But I am hard to please!
I never saw a picture yet
As great and grand as these;
Such tones of colour as transform
The tender green and brown,
When the pink dawn is flushing up,
Or the red sun sinking down;
Such painting as the chestnut bud
Shows in its opening heart;
Such lights as shine 'twixt earth and sky
When rain-clouds break apart;
Such soft, warm, subtle tints, as lie
In every mossy patch—
On the blue-brown trunks, now filled with life,
And the humble roof of thatch,—
In the purple hollows of the hills,
In the lichen on the wall,
In the orchard and the feathery woods,
And the sun-lit waterfall.
I like my humble country ways,
My simple, early meals;
I like to potter about the yard,
With my chickens at my heels.
I'd rather climb this brambly steep,
Where freshest sea-winds blow,
With my old straw hat hanging down my back.
Than canter along the Row.
To me (it's vulgar, dear, I know)
No fête half so gay
As a cricket-match on the village green,
Or a picnic in the hay.
Ah, yes! I'm happier as I am,—
I'm ignorant, you see;
And the life of fashion that you love
Would never do for me.
~ Ada Cambridge,
1371:there were many contacts during the campaign and the transition between Trump associates and Russians—in person, on the phone, and via text and email. Many of these interactions were with Ambassador Kislyak, who was thought to help oversee Russian intelligence operations in the United States, but they included other Russian officials and agents as well. For example, Roger Stone, the longtime Trump political advisor who claimed that he was in touch with Julian Assange, suggested in August 2016 that information about John Podesta was going to come out. In October, Stone hinted Assange and WikiLeaks were going to release material that would be damaging to my campaign, and later admitted to also exchanging direct messages over Twitter with Guccifer 2.0, the front for Russian intelligence, after some of those messages were published by the website The Smoking Gun. We also know now that in December 2016, Trump’s son-in-law and senior advisor, Jared Kushner, met with Sergey Gorkov, the head of a Kremlin-controlled bank that is under U.S. sanctions and tied closely to Russian intelligence. The Washington Post caused a sensation with its report that Russian officials were discussing a proposal by Kushner to use Russian diplomatic facilities in America to communicate secretly with Moscow. The New York Times reported that Russian intelligence attempted to recruit Carter Page, the Trump foreign policy advisor, as a spy back in 2013 (according to the report, the FBI believed Page did not know that the man who approached him was a spy). And according to Yahoo News, U.S. officials received intelligence reports that Carter Page met with a top Putin aide involved with intelligence. Some Trump advisors failed to disclose or lied about their contacts with the Russians, including on applications for security clearances, which could be a federal crime. Attorney General Jeff Sessions lied to Congress about his contacts and later recused himself from the investigation. Michael Flynn lied about being in contact with Kislyak and then changed his story about whether they discussed dropping U.S. sanctions. Reporting since the election has made clear that Trump and his top advisors have little or no interest in learning about the Russian covert operation against American democracy. ~ Hillary Rodham Clinton,
1372:The Unloved
These are the women whom no man has loved.
Year after year, day after day has moved.
These hearts with many longings, and with tears,
And with content; they have received the years
With empty hands, expecting no good thing;
Life has passed by their doors, not entering.
In solitude, and without vain desire,
They have warmed themselves beside a lonely fire;
And, without scorn, beheld as in a glass
The blown and painted leaves of Beauty pass.
Their souls have been made fragrant with the spice
Of costly virtues lit for sacrifice;
They have accepted life, the unpaid debt,
And looked for no vain day of reckoning. Yet
They too in certain windless summer hours
Have felt the stir of dreams, and dreamed the powers
And the exemptions and the miracles
And the cruelty of Beauty. Citadels
Of many-walled and deeply-moated hearts
Have suddenly surrendered to the arts
Of so compelling magic; entering,
They have esteemed it but a little thing
To have won so great a conquest; and with haste
They have cast down, and utterly laid waste,
Tower upon tower, and sapped their roots with flame;
And passed on that eternity of shame
Which is the way of Beauty on the earth.
And they have shaken laughter from its mirth,
To be a sound of trumpets and of horns
Crying the battle-cry of those red morns
Against a sky of triumph. On some nights
Of delicate Springtide, when the hesitant lights
Begin to fade, and glimmer, and grow warm,
And all the softening air is quick with storm,
And the ardours of the young year, entering in,
Flush the grey earth with buds; when trees begin
To feel a trouble mounting from their roots,
And all their green life blossoming into shoots,
They too, in some obscure, unblossoming strife,
Have felt the stirring of the sap of life.
And they have wept, with bowed heads; in the street
They hear the twittering of little feet,
The rocking of the cradles in their hearts.
This is a mood, and, as a mood, departs
With the dried tears; and they resume the tale
Of the dropt stitches; these must never fail
For a dream's sake; nor, for a memory,
The telling of a patient rosary.
~ Arthur Symons,
1373:Why The Jackass Laughs
The Boastful Crow and the Laughing Jack
Were telling tales of the outer back:
"I've just been travelling far and wide,
At the back of Bourke and the Queensland side;
There isn't a bird in the bush can go
As far as me," said the old black crow.
"There isn't a bird in the bush can fly
A course as straight or a course as high.
Higher than human eyesight goes.
There's sometimes clouds -- but there's always crows,
Drifting along for a scent of blood
Or a smell of smoke or a sign of flood.
For never a bird or a beast has been
With a sight as strong or a scent as keen.
At fires and floods I'm the first about,
For then the lizards and mice run out:
And I make my swoop -- and that's all they know -I'm a whale on mice," said the Boastful Crow.
The Bee-birds over the homestead flew
And told each other the long day through
"The cold has come, we must take the track."
"Now, I'll make you a bet," said the Laughing Jack,
"Of a hundred mice, that you dare not go
With the little Bee-birds, by Boastful Crow."
Said the Boastful Crow, "I could take my ease
And fly with little green birds like these.
If they went flat out and they did their best
I could have a smoke and could take a rest."
And he asked of the Bee-birds circling round:
"Now, where do you spike-tails think you're bound?"
"We leave tonight, and out present plan
is to go straight on till we reach Japan.
"Every year, on the self-same day,
We call our children and start away,
Twittering, travelling day and night,
Over the ocean we take our flight;
And we rest a day on some lonely isles
Or we beg a ride for a hundred miles
On a steamer's deck,* and away we go:
We hope you'll come with us, Mister Crow."
But the old black crow was extremely sad.
Said he: "I reckon you're raving mad
To talk of travelling night and day,
And how in the world do you find your way?"
And the Bee-birds answered him, "If you please,
That's one of our own great mysteries".
Now these things chanced in the long ago
And explain the fact, which no doubt you know,
That every jackass high and low
Will always laugh when he sees a crow.
~ Banjo Paterson,
1374:Ode--'On A Distant Prospect' Of Making A Fortune
Now the 'rosy morn appearing'
Floods with light the dazzled heaven;
And the schoolboy groans on hearing
That eternal clock strike seven:Now the waggoner is driving
Towards the fields his clattering wain;
Now the bluebottle, reviving,
Buzzes down his native pane.
But to me the morn is hateful:
Wearily I stretch my legs,
Dress, and settle to my plateful
Of (perhaps inferior) eggs.
Yesterday Miss Crump, by message,
Mentioned 'rent,' which 'p'raps I'd pay;'
And I have a dismal presage
That she'll call, herself, to-day.
Once, I breakfasted off rosewood,
Smoked through silver-mounted pipes Then how my patrician nose would
Turn up at the thought of 'swipes!'
Ale,--occasionally claret, Graced my luncheon then:- and now
I drink porter in a garret,
To be paid for heaven knows how.
When the evening shades are deepened,
And I doff my hat and gloves,
No sweet bird is there to 'cheep and
Twitter twenty million loves:'
No dark-ringleted canaries
Sing to me of 'hungry foam;'
No imaginary 'Marys'
Call fictitious 'cattle home.'
Araminta, sweetest, fairest!
Solace once of every ill!
How I wonder if thou bearest
Mivins in remembrance still!
If that Friday night is banished
Yet from that retentive mind,
When the others somehow vanished,
And we two were left behind:When in accents low, yet thrilling,
I did all my love declare;
Mentioned that I'd not a shilling Hinted that we need not care:
And complacently you listened
To my somewhat long address (Listening, at the same time, isn't
Quite the same as saying Yes).
Once, a happy child, I carolled
O'er green lawns the whole day through,
Not unpleasingly apparelled
In a tightish suit of blue:What a change has now passed o'er me!
Now with what dismay I see
Every rising morn before me!
Goodness gracious, patience me!
And I'll prowl, a moodier Lara,
Through the world, as prowls the bat,
And habitually wear a
Cypress wreath around my hat:
And when Death snuffs out the taper
Of my Life, (as soon he must),
I'll send up to every paper,
'Died, T. Mivins; of disgust.'
~ Charles Stuart Calverley,
1375:There are blondes and blondes and it is almost a joke word nowadays. All blondes have their points, except perhaps the metallic ones who are as blond as a Zulu under the bleach and as to disposition as soft as a sidewalk. There is the small cute blonde who cheeps and twitters, and the big statuesque blonde who straight-arms you with an ice-blue glare. There is the blonde who gives you the up-from-under look and smells lovely and shimmers and hangs on your arm and is always very tired when you take her home. She makes that helpless gesture and has that goddamned headache and you would like to slug her except that you are glad you found out about the headache before you invested too much time and money and hope in her. Because the headache will always be there, a weapon that never wears out and is as deadly as the bravo’s rapier or Lucrezia’s poison vial. There is the soft and willing and alcoholic blonde who doesn’t care what she wears as long as it is mink or where she goes as long as it is the Starlight Roof and there is plenty of dry champagne. There is the small perky blonde who is a little pal and wants to pay her own way and is full of sunshine and common sense and knows judo from the ground up and can toss a truck driver over her shoulder without missing more than one sentence out of the editorial in the Saturday Review. There is the pale, pale blonde with anemia of some non-fatal but incurable type. She is very languid and very shadowy and she speaks softly out of nowhere and you can’t lay a finger on her because in the first place you don’t want to and in the second place she is reading The Waste Land or Dante in the original, or Kafka or Kierkegaard or studying Provençal. She adores music and when the New York Philharmonic is playing Hindemith she can tell you which one of the six bass viols came in a quarter of a beat too late. I hear Toscanini can also. That makes two of them. And lastly there is the gorgeous show piece who will outlast three kingpin racketeers and then marry a couple of millionaires at a million a head and end up with a pale rose villa at Cap Antibes, an Alfa-Romeo town car complete with pilot and co-pilot, and a stable of shopworn aristocrats, all of whom she will treat with the affectionate absent-mindedness of an elderly duke saying goodnight to his butler. ~ Raymond Chandler,
1376:It is the very impersonal quality of urban life, which is lived among strangers, that accounts for intensified religious feeling. For in the village of old, religion was a natural extension of the daily traditions and routine of life among the extended family; but migrations to the city brought Muslims into the anonymity of slum existence, and to keep the family together and the young from drifting into crime, religion has had to be reinvented in starker, more ideological form. In this way states weaken, or at least have to yield somewhat, to new and sometimes extreme kinds of nationalism and religiosity advanced by urbanization. Thus, new communities take hold that transcend traditional geography, even as they make for spatial patterns of their own. Great changes in history often happen obscurely.10 A Eurasia and North Africa of vast, urban concentrations, overlapping missile ranges, and sensational global media will be one of constantly enraged crowds, fed by rumors and half-truths transported at the speed of light by satellite channels across the rimlands and heartland expanse, from one Third World city to another. Conversely, the crowd, empowered by social media like Twitter and Facebook, will also be fed by the very truth that autocratic rulers have denied it. The crowd will be key in a new era where the relief map will be darkened by densely packed megacities—the crowd being a large group of people who abandon their individuality in favor of an intoxicating collective symbol. Elias Canetti, the Bulgarian-born Spanish Jew and Nobel laureate in literature, became so transfixed and terrified at the mob violence over inflation that seized Frankfurt and Vienna between the two world wars that he devoted much of his life to studying the human herd in all its manifestations. The signal insight of his book Crowds and Power, published in 1960, was that we all yearn to be inside some sort of crowd, for in a crowd—or a mob, for that matter—there is shelter from danger and, by inference, from loneliness. Nationalism, extremism, the yearning for democracy are all the products of crowd formations and thus manifestations of seeking to escape from loneliness. It is loneliness, alleviated by Twitter and Facebook, that ultimately leads to the breakdown of traditional authority and the erection of new kinds. ~ Robert D Kaplan,
Gray earth, gray mist, gray sky:
Through vapors hurrying by,
Larger than wont, on high
Floats the horned, yellow moon.
Chill airs are faintly stirred,
And far away is heard,
Of some fresh-awakened bird,
The querulous, shrill tune.
The dark mist hides the face
Of the dim land: no trace
Of rock or river's place
In the thick air is drawn;
But dripping grass smells sweet,
And rustling branches meet,
And sounding water greet
The slow, sure, sacred dawn.
Past is the long black night,
With its keen lightnings white,
Thunder and floods: new light
The glimmering low east streaks.
The dense clouds part: between
Their jagged rents are seen
Pale reaches blue and green,
As the mirk curtain breaks.
Above the shadowy world,
Still more and more unfurled,
The gathered mists upcurled
Like phantoms melt and pass.
In clear-obscure revealed,
Brown wood, gray stream, dark field:
Fresh, healthy odors yield
Wet furrows, flowers, and grass.
The sudden, splendid gleam
Of one thin, golden beam
Shoots from the feathered rim
Of yon hill crowned with woods.
Down its embowered side,
As living waters slide,
So the great morning tide
Follows in sunny floods.
From bush and hedge and tree
Joy, unrestrained and free,
Breaks forth in melody,
Twitter and chirp and song:
Alive the festal air
With gauze-winged creatures fair,
That flicker everywhere,
Dart, poise, and flash along.
The shining mists are gone,
Slight films of gold swift-blown
Before the strong, bright sun
Or the deep-colored sky:
A world of life and glow
Sparkles and basks below,
Where the soft meads a-row,
Hoary with dew-fall, lie.
Does not the morn break thus,
Swift, bright, victorious,
With new skies cleared for us,
Over the soul storm-tost?
Her night was long and deep,
Strange visions vexed her sleep,
Strange sorrows bade her weep:
Her faith in dawn was lost.
No halt, no rest for her,
The immortal wanderer
From sphere to higher sphere,
Toward the pure source of day.
The new light shames her fears,
Her faithlessness, her tears,
As the new sun appears
To light her godlike way.
~ Emma Lazarus,
1378:At some point, sisters began to talk about how unseen they have felt. How the media has focused on men, but it has been them - the sisters - who were there. They were there, in overwhelming numbers, just as they were during the civil rights movement.

Women - all women, trans women - are roughly 80% of the people who were staring down the terror of Ferguson, saying “we are the caretakers of this community”. Is it women who are out there, often with their children, calling for an end to police violence, saying “we have a right to raise our children without fear”.

But it is not women’s courage that is showcased in the media. One sister says “when the police move in we do not run, we stay. And for this, we deserve recognition”. Their words will live with us, will live in us, as Ferguson begins to unfold and as the national attention begins to really focus on what Alicia, Opal and I have started.

The first time there’s coverage of Black Lives Matter in a way that is positive is on the Melissa Harris-Perry show. She does not invite us - it isn’t intentional, I’m certain of that. And about a year later she does, but in this early moment, and despite the overwhelming knowledge of the people on the ground who are talking about what Alicia, Opal and I have done, and despite of it being part of the historical record, that it is always women who do the work even as men get the praise. It takes a long time for us to occur to most reporters and the mainstream. Living in patriarchy means that the default inclination is to center men and their voices, not women and their work.

The fact seems ever more exacerbated in our day and age, when presence on twitter, when the number of followers one has, can supplant the everyday and heralded work of those who, by virtue of that work, may not have time to tweet constantly or sharpen and hone their personal brand so that it is an easily sellable commodity. Like the women who organized, strategized, marched, cooked, typed up and did the work to ensure the civil rights movement; women whose names go unspoken, unknown, so too that this dynamic unfolds as the nation began to realize that we were a movement.

Opal, Alicia and I never wanted or needed to be the center of anything. We were purposeful about decentralizing our role in the work, but neither did we want, nor deserved, to be erased. ~ Patrisse Khan Cullors,
1379:The Swallow
THE gorse is yellow on the heath,
The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,
The oaks are budding; and beneath,
The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,
The silver wreath of May.
The welcome guest of settled Spring,
The Swallow too is come at last;
Just at sun-set, when thrushes sing,
I saw her dash with rapid wing,
And hail'd her as she pass'd.
Come, summer visitant, attach
To my reed roof your nest of clay,
And let my ear your music catch
Low twittering underneath the thatch
At the gray dawn of day.
As fables tell, an Indian Sage,
The Hindostani woods among,
Could in his desert hermitage,
As if 'twere mark'd in written page,
Translate the wild bird's song.
I wish I did his power possess,
That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee,
What our vain systems only guess,
And know from what wide wilderness
You came across the sea.
I would a little while restrain
Your rapid wing, that I might hear
Whether on clouds that bring the rain,
You sail'd above the western main,
The wind your charioteer.
In Afric, does the sultry gale
Thro' spicy bower, and palmy grove,
Bear the repeated Cuckoo's tale ?
Dwells there a time, the wandering Rail
Or the itinerant Dove ?
Were you in Asia ? O relate,
If there your fabled sister's woes
She seem'd in sorrow to narrate;
Or sings she but to celebrate
Her nuptials with the rose ?
I would enquire how journeying long,
The vast and pathless ocean o'er,
You ply again those pinions strong,
And come to build anew among
The scenes you left before;
But if, as colder breezes blow,
Prophetic of the waning year,
You hide, tho' none know when or how,
In the cliff's excavated brow,
And linger torpid here;
Thus lost to life, what favouring dream
Bids you to happier hours awake;
And tells, that dancing in the beam,
The light gnat hovers o'er the stream,
The May-fly on the lake ?
Or if, by instinct taught to know
Approaching dearth of insect food;
To isles and willowy aits you go,
And crouding on the pliant bough,
Sink in the dimpling flood:
How learn ye, while the cold waves boom
Your deep and ouzy couch above,
The time when flowers of promise bloom,
And call you from your transient tomb,
To light, and life, and love ?
Alas ! how little can be known,
Her sacred veil where Nature draws;
Let baffled Science humbly own,
Her mysteries understood alone,
By Him who gives her laws.
~ Charlotte Smith,
1380:Matthew 25:14-30 (English Standard Version)
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Matthew 25:14-30

English Standard Version (ESV)
The Parable of the Talents

14 “For it will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants[a] and entrusted to them his property. 15 To one he gave five talents,[b] to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. 16 He who had received the five talents went at once and traded with them, and he made five talents more. 17 So also he who had the two talents made two talents more. 18 But he who had received the one talent went and dug in the ground and hid his master's money. 19 Now after a long time the master of those servants came and settled accounts with them. 20 And he who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five talents more, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me five talents; here I have made five talents more.’ 21 His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.[c] You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’ 22 And he also who had the two talents came forward, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me two talents; here I have made two talents more.’ 23 His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’ 24 He also who had received the one talent came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed, 25 so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.’ 26 But his master answered him, ‘You wicked and slothful servant! You knew that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I scattered no seed? 27 Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and at my coming I should have received what was my own with interest. 28 So take the talent from him and give it to him who has the ten talents. 29 For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance. But from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away. 30 And cast the worthless servant into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

Matthew 25:14 Greek bondservants; also verse 19
Matthew 25:15 A talent was a monetary unit worth about twenty years' wages for a laborer
Matthew 25:21 Greek bondservant; also verses 23, 26, 30 ~ Anonymous,
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
    Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
  Conspiring with him how to load and bless
    With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
  To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
    And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
     To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
  And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
     For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
   Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
     Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
   Steady thy laden head across a brook;
   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
     Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
   Among the river sallows, borne aloft
     Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
     And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Form: ababcdecdde

'This poem seems to have been just composed when Keats wrote to Reynolds from Winchester his letter, dated, 22nd of September 1819.
Keats says, "How beautiful the season is now. How fine the air -- a temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather -- Dian skies. I never liked stubble-fields so much as now -- aye, better than chilly green of the Spring. Somehow, a stubble plain looks warm, in the same way that some pictures look warm. This struck me so much in my Sunday's walk that I composed upon it." ~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895.

(stanza 3): The term "Hedge-crickets" for "grasshoppers" in line 9 resumes very happily the whole sentiment of Keats's competition sonnet [Sonnet XV.] "On the Grasshopper and Cricket." by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ John Keats, Ode To Autumn
1382:her room now?” They were led down the hall by Beth. Before she turned away she took a last drag on her smoke and said, “However this comes out, there is no way my baby would have had anything to do with something like this, drawing of this asshole or not. No way. Do you hear me? Both of you?” “Loud and clear,” said Decker. But he thought if Debbie were involved she had already paid the ultimate price anyway. The state couldn’t exactly kill her again. Beth casually flicked the cigarette down the hall, where it sparked and then died out on the faded runner. Then she walked off. They opened the door and went into Debbie’s room. Decker stood in the middle of the tiny space and looked around. Lancaster said, “We’ll have the tech guys go through her online stuff. Photos on her phone, her laptop over there, the cloud, whatever. Instagram. Twitter. Facebook. Tumblr. Wherever else the kids do their electronic preening. Keeps changing. But our guys will know where to look.” Decker didn’t answer her. He just kept looking around, taking the room in, fitting things in little niches in his memory and then pulling them back out if something didn’t seem right as weighed against something else. “I just see a typical teenage girl’s room. But what do you see?” asked Lancaster finally. He didn’t look at her but said, “Same things you’re seeing. Give me a minute.” Decker walked around the small space, looked under piles of papers, in the young woman’s closet, knelt down to see under her bed, scrutinized the wall art that hung everywhere, including a whole section of People magazine covers. She also had chalkboard squares affixed to one wall. On them was a musical score and short snatches of poetry and personal messages to herself: Deb, Wake up each day with something to prove. “Pretty busy room,” noted Lancaster, who had perched on the edge of the girl’s desk. “We’ll have forensics come and bag it all.” She looked at Decker, obviously waiting for him to react to this, but instead he walked out of the room. “Decker!” “I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder. She watched him go and then muttered, “Of all the partners I could have had, I got Rain Man, only giant size.” She pulled a stick of gum out of her bag, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. Over the next several minutes she strolled the room and then came to the mirror on the back of the closet door. She appraised her appearance and ended it with the resigned sigh of a person who knows their best days physically are well in the past. She automatically reached for her smokes but then decided against it. Debbie’s room could be part of a criminal investigation. Her ash and smoke could only taint that investigation. ~ David Baldacci,
1383:You will encounter resentful, sneering non-readers who will look at you from their beery, leery eyes, as they might some form of sub-hominid anomaly, bookimus maximus. You will encounter redditters, youtubers, blogspotters, wordpressers, twitterers, and facebookers with wired-open eyes who will shout at from you from their crazy hectoring mouths about the liberal poison of literature. You will encounter the gamers with their twitching fingers who will look upon you as a character to lock crosshairs on and blow to smithereens. You will encounter the stoners and pill-poppers who will ignore you, and ask you if you have read Jack Keroauc’s On the Road, and if you haven’t, will lecture you for two hours on that novel and refuse to acknowledge any other books written by anyone ever. You will encounter the provincial retirees, who have spent a year reading War & Peace, who strike the attitude that completing that novel is a greater achievement than the thousands of books you have read, even though they lost themselves constantly throughout the book and hated the whole experience. You will encounter the self-obsessed students whose radical interpretations of Agnes Grey and The Idiot are the most important utterance anyone anywhere has ever made with their mouths, while ignoring the thousands of novels you have read. You will encounter the parents and siblings who take every literary reference you make back to the several books they enjoyed reading as a child, and then redirect the conversation to what TV shows they have been watching. You will encounter the teachers and lecturers, for whom any text not on their syllabus is a waste of time, and look upon you as a wayward student in need of their salvation. You will encounter the travellers and backpackers who will take pity on you for wasting your life, then tell you about the Paulo Coelho they read while hostelling across Europe en route to their spiritual pilgrimage to New Delhi. You will encounter the hard-working moaners who will tell you they are too busy working for a living to sit and read all day, and when they come home from a hard day’s toil, they don’t want to sit and read pretentious rubbish. You will encounter the voracious readers who loathe competition, and who will challenge you to a literary duel, rather than engage you in friendly conversation about your latest reading. You will encounter the slack intellectuals who will immediately ask you if you have read Finnegans Wake, and when you say you have, will ask if you if you understood every line, and when you say of course not, will make some point that generally alludes to you being a halfwit. Fuck those fuckers. ~ M J Nicholls,
1384:The Straw Parlor
Way up at the top of a big stack of straw
Was the cunningest parlor that ever you saw!
And there could you lie when aweary of play
And gossip or laze in the coziest way;
No matter how careworn or sorry one's mood
No worldly distraction presumed to intrude.
As a refuge from onerous mundane ado
I think I approve of straw parlors, don't you?
A swallow with jewels aflame on her breast
On that straw parlor's ceiling had builded her nest;
And she flew in and out all the happy day long,
And twittered the soothingest lullaby song.
Now some might suppose that that beautiful bird
Performed for her babies the music they heard;
I reckon she twittered her répertoire through
For the folk in the little straw parlor, don't you?
And down from a rafter a spider had hung
Some swings upon which he incessantly swung.
He cut up such didoes--such antics he played
Way up in the air, and was never afraid!
He never made use of his horrid old sting,
But was just upon earth for the fun of the thing!
I deeply regret to observe that so few
Of these good-natured insects are met with, don't you?
And, down in the strawstack, a wee little mite
Of a cricket went chirping by day and by night;
And further down, still, a cunning blue mouse
In a snug little nook of that strawstack kept house!
When the cricket went "chirp," Miss Mousie would squeak
"Come in," and a blush would enkindle her cheek!
She thought--silly girl! 't was a beau come to woo,
But I guess it was only the cricket, don't you?
So the cricket, the mouse, and the motherly bird
Made as soothingsome music as ever you heard
And, meanwhile, that spider by means of his swings
Achieved most astounding gyrations and things!
No wonder the little folk liked what they saw
And loved what they heard in that parlor of straw!
With the mercury up to 102
In the shade, I opine they just sizzled, don't you?
But once there invaded that Eden of straw
The evilest Feline that ever you saw!
She pounced on that cricket with rare promptitude
And she tucked him away where he'd do the most good;
And then, reaching down to the nethermost house,
She deftly expiscated little Miss Mouse!
And, as for the Swallow, she shrieked and withdrew-I rather admire her discretion, don't you?
Now listen: That evening a cyclone obtained,
And the mortgage was all on that farm that remained!
Barn, strawstack and spider--they all blew away,
And nobody knows where they're at to this day!
And, as for the little straw parlor, I fear
It was wafted clean off this sublunary sphere!
I really incline to a hearty "boo-hoo"
When I think of this tragical ending, don't you?
~ Eugene Field,
1385:One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,
Across the meadows bare and brown,
The windows of the wayside inn
Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves
Their crimson curtains rent and thin.
As ancient is this hostelry
As any in the land may be,
Built in the old Colonial day,
When men lived in a grander way,
With ampler hospitality;
A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,
Now somewhat fallen to decay,
With weather-stains upon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams,
Remote among the wooded hills!
For there no noisy railway speeds,
Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds;
But noon and night, the panting teams
Stop under the great oaks, that throw
Tangles of light and shade below,
On roofs and doors and window-sills.
Across the road the barns display
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay,
Through the wide doors the breezes blow,
The wattled cocks strut to and fro,
And, half effaced by rain and shine,
The Red Horse prances on the sign.
Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust
Went rushing down the county road,
And skeletons of leaves, and dust,
A moment quickened by its breath,
Shuddered and danced their dance of death,
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead
Mysterious voices moaned and fled.
These are the tales those merry guests
Told to each other, well or ill;
Like summer birds that lift their crests
Above the borders of their nests
And twitter, and again are still.
These are the tales, or new or old,
In idle moments idly told;
Flowers of the field with petals thin,
Lilies that neither toil nor spin,
And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse
Hung in the parlor of the inn
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse.
Uprose the sun; and every guest,
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed
For journeying home and city-ward;
The old stage-coach was at the door,
With horses harnessed,long before
The sunshine reached the withered sward
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar
Murmured: "Farewell forevermore.
Where are they now? What lands and skies
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes?
What hope deludes, what promise cheers,
What pleasant voices fill their ears?
Two are beyond the salt sea waves,
And three already in their graves.
Perchance the living still may look
Into the pages of this book,
And see the days of long ago
Floating and fleeting to and fro,
As in the well-remembered brook
They saw the inverted landscape gleam,
And their own faces like a dream
Look up upon them from below. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
1386:One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,
Across the meadows bare and brown,
The windows of the wayside inn
Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves
Their crimson curtains rent and thin.”

“As ancient is this hostelry
As any in the land may be,
Built in the old Colonial day,
When men lived in a grander way,
With ampler hospitality;
A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,
Now somewhat fallen to decay,
With weather-stains upon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams,
Remote among the wooded hills!
For there no noisy railway speeds,
Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds;
But noon and night, the panting teams
Stop under the great oaks, that throw
Tangles of light and shade below,
On roofs and doors and window-sills.
Across the road the barns display
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay,
Through the wide doors the breezes blow,
The wattled cocks strut to and fro,
And, half effaced by rain and shine,
The Red Horse prances on the sign.
Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust
Went rushing down the county road,
And skeletons of leaves, and dust,
A moment quickened by its breath,
Shuddered and danced their dance of death,
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead
Mysterious voices moaned and fled.
These are the tales those merry guests
Told to each other, well or ill;
Like summer birds that lift their crests
Above the borders of their nests
And twitter, and again are still.
These are the tales, or new or old,
In idle moments idly told;
Flowers of the field with petals thin,
Lilies that neither toil nor spin,
And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse
Hung in the parlor of the inn
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse.
Uprose the sun; and every guest,
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed
For journeying home and city-ward;
The old stage-coach was at the door,
With horses harnessed, long before
The sunshine reached the withered sward
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar
Murmured: "Farewell forevermore.
Where are they now? What lands and skies
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes?
What hope deludes, what promise cheers,
What pleasant voices fill their ears?
Two are beyond the salt sea waves,
And three already in their graves.
Perchance the living still may look
Into the pages of this book,
And see the days of long ago
Floating and fleeting to and fro,
As in the well-remembered brook
They saw the inverted landscape gleam,
And their own faces like a dream
Look up upon them from below. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
1387:The Winged Mariners
Through the wild night, the silence and the dark,
Through league on league of the uncharted sky,
Lonelier than dove of fable from its ark,
The fieldfares fly.
Mate with his tiny mate, and younglings frail,
That only knew the crevice of their tree
Until, in faith stupendous, they set sail
Across the sea.
The black North Sea, that takes such savage toll
Of ships and men - and yet could not appal
These little mariners, who seek their goal
Beyond it all.
Turning those soft, indomitable breasts
To meet the unchained Titans of the deep Calm, as if cradled in Norwegian nests,
Their course they keep.
No more than thistledown or flake of snow
To those great gods at play, they win the game;
Never sped archer's arrow from his bow
With surer aim.
Still tossed and scattered, their unwinking eyes
Point to that pole unseen where wanderings cease;
Still on they press, and warble to the skies
With hearts at peace.
Scenting the English morning in the air,
Through the salt night, ere any morning wakes The perfumed fields, the dun woods, sere and bare,
The brambly brakes The well-loved orchard, with its hawthorn hedge,
Where luscious berries, red and brown, are found The misty miles of water-mead and sedge
Where gnats abound.
But what is this, 'twixt sea and surf-bound shore?
What form stands there, amid the shadows gray,
With flaming blade that smites them as they soar,
And bars their way?
Hushed are the twittering throats; each silken head
Turns to the voiceless siren - turns and stares By some strange lure of mystery and dread
Caught unawares.
It draws them on, as the magnetic sun
Draws vagrant meteors to its burning breast.
The day is near, the harbour all but won That English nest.
But here they meet inexorable Fate;
Here lies a dreadful reef of fire and glass;
Here stands a glittering sentry at the gate They cannot pass.
Confused, dismayed, they flutter in the gale,
Those little pinions that have lost their track;
The gallant hearts that sped them reel and fail
Like ships aback.
Sucked in a magic current, like a leaf
Torn from autumnal tree, they drift abroad,
But ever nearer to the siren reef,
The ruthless sword.
On, on, transfixed and swooning, without check,
To the lee shore of that bedazzling wall,
Until they strike, and break in utter wreck,
And founder all.
Brave little wings, that sailed the storm so well,
Trimmed to the set of every wayward blast!
Brave little hearts, that never storm could quell,
Beaten at last!
The great sea swallows them, and they are gone,
For ever gone, like bubbles of the foam;
And the bright star that lured them, shining on,
Still points to Home.
~ Ada Cambridge,
As bullets come to us they're thin,
They're angular, or smooth and fat,
Some spiral are, and gimlet in,
And some are sharp, and others flat.
The slim one pink you clean and neat,
The flat ones bat a solid blow
Much as a camel throws his feet,
And leave you beastly incomplete.
If lucky you don't know it through.
The flitting bullets flow and flock;
They twitter as they pass;
They're picking at the solid rock,
They're rooting in the grass.
A tiny ballet swiftly throws
Its gossamer of rust,
Brown fairies on their little toes
A-dancing in the dust.
You cower down when first they come
With snaky whispers at your ear;
And when like swarming bees they hum
You know the tinkling chill of fear.
A whining thing will pluck your heel,
A whirring insect sting your shin;
You shrink to half your size, and feel
The ripples o'er your body seal'Tis terror walking in your skin!
The bullets pelt like winter hail,
The whistle and they sigh,
They shrill like cordage in a gale,
Like mewing kittens cry;
They hiss and spit, they purring come;
Or, silent all a span,
They rap, as on a slackened drum,
The dab that kills a man.
Rage takes you next. All hot your face
The bitter void, and curses leap
From pincered teeth. The wide, still space
Whence all these leaden devil's sweep
Is Tophet. Fiends by day and night
Are groping for your heart to sate
In blood their diabolic spite.
You shoot in idiot delight,
Each winging slug a hymn of hate.
The futile bullets scratch and go,
They chortle and the coo.
I laugh my scorn, for now I know
The thing they cannot do.
They flit like midges in the sun,
But howso thick they be
What matter, since there is not one
That God has marked for me!
An Eastern old philosophy
Come home at length and passion stillsThe thing will be that is to be,
And all must come as Heaven wills.
Where in the swelter and the flame
The new, hot, shining bullets drip;
One in the many has an aim,
Inwove a visage and a nameNo man may give his fate the slip!
The bullets thrill along the breeze,
They drum upon the bags,
They tweak your ear, your hair they tease,
And peck your sleeve to rags.
Their voices may no more annoyI chortle at the call:
The bullet that is mine, my boy,
I shall not hear at all!
The war's a flutter very like
The tickets that we took from Tatt.
Quite possibly I'll make a strike;
The odds are all opposed to that.
Behind the dawn the Furies sway
The mighty globe from which to get
Those bullets which throughout the day
Will winners be to break or slay.
I have not struck a starter yet
The busy bullets rise and flock;
They whistle as they pass;
They're chipping at the solid rock,
They're skipping in the grass.
Out there the tiny dancers throw
Their sober skirts of rust,
Brown flitting figures tipping toe
Along the golden dust.
~ Edward George Dyson,
1389:As observers of totalitarianism such as Victor Klemperer noticed, truth dies in four modes, all of which we have just witnessed.

The first mode is the open hostility to verifiable reality, which takes the form of presenting inventions and lies as if they were facts. The president does this at a high rate and at a fast pace. One attempt during the 2016 campaign to track his utterances found that 78 percent of his factual claims were false. This proportion is so high that it makes the correct assertions seem like unintended oversights on the path toward total fiction. Demeaning the world as it is begins the creation of a fictional counterworld.

The second mode is shamanistic incantation. As Klemperer noted, the fascist style depends upon “endless repetition,” designed to make the fictional plausible and the criminal desirable. The systematic use of nicknames such as “Lyin’ Ted” and “Crooked Hillary” displaced certain character traits that might more appropriately have been affixed to the president himself. Yet through blunt repetition over Twitter, our president managed the transformation of individuals into stereotypes that people then spoke aloud. At rallies, the repeated chants of “Build that wall” and “Lock her up” did not describe anything that the president had specific plans to do, but their very grandiosity established a connection between him and his audience.

The next mode is magical thinking, or the open embrace of contradiction. The president’s campaign involved the promises of cutting taxes for everyone, eliminating the national debt, and increasing spending on both social policy and national defense. These promises mutually contradict. It is as if a farmer said he were taking an egg from the henhouse, boiling it whole and serving it to his wife, and also poaching it and serving it to his children, and then returning it to the hen unbroken, and then watching as the chick hatches.

Accepting untruth of this radical kind requires a blatant abandonment of reason. Klemperer’s descriptions of losing friends in Germany in 1933 over the issue of magical thinking ring eerily true today. One of his former students implored him to “abandon yourself to your feelings, and you must always focus on the Führer’s greatness, rather than on the discomfort you are feeling at present.” Twelve years later, after all the atrocities, and at the end of a war that Germany had clearly lost, an amputated soldier told Klemperer that Hitler “has never lied yet. I believe in Hitler.”

The final mode is misplaced faith. It involves the sort of self-deifying claims the president made when he said that “I alone can solve it” or “I am your voice.” When faith descends from heaven to earth in this way, no room remains for the small truths of our individual discernment and experience. What terrified Klemperer was the way that this transition seemed permanent. Once truth had become oracular rather than factual, evidence was irrelevant. At the end of the war a worker told Klemperer that “understanding is useless, you have to have faith. I believe in the Führer. ~ Timothy Snyder,
1390:To begin with, we have to be more clear about what we mean by patriotic feelings. For a time when I was in high school, I cheered for the school athletic teams. That's a form of patriotism — group loyalty. It can take pernicious forms, but in itself it can be quite harmless, maybe even positive. At the national level, what "patriotism" means depends on how we view the society. Those with deep totalitarian commitments identify the state with the society, its people, and its culture. Therefore those who criticized the policies of the Kremlin under Stalin were condemned as "anti-Soviet" or "hating Russia". For their counterparts in the West, those who criticize the policies of the US government are "anti-American" and "hate America"; those are the standard terms used by intellectual opinion, including left-liberal segments, so deeply committed to their totalitarian instincts that they cannot even recognize them, let alone understand their disgraceful history, tracing to the origins of recorded history in interesting ways. For the totalitarian, "patriotism" means support for the state and its policies, perhaps with twitters of protest on grounds that they might fail or cost us too much. For those whose instincts are democratic rather than totalitarian, "patriotism" means commitment to the welfare and improvement of the society, its people, its culture. That's a natural sentiment and one that can be quite positive. It's one all serious activists share, I presume; otherwise why take the trouble to do what we do? But the kind of "patriotism" fostered by totalitarian societies and military dictatorships, and internalized as second nature by much of intellectual opinion in more free societies, is one of the worst maladies of human history, and will probably do us all in before too long.

With regard to the US, I think we find a mix. Every effort is made by power and doctrinal systems to stir up the more dangerous and destructive forms of "patriotism"; every effort is made by people committed to peace and justice to organize and encourage the beneficial kinds. It's a constant struggle. When people are frightened, the more dangerous kinds tend to emerge, and people huddle under the wings of power. Whatever the reasons may be, by comparative standards the US has been a very frightened country for a long time, on many dimensions. Quite commonly in history, such fears have been fanned by unscrupulous leaders, seeking to implement their own agendas. These are commonly harmful to the general population, which has to be disciplined in some manner: the classic device is to stimulate fear of awesome enemies concocted for the purpose, usually with some shreds of realism, required even for the most vulgar forms of propaganda. Germany was the pride of Western civilization 70 years ago, but most Germans were whipped to presumably genuine fear of the Czech dagger pointed at the heart of Germany (is that crazier than the Nicaraguan or Grenadan dagger pointed at the heart of the US, conjured up by the people now playing the same game today?), the Jewish-Bolshevik conspiracy aimed at destroying the Aryan race and the civilization that Germany had inherited from Greece, etc.

That's only the beginning. A lot is at stake. ~ Noam Chomsky,
1391:New Rule: Democrats must get in touch with their inner asshole. I refer to the case of Van Jones, the man the Obama administration hired to find jobs for Americans in the new green industries. Seems like a smart thing to do in a recession, but Van Jones got fired because he got caught on tape saying Republicans are assholes. And they call it news!

Now, I know I'm supposed to be all reinjected with yes-we-can-fever after the big health-care speech, and it was a great speech--when Black Elvis gets jiggy with his teleprompter, there is none better. But here's the thing: Muhammad Ali also had a way with words, but it helped enormously that he could also punch guys in the face.

It bothers me that Obama didn't say a word in defense of Jones and basically fired him when Glenn Beck told him to. Just like dropped "end-of-life counseling" from health-care reform because Sarah Palin said it meant "death panels" on her Facebook page. Crazy morons make up things for Obama to do, and he does it.

Same thing with the speech to schools this week, where the president attempted merely to tell children to work hard and wash their hands, and Cracker Nation reacted as if he was trying to hire the Black Panthers to hand out grenades in homeroom. Of course, the White House immediately capitulated. "No students will be forced to view the speech" a White House spokesperson assured a panicked nation. Isn't that like admitting that the president might be doing something unseemly? What a bunch of cowards. If the White House had any balls, they'd say, "He's giving a speech on the importance of staying in school, and if you jackasses don't show it to every damn kid, we're cutting off your federal education funding tomorrow."

The Democrats just never learn: Americans don't really care which side of an issue you're on as long as you don't act like pussies When Van Jones called the Republicans assholes, he was paying them a compliment. He was talking about how they can get things done even when they're in the minority, as opposed to the Democrats , who can't seem to get anything done even when they control both houses of Congress, the presidency, and Bruce Springsteen.

I love Obama's civility, his desire to work with his enemies; it's positively Christlike. In college, he was probably the guy at the dorm parties who made sure the stoners shared their pot with the jocks. But we don't need that guy now. We need an asshole.

Mr. President, there are some people who are never going to like you. That's why they voted for the old guy and Carrie's mom. You're not going to win them over. Stand up for the seventy percent of Americans who aren't crazy.

And speaking of that seventy percent, when are we going to actually show up in all this? Tomorrow Glenn Beck's army of zombie retirees descending on Washington. It's the Million Moron March, although they won't get a million, of course, because many will be confused and drive to Washington state--but they will make news. Because people who take to the streets always do. They're at the town hall screaming at the congressman; we're on the couch screaming at the TV. Especially in this age of Twitters and blogs and Snuggies, it's a statement to just leave the house. But leave the house we must, because this is our last best shot for a long time to get the sort of serious health-care reform that would make the United States the envy of several African nations. ~ Bill Maher,
1392:Twitter'ın Kurucusuyla Fırsat Yaratmak Üzerine By Biz Stone • Oldukça zengin bir şehirde büyüdüm ancak annemle babam ben daha küçükken ayrılmıştı. Babamın hayatımda çok fazla bir yeri olmadı ve biz fakirdik. Tanıdığım birçok çocuk beyzbol ve futbol oynarken ben sekiz yaşımda, para kazanmak için çimleri biçmekle meşguldüm.... Fikir : Stone ve iş ortağı, başarısız giden bir podcast şirketinde çalışırken 140 karakterlik durum güncellemelerini kullanmanın bir yolunu buldu ve bu fikir onları bir sosyal medya devi haline getirdi. Oldukça zengin bir şehirde büyüdüm ancak annemle babam ben daha küçükken ayrılmıştı. Babamın hayatımda çok fazla bir yeri olmadı ve biz fakirdik. Tanıdığım birçok çocuk beyzbol ve futbol oynarken ben sekiz yaşımda, para kazanmak için çimleri biçmekle meşguldüm. Liseye başladığımda, bir spor dalıyla uğraştığınızda doğal olarak iyi bir sosyal çevreye sahip olabileceğinizin farkına varmıştım. Aslında doğal olarak atletik bir yapıya sahip olmama karşın hiçbir zaman organize sporları yapmamıştım. Basketbolu, beyzbolu, futbolu denemiştim ancak hiçbirinde iyi değildim. Okulumuzun erkek lakros takımı yoktu ve ben lakros oynayan hiç kimse olmadığından dolayı herkesin bu konuda en az benim kadar bilgisiz olacağını fark ettim. Eğer bir koç ve yeterince öğrenci bulabilirsem, lakros takımı kurulması konusunda okul yönetimini ikna etmeyi başaracaktım ve onları buldum. Sonrasında lakrosta çok iyi bir noktaya geldim ve takımın kaptanı oldum. Bu deneyimde benim için önemli bir ders vardı ve bu ders iş hayatında da geçerli. Bazı kişiler fırsatların sözlükte tanımlandığı gibi olduğunu düşünür: Bir şeyi mümkün kılan olasılıklar kümesi… Ve fırsatların doğal olarak kendilerine geleceğine inanırlar. Ya “fırsatı belirlersiniz” ya da oturup fırsatın “ayağınıza gelmesini” beklersiniz. Ben bu konuda farklı düşünüyorum. Sonuçların mimarı olmalıyız, fırsat sizin yarattığınız bir şeydir gelmesini beklediğiniz bir şey değildir. Hayatımın 40 yılına baktığımda oturup beklemek yerine fırsatları sürekli kendimin oluşturduğunu görüyorum. Bu kariyerimin ilk zamanları için de, bazı arkadaşlarımla Twitter’ı kurarken de ve son girişimlerimde de geçerli. Gerçekten de girişimcilik kendi fırsatlarınızı yaratmaktan ibarettir. Bu, start-up’lar için çok daha geçerli bir kuraldır. Kendinizi CEO olarak ilan eder ve planın içini doldurursunuz. Fırsat yaratmaya yönelik uç bir örnek, ilk tam zamanlı işimi alışımdır. University of Massachusetts Boston’da burslu okuyordum ve okulumdan memnun değildim. Little, Brown adlı bir yayıncılık şirketinde yarı zamanlı çalışıyordum ve ofisteki kolilerin düzenlenmesinden sorumluydum. Kitapların dış kaplarını tasarlayan kişilerle tanışmıştım. O dönemde tasarımcılar, X-ACTO tipi bıçaklar ve kâğıttan Mac bilgisayarlara daha yeni geçiş yapıyordu. Birlikte büyüdüğüm bir arkadaşımın Mac’i vardı ve ben Photoshop ve Quark kullanmaya alışkındım. Bir gün ofiste tek başımayken bir görev dokümanı, yani belirli bir kitap için dış kılıf tasarlama görevi buldum ve hemen hızlıca bilgisayarda bir tasarım yaptım. Tasarımımı tekliflerin arasına koydum ve kimseye söylemedim. Birkaç gün sonra art direktörümüz editörlerin ve pazarlamacıların en iyi alternatif olarak seçtiği tasarımımı kimin yaptığını bulmaya çalışıyordu. Tasarımı, kolici çocuğun yapmış olmasına şaşırmıştı. Benim tasarım yazılımlarını kullanabildiğimi öğrendiğinde bana tam zamanlı bir iş önerdi. Ben de insanlar okuldan mezun olunca zaten bu tür işlere giriyorlar diye düşündüm, okulu bıraktım ve bu işi bir staj olarak gördüm. Art direktör daha sonra benim için önemli bir mentor ve yakı ~ Anonymous,
1393:L'Idéal (The Ideal)
Ce ne seront jamais ces beautés de vignettes,
Produits avariés, nés d'un siècle vaurien,
Ces pieds à brodequins, ces doigts à castagnettes,
Qui sauront satisfaire un coeur comme le mien.
Je laisse à Gavarni, poète des chloroses,
Son troupeau gazouillant de beautés d'hôpital,
Car je ne puis trouver parmi ces pâles roses
Une fleur qui ressemble à mon rouge idéal.
Ce qu'il faut à ce coeur profond comme un abîme,
C'est vous, Lady Macbeth, âme puissante au crime,
Rêve d'Eschyle éclos au climat des autans;
Ou bien toi, grande Nuit, fille de Michel-Ange,
Qui tors paisiblement dans une pose étrange
Tes appas façonnés aux bouches des Titans!
The Ideal
It will never be the beauties that vignettes show, Those damaged products of a
good-for-nothing age,
Their feet shod with high shoes, hands holding castanets,
Who can ever satisfy any heart like mine.
I leave to Gavarni, poet of chlorosis,
His prattling troop of consumptive beauties,
For I cannot find among those pale roses
A flower that is like my red ideal.
The real need of my heart, profound as an abyss,
Is you, Lady Macbeth, soul so potent in crime,
The dream of Aeschylus, born in the land of storms;
Or you, great Night, daughter of Michelangelo,
Who calmly contort, reclining in a strange pose
Your charms molded by the mouths of Titans!
— Translated by William Aggeler
The Ideal
It's not with smirking beauties of vignettes,
The shopsoiled products of a worthless age,
With buskined feet and hands for castanets —
A heart like mine its longing could assuage.
I leave Gavarni, poet of chloroses,
His twittering flock, anaemic and unreal.
I could not find among such bloodless roses,
A flower to match my crimson-hued ideal.
To this heart deeper than the deepest canyon,
Lady Macbeth would be a fit companion,
Crime-puissant dream of Aeschylus; or you,
Daughter of Buonarroti, stately Night!
Whose charms to suit a Titan's appetite,
You twist, so strange, yet peaceful, to the view.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
The Ideal
No beauties such as figure in vignettes,
Monsters of a vain era's lame design,
With feet for buskins, hands for castanets,
Can ever satisfy a heart like mine.
I leave to Gavarni's chlorotic Muse
These sickly prattling nymphs, however real;
Not one of these pale roses would I choose
To match the flowers of my red ideal.
What my heart, deep as an abyss, demands,
Lady Macbeth, is your brave bloody hands,
And, Aeschylus, your dreams of rage and fright,
Or you, vast Night, daughter of Angelo's,
Who peacefully twist into a strange pose
Charms fashioned for a Titan's mouth to bite.
— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
'twill be no lovely girls of our vignettes
— spoiled fruits our worthless epoch deems divine —
slim slippered feet, hands made for castagnettes,
that shall content this questing heart of mine.
I leave to great Gavarni, bard of blight,
his prattling beauties with their frail appeal.
I cannot find among his roses white
the flaming flower of my red ideal.
I crave, to fill my heart's abyss of death,
thy passion, fair and merciless Macbeth,
whom Aeschylus might not have dreamed in boreal snows;
or thine, great Night, in Bunarroti's South,
tranquilly turning in a monstrous pose
thy bosom fashioned by a Titan's mouth!
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
~ Charles Baudelaire,
1394:Such a shame that I didn’t get to say good-bye to my fellow inmates,” he said sarcastically. “Actually, Puchalski was the only guy I liked. I still can’t figure out what got into him.”

As Jordan used her chopsticks to pick up a piece of hamachi, she decided it was best to get her brother off that topic as fast as possible. “Sounds like he just snapped.”

“But why would he have a fork in his shoe?” Kyle mused. “That makes me think he was planning the attack, which doesn’t make sense.”

Let it go, Kyle. She shrugged. “Maybe he always keeps a fork in his shoe. Who understands why any of these felon types do what they do?”

“Hey. I am one of those felon types.”

Grey tipped his glass of wine. “And who would’ve thought you would do what you did?”

“It was Twitter,” Kyle mumbled under his breath.

Maybe we should change the subject,” Jordan suggested, sensing the conversation could only spiral downward from there.

“Okay. Let’s talk about you instead,” Grey said. “I never asked—how did Xander’s party go?”

Now there was a potential land mine of a topic. “It went fine. Pretty much the same party as usual.” Except for a little domestic espionage. She threw Kyle a look, needing help. Change the subject. Fast.

He stared back cluelessly. Why?

She glared. Just do it.

He made a face. All right, all right. “Speaking of wine, Jordo, how was your trip to Napa?”

Great. Leave it to her genius of a brother to pick the other topic she wanted to avoid. “I visited that new winery I told you about. We should have a deal this week so that my store will be the first to carry their wine in the Chicago area.”

Grey’s tone was casual. “Did you bring Tall, Dark, and Smoldering with you on the trip?”

Jordan set down her chopsticks and looked over at her father. He smiled cheekily as he took a sip of his wine.

“You read Scene and Heard, too?” she asked.

Grey scoffed at that. “Of course not. I have people read it for me. Half the time, it’s the only way I know what’s going on with you two. And don’t avoid the question. Tell us about this new guy you’re seeing. I find it very odd that you’ve never mentioned him.” He fixed his gaze on her like the Eye of Sauron.

Jordan took a deep breath, suddenly very tired of the lies and the secret-agent games. Besides, she had to face the truth at some point. “Well, Dad, I don’t know if you have to worry about Tall, Dark, and Smoldering anymore. He’s not talking to me right now.”

Kyle’s face darkened. “Tall, Dark, and Smoldering sounds like a moron to me.”

Grey nodded, his expression disapproving. “I agree. You can do a lot better than a moron, kiddo.”

“Thanks. But it’s not that simple. His job presents some . . . challenges.”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say.

“Why? What kind of work does he do?” her father asked immediately.

Jordan stalled. Maybe she’d overshot a little with the no more lies promise. She threw Kyle another desperate look. Do something. Again.

Kyle nodded. I’m on it. He eased back in his chair and stretched out his intertwined hands, limbering up his fingers. “Who cares what this jerk does? Send me his e-mail address, Jordo—I’ll take care of it. I can wreak all sorts of havoc on Tall, Dark, and Smoldering’s life in less than two minutes.” With an evil grin, he mimed typing at a keyboard.

Their father looked ready to blow a gasket. “Oh no—you do not get to make the jokes,” he told Kyle. “Jordan and I make the jokes. You’ve been out of prison for four days and I seriously hope you learned your lesson, young man . . . ~ Julie James,
1395:Isn’t this the weekend of Xander Eckhart’s party?”

“Yes.” Jordan held her breath in a silent plea. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone.

“So are you bringing anyone?” Melinda asked.


Having realized there was a distinct possibility the subject would come up, Jordan had spent some time running through potential answers to this very question. She had decided that being casual was the best approach. “Oh, there’s this guy I met a few days ago, and I was thinking about asking him.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll just go by myself, who knows.”

Melinda put down her forkful of gnocchi, zoning in on this like a heat-seeking missile to its target. “What guy you met a few days ago? And why is this the first we’re hearing of him?”

“Because I just met him a few days ago.”

Corinne rubbed her hands together, eager for the details. “So? Tell us. How’d you meet him?”

“What does he do?” Melinda asked.

“Nice, Melinda. You’re so shallow.” Corinne turned back to Jordan. “Is he hot?”

Of course, Jordan had known there would be questions. The three of them had been friends since college and still saw each other regularly despite busy schedules, and this was what they did. Before Corinne had gotten married, they talked about her now-husband, Charles. The same was true of Melinda and her soon-to-be-fiancé, Pete. So Jordan knew that she, in turn, was expected to give up the goods in similar circumstances. But she also knew that she really didn’t want to lie to her friends.

With that in mind, she’d come up with a backup plan in the event the conversation went this way. Having no choice, she resorted to the strategy she had used in sticky situations ever since she was five years old, when she’d set her Western Barbie’s hair on fire while trying to give her a suntan on the family-room lamp.

Blame it on Kyle.

I’d like to thank the Academy . . . “Sure, I’ll tell you all about this new guy. We met the other day and he’s . . . um . . .” She paused, then ran her hands through her hair and exhaled dramatically. “Sorry. Do you mind if we talk about this later? After seeing Kyle today with the bruise on his face, I feel guilty rattling on about Xander’s party. Like I’m not taking my brother’s incarceration seriously enough.” She bit her lip, feeling guilty about the lie. So sorry, girls. But this has to stay my secret for now.

Her diversion worked like a charm. Perhaps one of the few benefits of having a convicted felon of a brother known as the Twitter Terrorist was that she would never lack for non sequiturs in extracting herself from unwanted conversation.

Corinne reached out and squeezed her hand. “No one has stood by Kyle’s side more than you, Jordan. But we understand. We can talk about this some other time. And try not to worry—Kyle can handle himself. He’s a big boy.”

“Oh, he definitely is that,” Melinda said with a gleam in her eye.

Jordan smiled. “Thanks, Corinne.” She turned to Melinda, thoroughly skeeved out. “And, eww—Kyle?”

Melinda shrugged matter-of-factly. “To you, he’s your brother. But to the rest of the female population, he has a certain appeal. I’ll leave it at that.”

“He used to fart in our Mr. Turtle pool and call it a ‘Jacuzzi.’ How’s that for appeal?”

“Ah . . . the lifestyles of the rich and famous,” Corinne said with a grin.

“And on that note, my secret fantasies about Kyle Rhodes now thoroughly destroyed, I move that we put a temporary hold on any further discussions related to the less fair of the sexes,” Melinda said.

“I second that,” Jordan said, and the three women clinked their glasses in agreement ~ Julie James,
1396:Light silken curtain, colorless and soft,
Dreamlike before me floating! what abides
Behind thy pearly veil's
Opaque, mysterious woof?
Where sleek red kine, and dappled, crunch day-long
Thick, luscious blades and purple clover-heads,
Nigh me I still can mark
Cool fields of beaded grass.
No more; for on the rim of the globed world
I seem to stand and stare at nothingness.
But songs of unseen birds
And tranquil roll of waves
Bring sweet assurance of continuous life
Beyond this silvery cloud. Fantastic dreams,
Of tissue subtler still
Than the wreathed fog, arise,
And cheat my brain with airy vanishings
And mystic glories of the world beyond.
A whole enchanted town
Thy baffling folds concealAn Orient town, with slender-steepled mosques,
Turret from turret springing, dome from dome,
Fretted with burning stones,
And trellised with red gold.
Through spacious streets, where running waters flow,
Sun-screened by fruit-trees and the broad-leaved palm,
Past the gay-decked bazaars,
Walk turbaned, dark-eyed men.
Hark! you can hear the many murmuring tongues,
While loud the merchants vaunt their gorgeous wares.
The sultry air is spiced
With fragrance of rich gums,
And through the lattice high in yon dead wall,
See where, unveiled, an arch, young, dimpled face,
Flushed like a musky peach,
Peers down upon the mart!
From her dark, ringleted and bird-poised head
She hath cast back the milk-white silken veil:
'Midst the blank blackness there
She blossoms like a rose.
Beckons she not with those bright, full-orbed eyes,
And open arms that like twin moonbeams gleam?
Behold her smile on me
With honeyed, scarlet lips!
Divine Scheherazade! I am thine.
I come! I come!-Hark! from some far-off mosque
The shrill muezzin calls
The hour of silent prayer,
And from the lattice he hath scared my love.
The lattice vanisheth itself-the street,
The mart, the Orient town;
Only through still, soft air
That cry is yet prolonged. I wake to hear
The distant fog-horn peal: before mine eyes
Stands the white wall of mist,
Blending with vaporous skies.
Elusive gossamer, impervious
Even to the mighty sun-god's keen red shafts!
With what a jealous art
Thy secret thou dost guard!
Well do I know deep in thine inmost folds,
Within an opal hollow, there abides
The lady of the mist,
The Undine of the airA slender, winged, ethereal, lily form,
Dove-eyed, with fair, free-floating, pearl-wreathed hair,
In waving raiment swathed
Of changing, irised hues.
Where her feet, rosy as a shell, have grazed
The freshened grass, a richer emerald glows:
Into each flower-cup
Her cool dews she distills.
She knows the tops of jagged mountain-peaks,
She knows the green soft hollows of their sides,
And unafraid she floats
O'er the vast-circled seas.
She loves to bask within the moon's wan beams,
Lying, night-long upon the moist, dark earth,
And leave her seeded pearls
With morning on the grass.
Ah! that athwart these dim, gray outer courts
Of her fantastic palace I might pass,
And reach the inmost shrine
Of her chaste solitude,
And feel her cool and dewy fingers press
My mortal-fevered brow, while in my heart
She poured with tender love
Her healing Lethe-balm!
See! the close curtain moves, the spell dissolves!
Slowly it lifts: the dazzling sunshine streams
Upon a newborn world
And laughing summer seas.
Swift, snowy-breasted sandbirds twittering glance
Through crystal air. On the horizon's marge,
Like a huge purple wraith,
The dusky fog retreats.
~ Emma Lazarus,
1397:The Lonely Life
The morning rain, when, from her coop released,
The hen, exulting, flaps her wings, when from
The balcony the husbandman looks forth,
And when the rising sun his trembling rays
Darts through the falling drops, against my roof
And windows gently beating, wakens me.
I rise, and grateful, bless the flying clouds,
The cheerful twitter of the early birds,
The smiling fields, and the refreshing air.
For I of you, unhappy city walls,
Enough have seen and known; where hatred still
Companion is to grief; and grieving still
I live, and so shall die, and that, how soon!
But here some pity Nature shows, though small,
Once in this spot to me so courteous!
Thou, too, O Nature, turn'st away thy gaze
From misery; thou, too, thy sympathy
Withholding from the suffering and the sad,
Dost homage pay to royal happiness.
No friend in heaven, on earth, the wretched hath,
No refuge, save his trusty dagger's edge.
Sometimes I sit in perfect solitude,
Upon a hill, that overlooks a lake,
That is encircled quite with silent trees.
There, when the sun his mid-day course hath reached,
His tranquil face he in a mirror sees:
Nor grass nor leaf is shaken by the wind;
There is no ripple on the wave, no chirp
Of cricket, rustling wing of bird in bush,
Nor hum of butterfly; no motion, voice,
Or far or near, is either seen or heard.
Its shores are locked in quiet most profound;
So that myself, the world I quite forget,
As motionless I sit; my limbs appear
To lie dissolved, of breath and sense deprived;
As if, in immemorial rest, they seemed
Confounded with the silent scene around.
O love, O love, long since, thou from this breast
Hast flown, that was so warm, so ardent, once.
Misfortune in her cold and cruel grasp
Has held it fast, and it to ice has turned,
E'en in the flower of my youth. The time
I well recall, when thou this heart didst fill;
That sweet, irrevocable time it was,
When this unhappy scene of life unto
The ardent gaze of youth reveals itself,
Expands, and wears the smile of Paradise.
How throbs the heart within the boyish breast,
By virgin hope and fond desire impelled!
The wretched dupe for life's hard work prepares,
As if it were a dance, or merry game.
But when _I_ first, O love, thy presence felt,
Misfortune had already crushed my life,
And these poor eyes with constant tears were filled.
Yet if, at times, upon the sun-lit slopes,
At silent dawn, or when, in broad noonday,
The roofs and hills and fields are shining bright,
I of some lonely maiden meet the gaze;
Or when, in silence of the summer night,
My wandering steps arresting, I before
The houses of the village pause, to gaze
Upon the lonely scene, and hear the voice,
So clear and cheerful, of the maiden, who,
Her ditty chanting, in her quiet room,
Her daily task protracts into the night,
Ah, then this stony heart will throb once more;
But soon, alas, its lethargy returns,
For all things sweet are strangers to this breast!
Belovèd moon, beneath whose tranquil rays
The hares dance in the groves, and at the dawn
The huntsman, vexed at heart, beholds the tracks
Confused and intricate, that from their forms
His steps mislead; hail, thou benignant Queen
Of Night! How unpropitious fall thy rays,
Among the cliffs and thickets, or within
Deserted buildings, on the gleaming steel
Of robber pale, who with attentive ear
Unto the distant noise of horses and
Of wheels, is listening, or the tramp of feet
Upon the silent road; then, suddenly,
With sound of arms, and hoarse, harsh voice, and look
Of death, the traveller's heart doth chill,
Whom he half-dead, and naked, shortly leaves
Among the rocks. How unpropitious, too,
Is thy bright light along the city streets,
Unto the worthless paramour, who picks
His way, close to the walls, in anxious search
Of friendly shade, and halts, and dreads the sight
Of blazing lamps, and open balconies.
To evil spirits unpropitious still,
To _me_ thy face will ever seem benign,
Along these heights, where nought save smiling hills,
And spacious fields, thou offer'st to my view.
And yet it was my wayward custom once,
Though I was innocent, thy gracious ray
To chide, amid the haunts of men, whene'er
It would my face to them betray, and when
It would their faces unto me reveal.
Now will I, grateful, sing its constant praise,
When I behold thee, sailing through the clouds,
Or when, mild sovereign of the realms of air,
Thou lookest down on this, our vale of tears.
Me wilt thou oft behold, mute wanderer
Among the groves, along the verdant banks,
Or seated on the grass, content enough,
If heart and breath are left me, for a sigh!
~ Count Giacomo Leopardi,
1398:A Storm In The Mountains
A lonely boy, far venturing from home
Out on the half-wild herd’s faint tracks I roam;
Mid rock-browned mountains, which with stony frown
Glare into haggard chasms deep adown;
A rude and craggy world, the prospect lies
Bounded in circuit by the bending skies.
Now at some clear pool scooped out by the shocks
Of rain-floods plunging from the upper rocks
Whose liquid disc in its undimpled rest
Glows like a mighty gem brooching the mountain’s breast,
I drink and must, or mark the wide-spread herd,
Or list the thinking of the dingle-bird;
And now towards some wild-hanging shade I stray,
To shun the bright oppression of the day;
For round each crag, and o’er each bosky swell,
The fierce refracted heat flares visible,
Lambently restless, like the dazzling hem
Of some else viewless veil held trembling over them.
Why congregate the swallows in the air,
And northward then in rapid flight repair?
With sudden swelling din, remote yet harsh,
Why roar the bull-frogs in the tea-tree marsh?
Why cease the locusts to throng up in flight
And clap their gay wings in the fervent light?
Why climb they, bodingly demure, instead
The tallest spear-grass to the bending head?
Instinctively, along the sultry sky,
I turn a listless, yet inquiring, eye;
And mark that now with a slow gradual pace
A solemn trance creams northward o’er its face;
Yon clouds that late were labouring past the sun,
Reached by its sure arrest, one after one,
Come to a heavy halt; the airs that played
About the rugged mountains all are laid:
While drawing nearer far-off heights appear,
As in a dream’s wild prospect, strangely near!
Till into wood resolves their robe of blue,
And the grey crags rise bluffly on the view.
Such are the signs and tokens that presage
A summer hurricane’s forthcoming rage.
At length the south sends out her cloudy heaps
And up the glens at noontide dimness creeps;
The birds, late warbling in the hanging green
Off steep-set brakes, seek now some safer screen;
The herd, in doubt, no longer wanders wide,
But fast ingathering throngs yon mountain’s side,
Whose echoes, surging to its tramp, might seem
The muttered troubles of some Titan’s dream.
Fast the dim legions of the muttering storm
Throng denser, or protruding columns form;
While splashing forward from their cloudy lair,
Convolving flames, like scouting dragons, glare:
Low thunders follow, labouring up the sky;
And as fore-running blasts go blaring by,
At once the forest, with a mighty stir,
Bows, as in homage to the thunderer!
Hark! From the dingoes blood-polluted dens
In the gloom-hidden chasms of the glens,
Long fitful howls wail up; and in the blast
Strange hissing whispers seem to huddle past;
As if the dread stir had aroused from sleep
Weird spirits, cloistered in yon cavy steep
(On which, in the grim past, some Cain’s offence
Hath haply outraged heaven!) Who rising thence
Wrapped in the boding vapours, laughed again
To wanton in the wild-willed hurricane.
See in the storm’s front, sailing dark and dread,
A wide-winged eagle like a black flag spread!
The clouds aloft flash doom! Short stops his flight!
He seems to shrivel in the blasting light!
The air is shattered with a crashing sound,
And he falls stonelike, lifeless, to the ground.
Now, like a shadow at great nature’s heart,
The turmoil grows. Now wonder, with a start,
Marks where right overhead the storm careers,
Girt with black horrors and wide-flaming fears!
Arriving thunders, mustering on his path,
Swell more and more the roarings of his wrath,
As out in widening circles they extend,
And then—at once—in utter silence end.
Portentous silence! Time keeps breathing past,
Yet it continues! May this marvel last?
This wild weird silence in the midst of gloom
So manifestly big with coming doom?
Tingles the boding ear; and up the glens
Instinctive dread comes howling from the wild-dogs dens.
Terrific vision! Heaven’s great ceiling splits,
And a vast globe of writhing fire emits,
Which pouring down in one continuous stream,
Spans the black concave like a burning beam,
A moment;—then from end to end it shakes
With a quick motion—and in thunder breaks!
Peal rolled on peal! While heralding the sound,
As each concussion thrills the solid ground,
Fierce glares coil, snake-like, round the rocky wens
Of the red hills, or hiss into the glens,
Or thick through heaven like flaming falchions swarm,
Cleaving the teeming cisterns of the storm,
From which rain-torrents, searching every gash,
Split by the blast come sheeting with a dash.
On yon grey peak, from rock-encrusted roots,
The mighty patriarch of the wood upshoots,
In whose proud-spreading top’s imperial height,
The mountain-eagle loveth most to light:
Now dimly seen through the tempestuous air,
His form seems harrowed by a mad despair,
As with his ponderous arms uplifted high,
He wrestles with the storm and threshes at the sky!
A swift bolt hurtles through the lurid air,
Another thundering crash! The peak is bare!
Huge hurrying fragments all around are cast,
The wild-winged, mad-limbed monsters of the blast.
The darkness thickens! With despairing cry
From shattering boughs the rain-drenched parrtos fly;
Loose rocks roll rumbling from the mountains round,
And half the forest strews the smoking ground;
To the bared crags the blasts now wilder moan,
And the caves labour with a ghostlier groan.
Wide raging torrents down the gorges flow
Swift bearing with them to the vale below
Those sylvan wrecks that littered late the path
Of the loud hurricane s all-trampling wrath.
The storm is past. Yet booming on afar
Is heard the rattling of the thunder-car,
And that low muffled moaning, as of grief,
Which follows with a wood-sigh wide and brief.
The clouds break up; the sun s forth-bursting rays
Clothe the wet landscape with a dazzling blaze;
The birds begin to sing a lively strain,
And merry echoes ring it o’er again;
The clustered herd is spreading out to graze,
Though lessening torrents still a hundred ways
Flash downward, and from many a rock ledge
A mantling gush comes quick and shining o er the edge.
’Tis evening; and the torrent’s furious flow
Runs gentlier now into the lake below,
O’er all the freshened scene no sound is heard,
Save the short twitter of some busied bird,
Or a faint rustle made amongst the trees
By wasting fragments of a broken breeze.
Along the wild and wreck-strewed paths I wind,
Watching earth’s happiness with quiet mind,
And see a beauty all unmarked till now
Flushing each flowery nook and sunny brow;
Wished peace returning like a bird of calm,
Brings to the wounded world its blessed healing balm.
On nerveless, tuneless lines how sadly
Ringing rhymes may wasted be,
While blank verse oft is mere prose madly
Striving to be poetry:
While prose that’s craggy as a mountain
May Apollo’s sun-robe don,
Or hold the well-spring of a fountain
Bright as that in Helicon.
~ Charles Harpur,
1399:Towns In Colour
Red Slippers
Red slippers in a shop-window, and outside in the street, flaws of grey,
windy sleet!
Behind the polished glass, the slippers hang in long threads of red,
festooning from the ceiling like stalactites of blood, flooding the eyes
of passers-by with dripping colour, jamming their crimson reflections
against the windows of cabs and tram-cars, screaming their claret and salmon
into the teeth of the sleet, plopping their little round maroon lights
upon the tops of umbrellas.
The row of white, sparkling shop fronts is gashed and bleeding,
it bleeds red slippers. They spout under the electric light,
fluid and fluctuating, a hot rain - and freeze again to red slippers,
myriadly multiplied in the mirror side of the window.
They balance upon arched insteps like springing bridges of crimson lacquer;
they swing up over curved heels like whirling tanagers sucked
in a wind-pocket; they flatten out, heelless, like July ponds,
flared and burnished by red rockets.
Snap, snap, they are cracker-sparks of scarlet in the white, monotonous
block of shops.
They plunge the clangour of billions of vermilion trumpets
into the crowd outside, and echo in faint rose over the pavement.
People hurry by, for these are only shoes, and in a window, farther down,
is a big lotus bud of cardboard whose petals open every few minutes
and reveal a wax doll, with staring bead eyes and flaxen hair,
lolling awkwardly in its flower chair.
One has often seen shoes, but whoever saw a cardboard lotus bud before?
The flaws of grey, windy sleet beat on the shop-window where there are only
red slippers.
Thompson's Lunch Room - Grand Central Station
Study in Whites
Wax-white Floor, ceiling, walls.
Ivory shadows
Over the pavement
Polished to cream surfaces
By constant sweeping.
The big room is coloured like the petals
Of a great magnolia,
And has a patina
Of flower bloom
Which makes it shine dimly
Under the electric lamps.
Chairs are ranged in rows
Like sepia seeds
Waiting fulfilment.
The chalk-white spot of a cook's cap
Moves unglossily against the vaguely bright wall Dull chalk-white striking the retina like a blow
Through the wavering uncertainty of steam.
Vitreous-white of glasses with green reflections,
Ice-green carboys, shifting - greener, bluer - with the jar of moving water.
Jagged green-white bowls of pressed glass
Rearing snow-peaks of chipped sugar
Above the lighthouse-shaped castors
Of grey pepper and grey-white salt.
Grey-white placards: 'Oyster Stew, Cornbeef Hash, Frankfurters':
Marble slabs veined with words in meandering lines.
Dropping on the white counter like horn notes
Through a web of violins,
The flat yellow lights of oranges,
The cube-red splashes of apples,
In high plated `epergnes'.
The electric clock jerks every half-minute:
'Coming! - Past!'
'Three beef-steaks and a chicken-pie,'
Bawled through a slide while the clock jerks heavily.
A man carries a china mug of coffee to a distant chair.
Two rice puddings and a salmon salad
Are pushed over the counter;
The unfulfilled chairs open to receive them.
A spoon falls upon the floor with the impact of metal striking stone,
And the sound throws across the room
Sharp, invisible zigzags
Of silver.
An Opera House
Within the gold square of the proscenium arch,
A curtain of orange velvet hangs in stiff folds,
Its tassels jarring slightly when someone crosses the stage behind.
Gold carving edges the balconies,
Rims the boxes,
Runs up and down fluted pillars.
Little knife-stabs of gold
Shine out whenever a box door is opened.
Gold clusters
Flash in soft explosions
On the blue darkness,
Suck back to a point,
And disappear.
Hoops of gold
Circle necks, wrists, fingers,
Pierce ears,
Poise on heads
And fly up above them in coloured sparkles.
The opera house is a treasure-box of gold.
Gold in a broad smear across the orchestra pit:
Gold of horns, trumpets, tubas;
Gold - spun-gold, twittering-gold, snapping-gold
Of harps.
The conductor raises his baton,
The brass blares out
Crass, crude,
Parvenu, fat, powerful,
Rich as the fat, clapping hands in the boxes.
Cymbals, gigantic, coin-shaped,
The orange curtain parts
And the prima-donna steps forward.
One note,
A drop: transparent, iridescent,
A gold bubble,
It floats . . . floats . . .
And bursts against the lips of a bank president
In the grand tier.
Afternoon Rain in State Street
Cross-hatchings of rain against grey walls,
Slant lines of black rain
In front of the up and down, wet stone sides of buildings.
Greasy, shiny, black, horizontal,
The street.
And over it, umbrellas,
Black polished dots
Struck to white
An instant,
Stream in two flat lines
Slipping past each other with the smoothness of oil.
Like a four-sided wedge
The Custom House Tower
Pokes at the low, flat sky,
Pushing it farther and farther up,
Lifting it away from the house-tops,
Lifting it in one piece as though it were a sheet of tin,
With the lever of its apex.
The cross-hatchings of rain cut the Tower obliquely,
Scratching lines of black wire across it,
Mutilating its perpendicular grey surface
With the sharp precision of tools.
The city is rigid with straight lines and angles,
A chequered table of blacks and greys.
Oblong blocks of flatness
Crawl by with low-geared engines,
And pass to short upright squares
Shrinking with distance.
A steamer in the basin blows its whistle,
And the sound shoots across the rain hatchings,
A narrow, level bar of steel.
Hard cubes of lemon
Superimpose themselves upon the fronts of buildings
As the windows light up.
But the lemon cubes are edged with angles
Upon which they cannot impinge.
Up, straight, down, straight - square.
Crumpled grey-white papers
Blow along the side-walks,
Contorted, horrible,
Without curves.
A horse steps in a puddle,
And white, glaring water spurts up
In stiff, outflaring lines,
Like the rattling stems of reeds.
The city is heraldic with angles,
A sombre escutcheon of argent and sable
And countercoloured bends of rain
Hung over a four-square civilization.
When a street lamp comes out,
I gaze at it for fully thirty seconds
To rest my brain with the suffusing, round brilliance of its globe.
An Aquarium
Streaks of green and yellow iridescence,
Silver shiftings,
Rings veering out of rings,
Silver - gold Grey-green opaqueness sliding down,
With sharp white bubbles
Shooting and dancing,
Flinging quickly outward.
Nosing the bubbles,
Swallowing them,
Blue shadows against silver-saffron water,
The light rippling over them
In steel-bright tremors.
Outspread translucent fins
Flute, fold, and relapse;
The threaded light prints through them on the pebbles
In scarcely tarnished twinklings.
Curving of spotted spines,
Slow up-shifts,
Lazy convolutions:
Then a sudden swift straightening
And darting below:
Oblique grey shadows
Athwart a pale casement.
Roped and curled,
Green man-eating eels
Slumber in undulate rhythms,
With crests laid horizontal on their backs.
Barred fish,
Striped fish,
Uneven disks of fish,
Slip, slide, whirl, turn,
And never touch.
Metallic blue fish,
With fins wide and yellow and swaying
Like Oriental fans,
Hold the sun in their bellies
And glow with light:
Blue brilliance cut by black bars.
An oblong pane of straw-coloured shimmer,
Across it, in a tangent,
A smear of rose, black, silver.
Short twists and upstartings,
Rose-black, in a setting of bubbles:
Sunshine playing between red and black flowers
On a blue and gold lawn.
Shadows and polished surfaces,
Facets of mauve and purple,
A constant modulation of values.
With green bead eyes;
Swift spots of chrysolite and coral;
In the midst of green, pearl, amethyst irradiations.
A willow-tree flickers
With little white jerks,
And long blue waves
Rise steadily beyond the outer islands.
~ Amy Lowell,
1400:The Singing Of The Magnificat
IN midst of wide green pasture-lands, cut through
By lines of alders bordering deep-banked streams,
Where bulrushes and yellow iris grew,
And rest and peace, and all the flowers of dreams,
The Abbey stood--so still, it seemed a part
Of the marsh-country's almost pulseless heart.
Where grey-green willows fringed the stream and pool,
The lazy meek-faced cattle strayed to graze,
Sheep in the meadows cropped the grasses cool,
And silver fish shone through the watery ways,
And many a load of fruit and load of corn
Into the Abbey storehouses was borne.
Yet though so much they had of life's good things,
The monks but held them as a sacred trust,
Lent from the storehouse of the King of kings
Till they, His stewards, should crumble back to dust.
'Not as our own,' they said, 'but as the Lord's,
All that the stream yields, or the land affords.'
And all the villages and hamlets near
Knew the monks' wealth, and how their wealth was spent.
In tribulation, sickness, want, or fear,
First to the Abbey all the peasants went,
Certain to find a welcome, and to be
Helped in the hour of their extremity.
When plague or sickness smote the people sore,
The Brothers prayed beside the dying bed,
And nursed the sick back into health once more,
And through the horror and the danger said:
'How good is God, Who has such love for us,
He lets us tend His suffering children thus!'
They in their simple ways and works were glad:
Yet all men must have sorrows of their own.
And so a bitter grief the Brothers had,
Nor mourned for others' heaviness alone.
This was the secret of their sorrowing,
That not a monk in all the house could sing!
Was it the damp air from the lovely marsh,
Or strain of scarcely intermitted prayer,
That made their voices, when they sang, as harsh
As any frog's that croaks in evening air-That made less music in their hymns to lie
Than in the hoarsest wild-fowl's hoarsest cry?
If love could sweeten voice to sing a song,
Theirs had been sweetest song was ever sung:
But their hearts' music reached their lips all wrong,
The soul's intent foiled by the traitorous tongue
That marred the chapel's peace, and seemed to scare
The rapt devotion lingering in the air.
The birds that in the chapel built their nests,
And in the stone-work found their small lives fair,
Flew thence with hurled wings and fluttering breasts
When rang the bell to call the monks to prayer.
'Why will they sing,' they twittered, 'why at all?
In heaven their silence must be festival!'
The brothers prayed with penance and with tears
That God would let them give some little part
Out for the solace of their own sad ears
Of all the music crowded in their heart.
Their nature and the marsh-air had their way,
And still they sang more vilely every day.
And all their prayers and fasts availing not
To give them voices sweet, their souls' desire,
The Abbot said, 'Gifts He did not allot
God at our hands will not again require;
The love He gives us He will ask again
In love to Him and to our fellow-men.
'Praise Him we must, and since we cannot praise
As we would choose, we praise Him as we can.
In heaven we shall be taught the angels' ways
Of singing--we afford to wait a span.
In singing, as in toil, do ye your best;
God will adjust the balance--do the rest!'
But one good Brother, anxious to remove
This, the reproach now laid on them so long,
Rejected counsel, and for very love
Besought a Brother, skilled in art of song,
To come to them--his cloister far to leave-And sing Magnificat on Christmas Eve.
So when each brown monk duly sought his place,
By two and two, slow pacing to the choir,
Shrined in his dark oak stall, the strange monk's face
Shone with a light as of devotion's fire,
Good, young and fair, his seemed a form wherein
Pure beauty left no room at all for sin.
And when the time for singing it had come,
'Magnificat,' face raised, and voice, he sang:
Each in his stall the monks stood glad and dumb,
As through the chancel's dusk his voice outrang,
Pure, clear, and perfect--as the thrushes sing
Their first impulsive welcome of the spring.
At the first notes the Abbot's heart spoke low:
'Oh God, accept this singing, seeing we,
Had we the power, would ever praise Thee so-Would ever, Lord, Thou know'st, sing thus for Thee;
Thus in our hearts Thy hymns are ever sung,
As he Thou blessest sings them with his tongue.'
But as the voice rose higher, and more sweet,
The Abbot's heart said, 'Thou hast heard us grieve,
And sent an angel from beside Thy feet,
To sing Magnificat on Christmas Eve;
To ease our ache of soul, and let us see
How we some day in heaven shall sing to Thee.'
Through the cold Christmas night the hymn rang out,
In perfect cadence, clear as sunlit rain-Such heavenly music that the birds without
Beat their warm wings against the window pane,
Scattering the frosted crystal snow outspread
Upon the stone-lace and the window-lead.
The white moon through the window seemed to gaze
On the pure face and eyes the singer raised;
The storm-wind hushed the clamour of its ways,
God seemed to stoop to hear Himself thus praised,
And breathless all the Brothers stood, and still
Reached longing souls out to the music's thrill.
Old years came back, and half-remembered hours,
Dreams of delight that never was to be,
Mothers' remembered kiss, the funeral flowers
Laid on the grave of life's felicity;
An infinite dear passion of regret
Swept through their hearts, and left their eyelids wet.
The birds beat ever at the window, till
They broke the pane, and so could entrance win;
Their slender feet clung to the window-sill,
And though with them the bitter air came in,
The monks were glad that the birds too should hear,
Since to God's creatures all, His praise is dear.
The lovely music waxed and waned, and sank,
And brought less conscious sadness in its train,
Unrecognised despair that thinks to thank
God for a joy renounced, a chosen pain-And deems that peace which is but stifled life
Dulled by a too-prolonged unfruitful strife.
When, service done, the Brothers gathered round
To thank the singer--modest-eyed, said he:
'Not mine the grace, if grace indeed abound;
God gave the power, if any power there be;
If I in hymn or psalm clear voice can raise,
As His the gift, so His be all the praise!'
That night--the Abbot lying on his bed-A sudden flood of radiance on him fell,
Poured from the crucifix above his head,
And cast a stream of light across his cell-And in the fullest fervour of the light
An Angel stood, glittering, and great, and white.
His wings of thousand rainbow clouds seemed made,
A thousand lamps of love shone in his eyes,
The light of dawn upon his brows was laid,
Odours of thousand flowers of Paradise
Filled all the cell, and through the heart there stirred
A sense of music that could not be heard.
The Angel spoke--his voice was low and sweet
As the sea's murmur on low-lying shore-Or whisper of the wind in ripened wheat:
'Brother,' he said, 'the God we both adore
Has sent me down to ask, is all not right?--
Why was Magnificat not sung to-night?'
Tranced in the joy the Angel's presence brought,
The Abbot answered: 'All these weary years
We have sung our best--but always have we thought
Our voices were unworthy heavenly ears;
And so to-night we found a clearer tongue,
And by it the Magnificat was sung.'
The Angel answered, 'All these happy years
In heaven has your Magnificat been heard;
This night alone, the angels' listening ears
Of all its music caught no single word.
Say, who is he whose goodness is not strong
Enough to bear the burden of his song?'
The Abbot named his name. 'Ah, why,' he cried,
'Have angels heard not what we found so dear?'
'Only pure hearts,' the Angel's voice replied,
'Can carry human songs up to God's ear;
To-night in heaven was missed the sweetest praise
That ever rises from earth's mud-stained maze.
'The monk who sang Magnificat is filled
With lust of praise, and with hypocrisy;
He sings for earth--in heaven his notes are stilled
By muffling weight of deadening vanity;
His heart is chained to earth, and cannot bear
His singing higher than the listening air!
'From purest hearts most perfect music springs,
And while you mourned your voices were not sweet,
Marred by the accident of earthly things,-In heaven, God, listening, judged your song complete.
The sweetest of earth's music came from you,
The music of a noble life and true!'
~ Edith Nesbit,
What's become of Waring
Since he gave us all the slip,
Chose land-travel or seafaring,
Boots and chest or staff and scrip,
Rather than pace up and down
Any longer London town?


Who'd have guessed it from his lip
Or his brow's accustomed bearing,
On the night he thus took ship
Or started landward?-litt le caring
For us, it seems, who supped together
(Friends of his too, I remember)
And walked home thro' the merry weather,
The snowiest in all December.
I left his arm that night myself
For what's-his-name' s, the new prose-poet
Who wrote the book there, on the shelf-
How, forsooth, was I to know it
If Waring meant to glide away
Like a ghost at break of day?
Never looked he half so gay!


He was prouder than the devil:
How he must have cursed our revel!
Ay and many other meetings,
Indoor visits, outdoor greetings,
As up and down he paced this London,
With no work done, but great works undone,
Where scarce twenty knew his name.
Why not, then, have earlier spoken,
Written, bustled? Who's to blame
If your silence kept unbroken?
``True, but there were sundry jottings,
``Stray-leaves, fragments, blurts and blottings,
``Certain fixst steps were achieved
``Already which''-(is that your meaning?)
``Had well borne out whoe'er believed
``In more to come!'' But who goes gleaning
Hedgeside chance-glades, while full-sheaved
Stand cornfields by him? Pride, o'erweening
Pride alone, puts forth such claims
O'er the day's distinguished names.


Meantime, how much I loved him,
I find out now I've lost him.
I who cared not if I moved him,
Who could so carelessly accost him,
Henceforth never shall get free
Of his ghostly company,
His eyes that just a little wink
As deep I go into the merit
Of this and that distinguished spirit-
His cheeks' raised colour, soon to sink,
As long I dwell on some stupendous
And tremendous (Heaven defend us!)
Monstr'-inform'- ingens-horrend-o us
Demoniaco-seraph ic
Penman's latest piece of graphic.
Nay, my very wrist grows warm
With his dragging weight of arm.
E'en so, swimmingly appears,
Through one's after-supper musings,
Some lost lady of old years
With her beauteous vain endeavour
And goodness unrepaid as ever;
The face, accustomed to refusings,
We, puppies that we were Oh never
Surely, nice of conscience, scrupled
Being aught like false, forsooth, to?
Telling aught but honest truth to?
What a sin, had we centupled
Its possessor's grace and sweetness
No! she heard in its completeness
Truth, for truth's a weighty matter,
And truth, at issue, we can't flatter!
Well, 'tis done with; she's exempt
From damning us thro' such a sally;
And so she glides, as down a valley,
Taking up with her contempt,
Past our reach; and in, the flowers
Shut her unregarded hours.


Oh, could I have him back once more,
This Waring, but one half-day more!
Back, with the quiet face of yore,
So hungry for acknowledgment
Like mine! I'd fool him to his bent.
Feed, should not he, to heart's content?
I'd say, ``to only have conceived,
``Planned your great works, apart from progress,
``Surpasses little works achieved!''
I'd lie so, I should be believed.
I'd make such havoc of the claims
Of the day's distinguished names
To feast him with, as feasts an ogress
Her feverish sharp-toothed gold-crowned child!
Or as one feasts a creature rarely
Captured here, unreconciled
To capture; and completely gives
its pettish humours license, barely
Requiring that it lives.


Ichabod, Ichabod,
The glory is departed!
Travels Waring East away?
Who, of knowledge, by hearsay,
Reports a man upstarted
Somewhere as a god,
Hordes grown European-hearted ,
Millions of the wild made tame
On a sudden at his fame?
In Vishnu-land what Avatar?
Or who in Moscow, toward the Czar,
With the demurest of footfalls
Over the Kremlin's pavement bright
With serpentine and syenite,

Steps, with five other Generals
That simultaneously take snuff,
For each to have pretext enough
And kerchiefwise unfold his sash
Which, softness' self, is yet the stuff
To hold fast where a steel chain snaps,
And leave the grand white neck no gash?
Waring in Moscow, to those rough
Cold northern natures born perhaps,
Like the lambwhite maiden dear
From the circle of mute kings
Unable to repress the tear,
Each as his sceptre down he flings,
To Dian's fane at Taurica,
Where now a captive priestess, she alway
Mingles her tender grave Hellenic speech
With theirs, tuned to the hailstone-beaten beach
As pours some pigeon, from the myrrhy lands
Rapt by the whirlblast to fierce Scythian strands
Where breed the swallows, her melodious cry
Amid their barbarous twitter!
In Russia? Never! Spain were fitter!
Ay, most likely 'tis in Spain
That we and Waring meet again
Now, while he turns down that cool narrow lane
Into the blackness, out of grave Madrid
All fire and shine, abrupt as when there's slid
Its stiff gold blazing pall
From some black coffin-lid.
Or, best of all,
I love to think
The leaving us was just a feint;
Back here to London did he slink,
And now works on without a wink
Of sleep, and we are on the brink
Of something great in fresco-pain:
Some garret's ceiling, walls and floor,
Up and down and o'er and o'er
He splashes, as none splashed before
Since great Caldera Polidore.

Or Music means this land of ours
Some favour yet, to pity won
By Purcell from his Rosy Bowers,-
``Give me my so-long promised son,
``Let Waring end what I begun!''
Then down he creeps and out he steals
Only when the night conceals
His face; in Kent 'tis cherry-time,
Or hops are picking: or at prime
Of March he wanders as, too happy,
Years ago when he was young,
Some mild eve when woods grew sappy
And the early moths had sprung
To life from many a trembling sheath
Woven the warm boughs beneath;
While small birds said to themselves
What should soon be actual song,
And young gnats, by tens and twelves,
Made as if they were the throng
That crowd around and carry aloft
The sound they have nursed, so sweet and pure,
Out of a myriad noises soft,
Into a tone that can endure
Amid the noise of a July noon
When all God's creatures crave their boon,
All at once and all in tune,
And get it, happy as Waring then,
Having first within his ken
What a man might do with men:
And far too glad, in the even-glow,
To mix with the world he meant to take
Into his hand, he told you, so-
And out of it his world to make,
To contract and to expand
As he shut or oped his hand.
Oh Waring, what's to really be?
A clear stage and a crowd to see!
Some Garrick, say, out shall not he
The heart of Hamlet's mystery pluck?
Or, where most unclean beasts are rife,
Some Junius-am I right?-shall tuck
His sleeve, and forth with flaying-knife!
Some Chatterton shall have the luck
Of calling Rowley into life!
Some one shall somehow run a muck
With this old world for want of strife
Sound asleep. Contrive, contrive
To rouse us, Waring! Who's alive?
Our men scarce seem in earnest now.
Distinguished names!-but 'tis, somehow,
As if they played at being names
Still more distinguished, like the games
Of children. Turn our sport to earnest
With a visage of the sternest!
Bring the real times back, confessed
Still better than our very best!


``When I last saw Waring''
(How all turned to him who spoke!
You saw Waring? Truth or joke?
In land-travel or sea-faring?)


``We were sailing by Triest
``Where a day or two we harboured:
``A sunset was in the West,
``When, looking over the vessel's side,
``One of our company espied
``A sudden speck to larboard.
``And as a sea-duck flies and swims
``At once, so came the light craft up,
``With its sole lateen sail that trims
``And turns (the water round its rims
``Dancing, as round a sinking cup)
``And by us like a fish it curled,
``And drew itself up close beside,
``Its great sail on the instant furled,
``And o'er its thwarts a shrill voice cried,
``(A neck as bronzed as a Lascar's)
`` `Buy wine of us, you English Brig?
`` `Or fruit, tobacco and cigars?
`` `A pilot for you to Triest?
`` `Without one, look you ne'er so big,
`` `They'll never let you up the bay!
`` `We natives should know best.'
``I turned, and `just those fellows' way,'
``Our captain said, `The 'long-shore thieves
`` `Are laughing at us in their sleeves.'


``In truth, the boy leaned laughing back;
``And one, half-hidden by his side
``Under the furled sail, soon I spied,
``With great grass hat and kerchief black,
``Who looked up with his kingly throat,
``Said somewhat, while the other shook
``His hair back from his eyes to look
``Their longest at us; then the boat,
``I know not how, turned sharply round,
``Laying her whole side on the sea
``As a leaping fish does; from the lee
``Into the weather, cut somehow
``Her sparkling path beneath our bow
``And so went off, as with a bound,
``Into the rosy and golden half
``O' the sky, to overtake the sun
``And reach the shore, like the sea-calf
``Its singing cave; yet I caught one
``Glance ere away the boat quite passed,
``And neither time nor toil could mar
``Those features: so I saw the last
``Of Waring!''-You? Oh, never star
Was lost here but it rose afar!
Look East, where whole new thousands are!
In Vishnu-land what Avatar?
[Mr. Alfred Domett, C.M.G., author of
Ranolf and Amohia, ``full of descriptions of
New Zealand scenery.]
Egyptian granite.

~ Robert Browning, Waring
1402:The Kalevala - Rune Viii
Pohyola's fair and winsome daughter,
Glory of the land and water,
Sat upon the bow of heaven,
On its highest arch resplendent,
In a gown of richest fabric,
In a gold and silver air-gown,
Weaving webs of golden texture,
Interlacing threads of silver;
Weaving with a golden shuttle,
With a weaving-comb of silver;
Merrily flies the golden shuttle,
From the maiden's nimble fingers,
Briskly swings the lathe in weaving,
Swiftly flies the comb of silver,
From the sky-born maiden's fingers,
Weaving webs of wondrous beauty.
Came the ancient Wainamoinen,
Driving down the highway homeward,
From the ever sunless Northland,
From the dismal Sariola;
Few the furlongs he had driven,
Driven but a little distance,
When he heard the sky-loom buzzing,
As the maiden plied the shuttle.
Quick the thoughtless Wainamoinen
Lifts his eyes aloft in wonder,
Looks upon the vault of heaven,
There beholds the bow of beauty,
On the bow the maiden sitting,
Beauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,
Glory of the earth and ocean,
Weaving there a golden fabric,
Working with the rustling silver.
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Quickly checks his fleet-foot racer,
Looks upon the charming maiden,
Then addresses her as follows:
'Come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge,
By my side I wish thee seated.'
Thus the Maid of Beauty answers:
'Tell me what thou wishest of me,
Should I join thee in the snow-sledge.'
Speaks the ancient Wainamoinen,
Answers thus the Maid of Beauty:
'This the reason for thy coming:
Thou shalt bake me honey-biscuit,
Shalt prepare me barley-water,
Thou shalt fill my foaming beer-cups,
Thou shalt sing beside my table,
Shalt rejoice within my portals,
Walk a queen within my dwelling,
In the Wainola halls and chambers,
In the courts of Kalevala.'
Thus the Maid of Beauty answered
From her throne amid the heavens:
'Yesterday at hour of twilight,
Went I to the flowery meadows,
There to rock upon the common,
Where the Sun retires to slumber;
There I heard a song-bird singing,
Heard the thrush simple measures,
Singing sweetly thoughts of maidens,
And the minds of anxious mothers.
'Then I asked the pretty songster,
Asked the thrush this simple question:
'Sing to me, thou pretty song-bird,
Sing that I may understand thee,
Sing to me in truthful accents,
How to live in greatest pleasure,
And in happiness the sweetest,
As a maiden with her father,
Or as wife beside her husband.'
'Thus the song-bird gave me answer,
Sang the thrush this information:
'Bright and warm are days of summer,
Warmer still is maiden-freedom;
Cold is iron in the winter,
Thus the lives of married women;
Maidens living with their mothers
Are like ripe and ruddy berries;
Married women, far too many,
Are like dogs enchained in kennel,
Rarely do they ask for favors,
Not to wives are favors given.''
Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
Answers thus the Maid of Beauty:
'Foolish is the thrush thus singing,
Nonsense is the song-bird's twitter;
Like to babes are maidens treated,
Wives are queens and highly honored.
Come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,
I am not despised as hero,
Not the meanest of magicians;
Come with me and I will make thee
Wife and queen in Kalevala.'
Thus the Maid of Beauty answered-'Would consider thee a hero,
Mighty hero, I would call thee,
When a golden hair thou splittest,
Using knives that have no edges;
When thou snarest me a bird's egg
With a snare that I can see not.'
Wainamoinen, skilled and ancient,
Split a golden hair exactly,
Using knives that had no edges;
And he snared an egg as nicely
With a snare the maiden saw not.
'Come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,
I have done what thou desirest.'
Thus the maiden wisely answered:
'Never enter I thy snow-sledge,
Till thou peelest me the sandstone,
Till thou cuttest me a whip-stick
From the ice, and make no splinters,
Losing not the smallest fragment.'
Wainamoinen, true magician,
Nothing daunted, not discouraged,
Deftly peeled the rounded sandstone,
Deftly cut from ice a whip-stick,
Cutting not the finest splinter,
Losing not the smallest fragment.
Then again be called the maiden,
To a seat within his snow-sledge.
But the Maid or Beauty answered,
Answered thus the great magician:
I will go with that one only
That will make me ship or shallop,
From the splinters of my spindle,
From the fragments of my distaff,
In the waters launch the vessel,
Set the little ship a-floating,
Using not the knee to push it,
Using not the arm to move it,
Using not the hand to touch it,
Using not the foot to turn it,
Using nothing to propel it.'
Spake the skilful Wainamoinen,
These the words the hero uttered:
'There is no one in the Northland,
No one under vault of heaven,
Who like me can build a vessel,
From the fragments of the distaff,
From the splinters of the spindle.'
Then he took the distaff-fragments,
Took the splinters of the spindle,
Hastened off the boat to fashion,
Hastened to an iron mountain,
There to join the many fragments.
Full of zeal be plies the hammer,
Swings the hammer and the hatchet;
Nothing daunted, builds the vessel,
Works one day and then a second,
Works with steady hand the third day;
On the evening of the third day,
Evil Hisi grasps the hatchet,
Lempo takes the crooked handle,
Turns aside the axe in falling,
Strikes the rocks and breaks to pieces;
From the rocks rebound the fragments,
Pierce the flesh of the magician,
Cut the knee of Wainamoinen.
Lempo guides the sharpened hatchet,
And the veins fell Hisi severs.
Quickly gushes forth a blood-stream,
And the stream is crimson-colored.
Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
The renowned and wise enchanter,
Thus outspeaks in measured accents:
'O thou keen and cruel hatchet,
O thou axe of sharpened metal,
Thou shouldst cut the trees to fragments,
Cut the pine-tree and the willow,
Cut the alder and the birch-tree,
Cut the juniper and aspen,
Shouldst not cut my knee to pieces,
Shouldst not tear my veins asunder.'
Then the ancient Wainamoinen
Thus begins his incantations,
Thus begins his magic singing,
Of the origin of evil;
Every word in perfect order,
Makes no effort to remember,
Sings the origin of iron,
That a bolt he well may fashion,
Thus prepare a look for surety,
For the wounds the axe has given,
That the hatchet has torn open.
But the stream flows like a brooklet,
Rushing like a maddened torrent,
Stains the herbs upon the meadows,
Scarcely is a bit of verdure
That the blood-stream does not cover
As it flows and rushes onward
From the knee of the magician,
From the veins of Wainamoinen.
Now the wise and ancient minstrel
Gathers lichens from the sandstone,
Picks them from the trunks of birches,
Gathers moss within the marshes,
Pulls the grasses from the meadows,
Thus to stop the crimson streamlet,
Thus to close the wounds laid open;
But his work is unsuccessful,
And the crimson stream flows onward.
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Feeling pain and fearing languor,
Falls to weeping, heavy-hearted;
Quickly now his steed he hitches,
Hitches to the sledge of birch-wood,
Climbs with pain upon the cross-bench,
Strikes his steed in quick succession,
Snaps his whip above the racer,
And the steed flies onward swiftly;
Like the winds he sweeps the highway,
Till be nears a Northland village,
Where the way is triple-parted.
Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
Takes the lowest of the highways,
Quickly nears a spacious cottage,
Quickly asks before the doorway:
'Is there any one here dwelling,
That can know the pain I suffer,
That can heal this wound of hatchet.
That can check this crimson streamlet?'
Sat a boy within a corner,
On a bench beside a baby,
And he answered thus the hero:
'There is no one in this dwelling
That can know the pain thou feelest,
That can heal the wounds of hatchet,
That can check the crimson streamlet;
Some one lives in yonder cottage,
That perchance can do thee service.'
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Whips his courser to a gallop,
Dashes on along the highway;
Only drives a little distance,
On the middle of the highways,
To a cabin on the road-side,
Asks one standing on the threshold,
Questions all through open windows,
These the words the hero uses:
'Is there no one in this cabin,
That can know the pain I suffer,
That can heal this wound of hatchet,
That can check this crimson streamlet?'
On the floor a witch was lying,
Near the fire-place lay the beldame,
Thus she spake to Wainamoinen,
Through her rattling teeth she answered.
'There is no one in this cabin
That can know the pain thou feelest,
That can heal the wounds of hatchets,
That can check the crimson streamlet;
Some one lives in yonder cottage,
That perchance can do thee service.'
Wainamoinen, nothing daunted,
Whips his racer to a gallop,
Dashes on along the highway;
Only drives a little distance,
On the upper of the highways,
Gallops to a humble cottage,
Asks one standing near the penthouse,
Sitting on the penthouse-doorsill:
'Is there no one in this cottage,
That can know the pain I suffer,
That can heal this wound of hatchet,
That can check this crimson streamlet?'
Near the fireplace sat an old man,
On the hearthstone sat the gray-beard,
Thus he answered Wainamoinen:
'Greater things have been accomplished,
Much more wondrous things effected,
Through but three words of the master;
Through the telling of the causes,
Streams and oceans have been tempered,
River cataracts been lessened,
Bays been made of promontories,
Islands raised from deep sea-bottoms.'
~ Elias Lönnrot,
1403:Grandmother’s Teaching
``Grandmother dear, you do not know; you have lived the old-world life,
Under the twittering eaves of home, sheltered from storm and strife;
Rocking cradles, and covering jams, knitting socks for baby feet,
Or piecing together lavender bags for keeping the linen sweet:
Daughter, wife, and mother in turn, and each with a blameless breast,
Then saying your prayers when the nightfall came, and quietly dropping to rest.
``You must not think, Granny, I speak in scorn, for yours have been well-spent
And none ever paced with more faithful feet the dutiful ancient ways.
Grandfather's gone, but while he lived you clung to him close and true,
And mother's heart, like her eyes, I know, came to her straight from you.
If the good old times, at the good old pace, in the good old grooves would run,
One could not do better, I'm sure of that, than do as you all have done.
``But the world has wondrously changed, Granny, since the days when you were
It thinks quite different thoughts from then, and speaks with a different tongue.
The fences are broken, the cords are snapped, that tethered man's heart to
He ranges free as the wind or the wave, and changes his shore like the foam.
He drives his furrows through fallow seas, he reaps what the breakers sow,
And the flash of his iron flail is seen mid the barns of the barren snow.
``He has lassoed the lightning and led it home, he has yoked it unto his need,
And made it answer the rein and trudge as straight as the steer or steed.
He has bridled the torrents and made them tame, he has bitted the champing
It toils as his drudge and turns the wheels that spin for his use and pride.
He handles the planets and weighs their dust, he mounts on the comet's car,
And he lifts the veil of the sun, and stares in the eyes of the uttermost star.
``'Tis not the same world you knew, Granny; its fetters have fallen off;
The lowliest now may rise and rule where the proud used to sit and scoff.
No need to boast of a scutcheoned stock, claim rights from an ancient wrong;
All are born with a silver spoon in their mouths whose gums are sound and
And I mean to be rich and great, Granny; I mean it with heart and soul:
At my feet is the ball, I will roll it on, till it spins through the golden goal.
``Out on the thought that my copious life should trickle through trivial days,
Myself but a lonelier sort of beast, watching the cattle graze,
Scanning the year's monotonous change, gaping at wind and rain,
Or hanging with meek solicitous eyes on the whims of a creaking vane;
Wretched if ewes drop single lambs, blest so is oilcake cheap,
And growing old in a tedious round of worry, surfeit, and sleep.
``You dear old Granny, how sweet your smile, and how soft your silvery hari!
But all has moved on while you sate still in your cap and easy-chair.
The torch of knowledge is lit for all, it flashes from hand to hand;
The alien tongues of the earth converse, and whisper from strand to strand.
The very churches are changed and boast new hymns, new rites, new truth;
Men worship a wiser and greater God than the halfknown God of your youth.
``What! marry Connie and set up house, and dwell where my fathers dwelt,
Giving the homely feasts they gave and kneeling where they knelt?
She is pretty, and good, and void I am sure of vanity, greed, or guile;
But she has not travelled nor seen the world, and is lacking in air and style.
Women now are as wise and strong as men, and vie with men in renown;
The wife that will help to build my fame was not bred near a country town.
``What a notion! to figure at parish boards, and wrangle o'er cess and rate,
I, who mean to sit for the county yet, and vote on an Empire's fate;
To take the chair at the Farmers' Feast, and tickle their bumpkin ears,
Who must shake a senate before I die, and waken a people's cheers!
In the olden days was no choice, so sons to the roof of their fathers clave:
But now! 'twere to perish before one's time, and to sleep in a living grave.
``I see that you do not understand. How should you? Your memory clings
To the simple music of silenced days and the skirts of vanishing things.
Your fancy wanders round ruined haunts, and dwells upon oft-told tales;
Your eyes discern not the widening dawn, nor your ears catch the rising gales.
But live on, Granny, till I come back, and then perhaps you will own
The dear old Past is an empty nest, and the Present the brood that is flown.''
``And so, my dear, you've come back at last? I always fancied you would.
Well, you see the old home of your childhood's days is standing where it stood.
The roses still clamber from porch to roof, the elder is white at the gate,
And over the long smooth gravel path the peacock still struts in state.
On the gabled lodge, as of old, in the sun, the pigeons sit and coo,
And our hearts, my dear, are no whit more changed, but have kept still warm for
``You'll find little altered, unless it be me, and that since my last attack;
But so that you only give me time, I can walk to the church and back.
You bade me not die till you returned, and so you see I lived on:
I'm glad that I did now you've really come, but it's almost time I was gone.
I suppose that there isn't room for us all, and the old should depart the first.
That's as it should be. What is sad, is to bury the dead you've nursed.
``Won't you have bit nor sup, my dear? Not even a glass of whey?
The dappled Alderney calved last week, and the baking is fresh to-day.
Have you lost your appetite too in town, or is it you've grown over-nice?
If you'd rather have biscuits and cowslip wine, they'll bring them up in a trice.
But what am I saying? Your coming down has set me all in a maze:
I forgot that you travelled here by train; I was thinking of coaching days.
``There, sit you down, and give me your hand, and tell me about it all,
From the day that you left us, keen to go, to the pride that had a fall.
And all went well at the first? So it does, when we're young and puffed with
But the foot of the hill is quicker reached the easier seems the slope.
And men thronged round you, and women too! Yes, that I can understand.
When there's gold in the palm, the greedy world is eager to grasp the hand.
``I heard them tell of your smart town house, but I always shook my head.
One doesn't grow rich in a year and a day, in the time of my youth 'twas said.
Men do not reap in the spring, my dear, nor are granaries filled in May,
Save it be with the harvest of former years, stored up for a rainy day.
The seasons will keep their own true time, you can hurry nor furrow nor sod:
It's honest labour and steadfast thrift that alone are blest by God.
``You say you were honest. I trust you were, nor do I judge you, my dear:
I have old-fashioned ways, and it's quite enough to keep one's own conscience
But still the commandment, ``Thou shalt not steal,'' though a simple and ancient
Was not made for modern cunning to baulk, nor for any new age to befool;
And if my growing rich unto others brought but penury, chill, and grief,
I should feel, though I never had filched with my hands, I was only a craftier
``That isn't the way they look at it there? All worshipped the rising sun?
Most of all the fine lady, in pride of purse you fancied your heart had won.
I don't want to hear of her beauty or birth: I reckon her foul and low;
Far better a steadfast cottage wench than grand loves that come and go.
To cleave to their husbands, through weal, through woe, is all women have to
In growing as clever as men they seem to have matched them in fickleness too.
``But there's one in whose heart has your image still dwelt through many an
absent day,
As the scent of a flower will haunt a closed room, though the flower be taken
Connie's not quite so young as she was, no doubt, but faithfulness never grows
And were beauty the only fuel of love, the warmest hearth soon would grow cold.
Once you thought that she had not travelled, and knew neither the world nor life:
Not to roam, but to deem her own hearth the whole world, that's what a man
wants in a wife.
``I'm sure you'd be happy with Connie, at least if your own heart's in the right
She will bring you nor power, nor station, nor wealth, but she never will bring
you disgrace.
They say that the moon, though she moves round the earth, never turns to him
morning or night
But one face of her sphere, and it must be because she's so true a satellite;
And Connie, if into your orbit once drawn by the sacrament sanctioned above,
Would revolve round you constantly, only to show the one-sided aspect of love.
``You will never grow rich by the land, I own; but if Connie and you should wed,
It will feed your children and household too, as it you and your fathers fed.
The seasons have been unkindly of late; there's a wonderful cut of hay,
But the showers have washed all the goodness out, till it's scarcely worth carting
There's a fairish promise of barley straw, but the ears look rusty and slim:
I suppose God intends to remind us thus that something depends on Him.
``God neither progresses nor changes, dear, as I once heard you rashly say:
Man's schools and philosophies come and go, but His word doth not pass away.
We worship Him here as we did of old, with simple and reverent rite:
In the morning we pray Him to bless our work, to forgive our transgressions at
To keep His commandments, to fear His name, and what should be done, to do,-
That's the beginning of wisdom still; I suspect 'tis the end of it too.
``You must see the new-fangled machines at work, that harrow, and thresh, and
They're wonderful quick, there's no mistake, and they say in the end they're
But they make such a clatter, and seem to bring the rule of the town to the
There's something more precious in country life than the balance of wealth it
But that seems going; I'm sure I hope that I shall be gone before:
Better poor sweet silence of rural toil than the factory's opulent roar.
``They're a mighty saving of labour, though; so at least I hear them tell,
Making fewer hands and fewer mouths, but fewer hearts as well:
They sweep up so close that there's nothing left for widows and bairns to glean;
If machines are growing like men, man seems to be growing a half machine.
There's no friendliness left; the only tie is the wage upon Saturday nights:
Right used to mean duty; you'll find that now there's no duty, but only rights.
``Still stick to your duty, my dear, and then things cannot go much amiss.
What made folks happy in bygone times, will make them happy in this.
There's little that's called amusement, here; but why should the old joys pall?
Has the blackbird ceased to sing loud in spring? Has the cuckoo forgotten to call?
Are bleating voices no longer heard when the cherryblossoms swarm?
And have home, and children, and fireside lost one gleam of their ancient charm?
``Come, let us go round; to the farmyard first, with its litter of fresh-strewn
Past the ash-tree dell, round whose branching tops the young rooks wheel and
Through the ten-acre mead that was mown the first, and looks well for
Then round by the beans-I shall tire by then,-and home up the garden-path,
Where the peonies hang their blushing heads, where the larkspur laughs from its
stalkWith my stick and your arm I can manage. But see! There, Connie comes up the
~ Alfred Austin,
1404:The Shadow
A vision haunts me, love, when thou art near,
Chilling my heart as frost nips April flowers;
A covering cloud, when all is fair and clear,
That takes the sweetness from our happiest hours.
It steals the colour from our brightest sky;
It mars my soul's content when all seems well;
It quenches laughter in a shuddering sigh —
In thoughts that thrill me like a tolling bell.
It numbs my passion when I love thee most;
It dims my eyes — it veils thy face; it slips,
An unseen shadow, like a creeping ghost,
Betwixt thy kisses and my hungering lips.
What, amid richest plenty, starves me thus?
What is it draws my trustful hand from thine?
That sits a guest at marriage feast with us,
And mixes poison with the food and wine?
In broad noonday — in dark hours long and lone —
A small green mound, a lettered name, I see.
There love is symboled in a graven stone —
There I lie dead, worth nothing more to thee.
There weep the dews, and winds of winter blow;
The soft breeze rustles in the bending grass;
The cold rain falls there, and the drifting snow —
But tears fall not, nor lovers' footsteps pass.
Bees hum all day amid the young spring leaves;
The rooks caw loud from every elm- tree bough;
The sparrows twitter in the old church eaves —
But no voice cries for me or calls me now.
Bright beams of morn encompass me about;
The stars shine o'er me, and the pale moonlight;
But I, that lit and warmed thee, am gone out,
Like a burnt candle, in eternal night.
Earth to the earth upon this churchyard slope.
We made no tryst for happier time and place;
And in thy sky gleams no immortal hope,
No distant radiance from my vanished face.
And still the sands between thy fingers run —
Desires, delights, ambitions — days and years,
Rich hours of life for thee, though mine are done —
Too full for vain regrets, too brief for tears.
I have lost all, but thou dost hold and save,
Adding new treasure to thy rifled store,
While weeds grow long on the neglected grave
Where sleeps thy mate who may be thine no more.
This is the fate I feel, the ghost I see,
The dream I dream at night, the thought I dread —
That thus 'twill be some day with thee and me,
Thou fain to live while I am doubly dead.
Thou still defiant of our common foe;
I vanquished quite — the once- resplendent crown
Of all thy joys become a dragging woe,
To be lopped off, lest it should weigh thee down.
I, once thy sap of life, a wasteful drain
On thy green vigour, like a rotten branch;
I, once thy health, a paralyzing pain,
A bleeding wound that thou must haste to stanch.
Because the dead are dead — the past is gone;
Because dear life is sweet and time is brief,
And some must fall, and some must still press on,
Nor waste scant strength in unavailing grief.
I blame thee not. I know what must be must.
Nor shall I suffer when apart from thee.
I shall not care, when I am mouldering dust,
That once quick love is in the grave with me.
Cast me away — thou knowest I shall not fret;
Take thy due joys — I shall not bear the cost.
I, that am thus forgotten, shall forget,
Nor shed one tear for all that I have lost.
Not then, not then shall sting of death and dole,
The penal curse of life and love, befall;
'Tis now I wear the sackcloth on my soul,
Bereaved and lonely, while possessed of all.
0, wert thou dead, should I, beloved, turn
Deaf heart to memory when of thee she spake?
Should I, when this pure fire had ceased to burn,
Seek other hearths, for sordid comfort's sake?
No — no! Yet I am mortal — I am weak —
In need of warmth when wintry winds are cold;
And fateful years and circumstance will wreak
Their own stern will on mine, when all is told.
How can I keep thee? Day and night I grope
In Nature's book, and in all books beside,
For but one touch of a substantial hope.
But all is vague and void on every side.
Whence did we come? And is it there we go?
We look behind — night hides our place of birth;
The blank before hides heaven, for aught we know.
But what is heaven to us, whose home is earth?
Flesh may be gross — the husk that holds the seed —
And gold and gems worth more than common bread;
But flesh is us, and bread is what we need,
And, changed and glorious, we should still be dead.
What is the infinite universe to him
Who has no home? Eternal Future seems,
Like the Eternal Past, unreal and dim —
The airy region of a poet's dreams.
What spirit essence, howsoe'er divine,
Can our lost selves restore from dusty grave?
Thy mortal mind and body — thine and mine —
Make all the joys I know, and all I crave.
No fair romance of transcendental bliss,
No tale of palms and crowns my dull heart stirs,
That only hungers for a woman's kiss,
And asks no life that is not one with hers.
Not such Hereafter can I wish to see;
Not this pale hope my sinking soul exalts;
I want no sexless angel — only thee,
My human love, with all thy human faults.
Just as thou art — not beautiful or wise,
But prone to simple sins and sad unrest;
With thy warm lips and arms, and thy sweet eyes —
Sweeter for tears they weep upon my breast.
Just as thou art — with thy soft household ways,
Thy noble failures and thy poor success,
Thy love that fits me for my strenuous days —
A mortal woman — neither more nor less.
And thou must pass with these too rapid hours
To that great deep from whence we both were brought;
Thy sentient flesh must turn to grass and flowers,
To birds and beasts, to dust — to air — to naught.
I know the parable. The great oaks grow
To their vast stature from an acorn grain,
And mightiest man was once an embryo.
But how can nothing bring thee forth again?
And is the new oak tree the old oak tree?
And is the son the father? And wouldst thou,
If thou couldst rise from nothing, be to me
Thy present self, that satisfies me now?
Words — words! A dream that fades in Faith's embrace,
And melts in Reason's all- refining fires;
The cherished hope of every age and race;
Born of man's fancy and his own desires.
Here in our little island- home we bide
Our few brief years — 'tis all that we possess.
The Infinite lies around on every side,
But what it holds no mortal mind may guess.
Say we remain — a lasting miracle —
As well we may; for this small world is rife
With mystic wonders that no tongue may tell,
And all things teem and travail with new life.
Say we awake — ineffably alive,
Divinely perfect — in some higher sphere!
'Twill not be we — the we who strain and strive,
And love and learn, and joy and suffer, here.
What is our hope, if any hope there be?
'Tis for some bliss uncared for and unknown,
That some strange beings, yet unborn, shall see.
Alas! And all we cry for is our own!
Only to be ourselves — not cast abroad
In space and time, for either bliss or woe —
Only to keep the treasures we have stored!
And they must pass away. And we must go.
How can we bear it? How can we submit?
Like a wild beast imprisoned, in our pain
We rave and rage for some way out of it,
But bruise and bleed against the bars in vain.
All — all is dark. Beyond our birth and death —
At either end — the same unyielding door.
We live, we love, while we draw human breath.
This much we know — but we can know no more.
The stars shine down upon the minster spires,
Silent, and pale, and still, like watching eyes.
Think of the tumult of those spinning fires —
Think of the vastness of those midnight skies!
Think of our world in the immense unknown —
Only a grain of stellar dust; and man,
Wanting a God, a Saviour, all his own —
Wanting to break the universal plan!
He but a phase of planetary change,
That once was not, and will give place anon
To other forms, more beautiful and strange —
To pass in turn — till earth herself is gone.
Earth, that is next to nothing in the sum
Of things created — a brief mote in space,
With all her aeons past and yet to come.
Ah, think of it! How we forget our place!
Casual atoms in the mighty scheme
That needs us not, we dimly wax and wane,
Dissolving ever like a passing dream —
A breath breathed forth and then drawn back again.
Lone in these infinite realms, perchance unseen —
Unheard. And yet not lost. And not so small,
So feebly futile, pitifully mean,
As our poor creeds would make us, after all.
Still are we details of the great design,
Set to our course, like circling sun and star;
Mortal, infinitesimal — yet divine,
Like Him — or It — that made us what we are.
Let manhood, God- begotten, have its due.
'Tis God — whate'er He be — hath made us thus,
Ourselves as gods to know the right and true.
Shall He not, then, be justified in us?
The warm sap runs; the tender leaves unfold;
Ant helps his brother ant; birds build in spring;
The patient earthworm sifts the crumbled mould; —
A sacred instinct guides each living thing.
Shall we, its born interpreters, not heed?
Shall we confess us failures, whom He lifts
So high above these creatures that succeed?
Or prove us worthy of our nobler gifts?
Shall we not prove us worthy? Ay, we will
Because we can, we must — through peace and strife,
Bright hope and black despair, come good, come ill.
'Tis man's sole title to his place in life.
To stand upright in all the winds that blow,
Unbeaten as a tree in driving rain;
In all our doubts, to do the best we know,
From no base fear of loss or hope of gain.
To still the cry of self — give listening ears
To stern Truth's message, whatsoe'er it be;
To share our brother's toil and dry his tears —
This is the task set forth for thee and me.
This is the lesson that we live to learn,
And, by brave thought, by word and deed, to teach;
These are the heights our lifted eyes discern
Through cloud and darkness, that our souls must reach.
Not less am I in wisdom and in will
Than ants and worms. I am full- furnished too
My arduous errand hither to fulfil.
I know my work, and what a man can do.
My God, I ask Thee nothing. Thou hast given
This conscious mind, this brain without a flaw;
And I will strive, as I have humbly striven,
To make them serve their purpose and Thy law.
But thee, my soul's companion — thee I seek
For daily courage to support my lot.
In thee hath Nature made me strong or weak.
My human comforter, forsake me not!
My nobler self, in whom I live my best,
Strengthen me! Raise me! Help me to the last!
Lay thy dear head upon my throbbing breast —
Give me thy hands, that I may hold thee fast!
Come close — come closer! Let me feel thy heart,
Thy pulsing heart, thy breathing lips, on mine.
O love, let only death and graveyard part —
If they must part — my flesh and soul from thine!
Let no mistrust, no doubt, no poor caprice
Darken for me in thy transparent gaze;
Let no self- wrought estrangement wreck our peace,
Nor vain dissension waste our precious days.
Be thou my purer eyes, my keener ears,
My finer conscience, steadfast, unafraid —
Till these few, swift, inexorable years
Have borne us both beyond the reach of aid.
Be thou my staff upon this lonely way.
Be thou my lamp till need of light is past —
Till the dark shadow, lengthening day by day,
Spreads over all and quenches us at last.
Keep me from falling! Keep me from despair!
Keep me true man, if only man I be,
Faithful and brave to bear what I must bear.
For what else have I, if I have not thee?
~ Ada Cambridge,
1405:I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still,
That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,
Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems,  
Had not yet lost those starry diadems
Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.
The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,
And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept
On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept    
A little noiseless noise among the leaves,
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves:
For not the faintest motion could be seen
Of all the shades that slanted oer the green.
There was wide wandring for the greediest eye,    
To peer about upon variety;
Far round the horizons crystal air to skim,
And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim;
To picture out the quaint, and curious bending
Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending;  
Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves,
Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.
I gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free
As though the fanning wings of Mercury
Had played upon my heels: I was light-hearted,    
And many pleasures to my vision started;
So I straightway began to pluck a posey
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy.

A bush of May flowers with the bees about them;
Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without them;    
And let a lush laburnum oversweep them,
And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them
Moist, cool and green; and shade the violets,
That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.

A filbert hedge with wildbriar overtwined,    
And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind
Upon their summer thrones; there too should be
The frequent chequer of a youngling tree,
That with a score of light green breth[r]en shoots
From the quaint mossiness of aged roots:  
Round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters
Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters
The spreading blue bells: it may haply mourn
That such fair clusters should be rudely torn
From their fresh beds, and scattered thoughtlessly    
By infant hands, left on the path to die.

Open afresh your round of starry folds,
Ye ardent marigolds!
Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,
For great Apollo bids    
That in these days your praises should be sung
On many harps, which he has lately strung;
And when again your dewiness he kisses,
Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses:
So haply when I rove in some far vale,    
His mighty voice may come upon the gale.

Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight:
With wings of gentle flush oer delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.  

Linger awhile upon some bending planks
That lean against a streamlets rushy banks,
And watch intently Natures gentle doings:
They will be found softer than ring-doves cooings.
How silent comes the water round that bend;    
Not the minutest whisper does it send
To the oerhanging sallows: blades of grass
Slowly across the chequerd shadows pass.
Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach
To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach    
A natural sermon oer their pebbly beds;
Where swarms of minnows show their little heads,
Staying their wavy bodies gainst the streams,
To taste the luxury of sunny beams
Temperd with coolness. How they ever wrestle    
With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand.
If you but scantily hold out the hand,
That very instant not one will remain;
But turn your eye, and they are there again.    
The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses,
And cool themselves among the emrald tresses;
The while they cool themselves, they freshness give,
And moisture, that the bowery green may live:
So keeping up an interchange of favours,    
Like good men in the truth of their behaviours.
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop
From low hung branches; little space they stop;
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek;
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak:    
Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings
Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
Were I in such a place, I sure should pray
That nought less sweet, might call my thoughts away,
Than the soft rustle of a maidens gown    
Fanning away the dandelions down;
Than the light music of her nimble toes
Patting against the sorrel as she goes.
How she would start, and blush, thus to be caught
Playing in all her innocence of thought.    
O let me lead her gently oer the brook,
Watch her half-smiling lips, and downward look;
O let me for one moment touch her wrist;
Let me one moment to her breathing list;
And as she leaves me may she often turn    
Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
What next? A tuft of evening primroses,
Oer which the mind may hover till it dozes;
Oer which it well might take a pleasant sleep,
But that tis ever startled by the leap    
Of buds into ripe flowers; or by the flitting
Of diverse moths, that aye their rest are quitting;
Or by the moon lifting her silver rim
Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim
Coming into the blue with all her light.    
O Maker of sweet poets, dear delight
Of this fair world, and all its gentle livers;
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers,
Mingler with leaves, and dew and tumbling streams,
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,    
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write    
But the fair paradise of Natures light?
In the calm grandeur of a sober line,
We see the waving of the mountain pine;
And when a tale is beautifully staid,
We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade:  
When it is moving on luxurious wings,
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings:
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces,
And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases;
Oerhead we see the jasmine and sweet briar,  
And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire;
While at our feet, the voice of crystal bubbles
Charms us at once away from all our troubles:
So that we feel uplifted from the world,
Walking upon the white clouds wreathd and curld.    
So felt he, who first told, how Psyche went
On the smooth wind to realms of wonderment;
What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full lips
First touchd; what amorous and fondling nips
They gave each others cheeks; with all their sighs,  
And how they kist each others tremulous eyes:
The silver lamp,the ravishment,the wonder
The darkness,loneliness,the fearful thunder;
Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown,
To bow for gratitude before Joves throne.  

So did he feel, who pulld the boughs aside,
That we might look into a forest wide,
To catch a glimpse of Fawns, and Dryades
Coming with softest rustle through the trees;
And garlands woven of flowers wild, and sweet,    
Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet:
Telling us how fair, trembling Syrinx fled
Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread.
Poor Nymph,poor Pan,how did he weep to find,
Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind    
Along the reedy stream; a half heard strain,
Full of sweet desolationbalmy pain.

What first inspired a bard of old to sing
Narcissus pining oer the untainted spring?
In some delicious ramble, he had found  
A little space, with boughs all woven round;
And in the midst of all, a clearer pool
Than eer reflected in its pleasant cool,
The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping
Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping.  
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied,
A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride,
Drooping its beauty oer the watery clearness,
To woo its own sad image into nearness:
Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move;    
But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love.
So while the Poet stood in this sweet spot,
Some fainter gleamings oer his fancy shot;
Nor was it long ere he had told the tale
Of young Narcissus, and sad Echos bale.  

Where had he been, from whose warm head out-flew
That sweetest of all songs, that ever new,
That aye refreshing, pure deliciousness,
Coming ever to bless
The wanderer by moonlight? to him bringing    
Shapes from the invisible world, unearthly singing
From out the middle air, from flowery nests,
And from the pillowy silkiness that rests
Full in the speculation of the stars.
Ah! surely he had burst our mortal bars;  
Into some wondrous region he had gone,
To search for thee, divine Endymion!

He was a Poet, sure a lover too,
Who stood on Latmus top, what time there blew
Soft breezes from the myrtle vale below;  
And brought in faintness solemn, sweet, and slow
A hymn from Dians temple; while upswelling,
The incense went to her own starry dwelling.
But though her face was clear as infants eyes,
Though she stood smiling oer the sacrifice,    
The Poet wept at her so piteous fate,
Wept that such beauty should be desolate:
So in fine wrath some golden sounds he won,
And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion.

Queen of the wide air; thou most lovely queen  
Of all the brightness that mine eyes have seen!
As thou exceedest all things in thy shine,
So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine.
O for three words of honey, that I might
Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night!  

Where distant ships do seem to show their keels,
Phoebus awhile delayed his mighty wheels,
And turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes,
Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize.
The evening weather was so bright, and clear,  
That men of health were of unusual cheer;
Stepping like Homer at the trumpets call,
Or young Apollo on the pedestal:
And lovely women were as fair and warm,
As Venus looking sideways in alarm.  
The breezes were ethereal, and pure,
And crept through half closed lattices to cure
The languid sick; it coold their feverd sleep,
And soothed them into slumbers full and deep.
Soon they awoke clear eyed: nor burnt with thirsting
Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting:
And springing up, they met the wondring sight
Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight;
Who feel their arms, and breasts, and kiss and stare,
And on their placid foreheads part the hair.  
Young men, and maidens at each other gazd
With hands held back, and motionless, amazd
To see the brightness in each others eyes;
And so they stood, filld with a sweet surprise,
Until their tongues were loosd in poesy.  
Therefore no lover did of anguish die:
But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken,
Made silken ties, that never may be broken.
Cynthia! I cannot tell the greater blisses,
That followd thine, and thy dear shepherds kisses:
Was there a Poet born?but now no more,
My wandring spirit must no further soar.
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill : Leigh Hunt tells us in 'Lord Byron and Some of his Contemporaries' that "this poem was suggested to Keats by a delightful summer's-day, as he stood beside the gate that leads from the Battery on Hampstead Heath into a field by Caen Wood."

(lines 37-41) Of this passage Hunt says, "Any body who has seen a throng of young beeches, furnishing those natural clumpy seats at the root, must recognize the truth and grace of this description." He adds that the remainder of the poem, especially verses 47 to 86, "affords an exquisite proof of close observation of nature as well as the most luxuriant fancy."

(lines 61-80) Charles Cowden Clarke says Keats told him this passage was the recollection of the friends' "having frequently loitered over the rail of a foot-bridge that spanned ... a little brook in the last field upon entering Edmonton." Keats, he says, "thought the picture correct, and acknowledged to a partiality for it."
~The Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ John Keats, I Stood Tip-Toe Upon A Little Hill
1406:A Defence Of English Spring
Unnamed, unknown, but surely bred
Where Thames, once silver, now runs lead,
Whose journeys daily ebb and flow
'Twixt Tyburn and the bells of Bow,
You late in learnëd prose have told
How, for the happy bards of old,
Spring burst upon Sicilian seas,
Or blossomed in the Cyclades,
But never yet hath deigned to smile
On poets of this shivering isle,
Who, when to vernal strains they melt,
Discourse of joys they never felt,
And, pilfering from each other's page,
Pass on the lie from age to age.
Well, now in turn give ear to me,
Who, with your leave, friend, claim to be,
Degenerate, but withal allied,
At least on mother Nature's side,
To Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, all,
Foremost or hindmost, great or small,
My kindred, and whose numbers ring
With woodnotes of the English Spring:
Leave for awhile your polished town,
Unto my rural home come down,
Where you shall find such bed and board
As rude bucolic roofs afford,
And judge, with your own ear and eye,
If Spring exists, or poets lie.
Welcome! Now plunge at once with me
Into the nearest copse you see.
The boles are brown, the branches gray,
Yet green buds live on every spray.
But 'tis the ground most wins your gaze,
And makes you question, with amaze,
What these are! Shells flung far and wide
By Winter's now fast-ebbing tide,
In language called, for him who sees
But grossly, wood-anemones.
Those, too? Nay, pluck not. You will find
That they maintain a silent mind.
You do not understand? I meant
They will not talk to you in scent.
Sweet violets you know; but these
Have their own rustic way to please.
Their charm is in their look, their free
Unfrightened gaze of gaiety.
Are they not everywhere? Their eyes
Glance up to the cerulean skies,
And challenge them to match the glow
Of their own bluer heaven below.
Anon the trunks and boughs fall back,
And along winding track on track,
Lo! wheresoe'er you onward press,
Shine milky ways of primroses;
So thick, there are, when these have birth,
Far fewer stars in heaven than earth.
You know them, for their face one meets
Still smiling in your London streets;
And one I loved, but who with Fame
Sleeps quiet now, hath made their name,
Even for those, alas! who share
No fellowship with woodlands fair,
Wherever English speech is heard,
A meaning sound, a grateful word.
Yet unto me they seem, when there,
Like young things that should be elsewhere,
In lanes, in dells, in rustic air.
But looked on here, where they have space
To peep from every sheltered place,
Their simple, open faces seemOr doth again a poet dream?The wondering soul of child-like Spring,
Inquisitive of everything.
Now frowns the sky, the air bites bleak,
The young boughs rock, the old trunks creak,
And fast before the following gale
Come slanting drops, then slashing hail,
As keen as sword, as thick as shot.
Nay, do not cower, but heed them not!
For these one neither flies nor stirs;
They are but April skirmishers,
Thrown out to cover the advance
Of gleaming spear and glittering lance,
With which the sunshine scours amain
Heaven, earth, and air, and routs the rain.
See how the sparkling branches sway,
And, laughing, shake the drops away,
While, glimmering through, the meads beyond
Are emerald and diamond.
And hark! behind baptismal shower,
Whose drops, new-poured on leaf and flower,
Unto their infant faces cling,
The cuckoo, sponsor of the Spring,
Breaks in, and strives, with loud acclaim,
To christen it with his own name.
Now he begins, he will not cease,
Nor leave the woodlands any peace,
That have to listen all day long
To him reciting his one song.
And oft you may, when all is still,
And night lies smooth on vale and hill,
Hear him call ``Cuckoo!'' in his dream,
Still haunted by the egoist theme.
Out of the wood now, and we gain,
The freedom of the winding lane:
Push through the open gap, and leap;
What! have you tumbled all aheap?
Only a scratch. See! ditch and bank
With the same flowers are lush and rank,
With more beside. As yet but single,
The bluebells with the grasses mingle;
But soon their azure will be scrolled
Upon the primrose cloth-of-gold.
Yes, those are early ladysmocks,
The children crumple in their frocks,
And carry many a zigzag mile,
O'er meadow, footpath, gate, and stile,
To stick in pots and jugs to dress
Their cottage sills and lattices.
As yet they only fleck the grass;
But again hither shortly pass,
And with them knolls that now are bare
Will be a blaze of lavender.
What lends yon dingle such a sheen?
How! Buttercups? No, celandine.
Complete in its own self, each one
A looking-glass is for the sun,
Soon as his waking hours begin,
To see his own effulgence in.
Crave you for brighter still, behold
Yon clusters of marsh-marigold.
This is our rustic wealth, and found
Not under, but above the ground;
Mines that bring wealth without its sting,
Enrich without impoverishing.
Yes, Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo, still!
Do you not feel an impulse thrill
Your vernal blood to do the same,
And, boylike, shout him back his name?
But though he loudest, longest sings,
Music is shook from myriad wings.
Hear you the lark advancing now,
Through seas of air, with rippling prow?
They say that from the poet's tears
Spring sweetest songs for unseen ears;
And, from its moist and lowly bed,
The lark mounts up aloft to shed,
In heavenly fields beyond our view,
Music still drenched with earthly dew.
The robin, that in winter cheers
With his lone voice our lonelier ears,
Though warbling still on neighbouring bough,
Sings all unheard, unnoticed now.
Chatter the jays, the starlings flute,
There's not a single throat that's mute.
From tree to tree the finches flit,
Nor once their carols intermit.
The willow-warbler mounts, then drops,
And in his silvery solo stops
Just as it bubbles to the brim,
To hark if any answer him.
High on a bare conspicuous spray,
That none may doubt who chants the lay,
Proud of his undisputed skill
To breast whatever note he will,
The thrush runs revelling all along
The spacious gamut of his song;
Varies, inverts, repeats the strain,
Then sings it different again.
The blackbird, less expert than he,
Coaxes and scolds alternately;
Then, with a sudden scream and rush,
Is off into another bush,
Feigning to fear for life and limb,
Though none have interfered with him.
But listen! ne'er on urban bough
Was perched the note you caught just now.
Hush! move a little down the lane;
When we have passed, he'll start again.
There! Did you ever hear a strain
Of such apotheosized pain,
Such sadness almost sung to bliss,
Blending of woe and joy like this?
Yes, he descants all day, despite
The name he borrows from the night.
Though then perchance the wails increase,
When doth true anguish ever cease?
He is the poet-bird that sings
Through joy, through sorrow, through all things.
'Tis only we that do not hark
Until our own bright days grow dark.
Now, think you that I gleaned all this,
This mite of wisdom, wealth of bliss,
In dusty shelf and yellowing tome?
Is it not rather that I roam,
From dawn to noon, from noon till eve,
Ready to gladden or to grieve
With every aspect, impulse, mood,
Of Nature's active solitude?
Ah! if you knew the hours on hours
One lives with birds, one spends with flowers;
How many a time one's eyes grow wet
By gazing on the violet;
How often all one has to show
For days that come, and days that go,
Are woodland nosegays all ablow;
You then, I think, would scarcely deem
One's songs of Spring a borrowed theme,
But own that English poets learn,
In every hour, at every turn,
From Nature's page, from Nature's speech,
What neither book nor bard can teach.
Nor deem this pride. I am to her
A student and interpreter,
Loving to read what lessons lurk
In her unlettered handiwork,
To find the helpful meanings writ
In waves that break, in clouds that flit,
Some balm extract for weeping eyes
From rain that falls, from dew that dries;
Infer from her uncertain text
A hopeful creed for souls perplexed,
To them her busy calm impart,
And harmonise the human heart.
Halt we a little here, and gaze.
Gambol the lambs, their mothers graze,
While cloudland shadows o'er the grass
In noiseless billows break and pass.
Beholding these, would you not say
The world was born but yesterday?
And while the years such scenes unfold
Afresh, it never can grow old.
Yon yeanlings, by their dam's warm fleece,
Fixed image of ephemeral peace,
How cunningly and snug they cower
From driving gust and drenching shower.
One symbol more, for me at least,
Who, let the world blow north or east,
By mother Nature once reclined,
Am sheltered from each bitter wind.
Yet deeper lessons may we read
In this unacademic mead:
The wisdom of untutored sense,
Sagacity of reverence.
See! the lambs kneel, that they may drain
From life's sweet source a deeper strain.
And if from Nature's lavish breast
We would imbibe the fullest, best,
All that she is so prompt to give,
That we may learn, that we may live,
Howe'er you proud town-sceptics view it,
We too must bend our knees to do it.
Confess this is not bookish lore;
'Tis feeling only, and no more.
Poets lack what you learning call,
And rustic poets, most of all.
Why from the plain truth should I shrink?
In woods men feel; in towns they think.
Yet, which is best? Thought, stumbling, plods
Past fallen temples, vanished gods,
Altars unincensed, fanes undecked,
Eternal systems flown or wrecked;
Through trackless centuries that grant
To the poor trudge refreshment scant,
Age after age, pants on to find
A melting mirage of the mind.
But feeling never wanders far,
Content to fare with things that are,
The same old track, the same loved face,
Familiar genius of the place;
From nature's simples to distil
Homely receipt for homely ill;
And finds, betwixt the sky and ground,
The sunshine of its daily round.
So swallows, though awhile they range
In quest of joy, in chase of change,
Once tenderer instincts flood their breast,
And twittering voices brim the nest,
Grown far too wise and well to roam,
Keep circling round the roof of home.
Now understand you, friend, why here
I linger passive all the year,
And let old thoughts and feelings gain
Their growth, like lichen, on my brain?Why the loud gusts of blame and praise,
That blow about your London ways,
To me are but as wind that shrills
About my orchard daffodils,
Only to make them shake their scent
Unto a wider continent!
But ere you go, if go you must,
Take this from me, at least, on trust.
In that fair tract 'twixt hill and main,
I sang of in my earliest strain,
Where fades not flower, nor falls the leaf,
And Godfrid brought Olympia grief,
Oft have I heard, as Spring comes round,
The snow-fed streams begin to sound;
Oft have I seen the almonds bloom
Round Dante's cradle, Petrarch's tomb;
Been there when banksia roses fall
In cataracts over Tuscan wall;
Oft watched Rome's dead Campagna break
To asphodels for April's sake;
Smelt the green myrtle browsed and left
By clambering goats in Ischian cleft;
Gathered the cistus-blooms that lay,
Like flecks of fresh unmelted spray,
Round Paleocastrizza's bay;
Drunk of the nectar wafted o'er
The wave from Zante's perfumed shore;
Plucked Delphi's flowering bays that twine
No garlands now for brows divine;
Stretched me on Acro-Corinth's brow,
Just when the year was young as now;
Have half-way up Hymettus heard
In Attic grove the Attic bird;
Sailed past the crimson Judas-trees
That flame o'er Stamboul's narrow seas,
And marked the cuckoo, from the shore,
Bid wintry Danube thaw once more.
But none of these, nor all, can match,
At least for him who loves to watch
The wild-flowers come, hear wild birds sing,
The rapture of an English Spring.
With us it loiters more than where
It comes, it goes, half unaware;
Makes winter short, makes summer long,
In autumn half renews its song,
Nor even then doth hence depart,
But hybernates within my heart.
~ Alfred Austin,
1407:The Kalevala - Rune Xxi
Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
Ancient dame of Sariola,
While at work within her dwelling,
Heard the whips crack on the fenlands,
Heard the rattle of the sledges;
To the northward turned her glances,
Turned her vision to the sunlight,
And her thoughts ran on as follow:
'Who are these in bright apparel,
On the banks of Pohya-waters,
Are they friends or hostile armies?'
Then the hostess of the Northland
Looked again and well considered,
Drew much nearer to examine,
Found they were not hostile armies,
Found that they were friends and suitors.
In the midst was Ilmarinen,
Son-in-law to ancient Louhi.
When the hostess of Pohyola
Saw the son-in-law approaching
She addressed the words that follow:
'I had thought the winds were raging,
That the piles of wood were falling,
Thought the pebbles in commotion,
Or perchance the ocean roaring;
Then I hastened nearer, nearer,
Drew still nearer and examined,
Found the winds were not in battle,
Found the piles of wood unshaken,
Found the ocean was not roaring,
Nor the pebbles in commotion,
Found my son-in-law was coming
With his heroes and attendants,
Heroes counted by the hundreds.
'Should you ask of me the question,
How I recognized the bridegroom
Mid the hosts of men and heroes,
I should answer, I should tell you:
'As the hazel-bush in copses,
As the oak-tree in the forest,
As the Moon among the planets;
Drives the groom a coal-black courser,
Running like the famished black-dog,
Flying like the hungry raven,
Graceful as the lark at morning,
Golden cuckoos, six in number,
Twitter on the birchen cross-bow;
There are seven bluebirds singing
On the racer's hame and collar.'
Noises hear they in the court-yard,
On the highway hear the sledges,
To the court comes Ilmarinen,
With his body-guard of heroes;
In the midst the chosen suitor,
Not too far in front of others,
Not too far behind his fellows.
Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
'Hie ye hither, men and heroes,
Haste, ye watchers, to the stables,
There unhitch the suitor's stallion,
Lower well the racer's breast-plate,
There undo the straps and buckles,
Loosen well the shafts and traces,
And conduct the suitor hither,
Give my son-in-law good welcome!'
Ilmarinen turned his racer
Into Louhi's yard and stables,
And descended from his snow-sledge.
Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
'Come, thou servant of my bidding,
Best of all my trusted servants,
Take at once the bridegroom's courser
From the shafts adorned with silver,
From the curving arch of willow,
Lift the harness trimmed in copper,
Tie the white-face to the manger,
Treat the suitor's steed with kindness,
Lead him carefully to shelter
By his soft and shining bridle,
By his halter tipped with silver;
Let him roll among the sand-hills,
On the bottoms soft and even,
On the borders of the snow-banks,
In the fields of milky color.
'Lead the hero's steed to water,
Lead him to the Pohya-fountains,
Where the living streams are flowing,
Sweet as milk of human kindness,
From the roots of silvery birches,
Underneath the shade of aspens.
'Feed the courser of the suitor,
On the sweetest corn and barley,
On the summer-wheat and clover,
In the caldron steeped in sweetness;
Feed him at the golden manger,
In the boxes lined with copper,
At my manger richly furnished,
In the warmest of the stables;
Tie him with a silk-like halter,
To the golden rings and staples,
To the hooks of purest silver,
Set in beams of birch and oak-wood;
Feed him on the hay the sweetest,
Feed him on the corn nutritious,
Give the best my barns can furnish.
'Curry well the suitor's courser
With the curry-comb of fish-bone,
Brush his hair with silken brushes,
Put his mane and tail in order,
Cover well with flannel blankets,
Blankets wrought in gold and silver,
Buckles forged from shining copper.
'Come, ye small lads of the village,
Lead the suitor to my chambers,
With your auburn locks uncovered,
From your hands remove your mittens,
See if ye can lead the hero
Through the door without his stooping,
Lifting not the upper cross-bar,
Lowering not the oaken threshold,
Moving not the birchen casings,
Great the hero who must enter.
'Ilmarinen is too stately,
Cannot enter through the portals,
Not the son-in-law and bridegroom,
Till the portals have been heightened;
Taller by a head the suitor
Than the door-ways of the mansion.'
Quick the servants of Pohyola
Tore away the upper cross-bar,
That his cap might not be lifted;
Made the oaken threshold lower
That the hero might not stumble;
Made the birch-wood portals wider,
Opened full the door of welcome,
Easy entrance for the suitor.
Speaks the hostess of the Northland
As the bridegroom freely passes
Through the doorway of her dwelling:
'Thanks are due to thee, O Ukko,
That my son-in-law has entered!
Let me now my halls examine;
Make the bridal chambers ready,
Finest linen on my tables,
Softest furs upon my benches,
Birchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness,
All my rooms in perfect order.'
Then the hostess of Pohyola
Visited her spacious dwelling,
Did not recognize her chambers;
Every room had been remodeled,
Changed by force of mighty magic;
All the halls were newly burnished,
Hedge-hog bones were used for ceilings,
Bones of reindeer for foundations,
Bones of wolverine for door-sills,
For the cross-bars bones of roebuck,
Apple-wood were all the rafters,
Alder-wood, the window-casings,
Scales of trout adorned the windows,
And the fires were set in flowers.
All the seats were made of silver,
All the floors of copper-tiling,
Gold-adorned were all the tables,
On the floor were silken mattings,
Every fire-place set in copper,
Every hearth-stone cut from marble,
On each shelf were colored sea-shells,
Kalew's tree was their protection.
To the court-room came the hero,
Chosen suitor from Wainola,
These the words of Ilmarinen:
'Send, O Ukko, health and pleasure
To this ancient home and dwelling,
To this mansion richly fashioned!'
Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
'Let thy coming be auspicious
To these halls of thee unworthy,
To the home of thine affianced,
To this dwelling lowly fashioned,
Mid the lindens and the aspens.
'Come, ye maidens that should serve me,
Come, ye fellows from the village,
Bring me fire upon the birch-bark,
Light the fagots of the fir-tree,
That I may behold the bridegroom,
Chosen suitor of my daughter,
Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow,
See the color of his eyeballs,
Whether they are blue or sable,
See if they are warm and faithful.'
Quick the young lads from the village
Brought the fire upon the birch-bark,
Brought it on the tips of pine-wood;
And the fire and smoke commingled
Roll and roar about the hero,
Blackening the suitor's visage,
And the hostess speaks as follows;
'Bring the fire upon a taper,
On the waxen tapers bring it!'
Then the maidens did as bidden,
Quickly brought the lighted tapers,
Made the suitor's eyeballs glisten,
Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy;
Made his eyes of sable color
Sparkle like the foam of waters,
Like the reed-grass on the margin,
Colored as the ocean jewels,
Iridescent as the rainbow.
'Come, ye fellows of the hamlet,
Lead my son-in-law and hero
To the highest seat at table,
To the seat of greatest honor,
With his back upon the blue-wall,
Looking on my bounteous tables,
Facing all the guests of Northland.'
Then the hostess of Pohyola
Served her guests in great abundance,
Richest drinks and rarest viands,
First of all she, served the bridegroom
On his platters, honeyed biscuit,
And the sweetest river salmon,
Seasoned butter, roasted bacon,
All the dainties of Pohyola.
Then the helpers served the others,
Filled the plates of all invited
With the varied food of Northland.
Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
'Come, ye maidens from the village,
Hither bring the beer in pitchers,
In the urns with double handles,
To the many guests in-gathered,
Ere all others, serve the bridegroom.'
Thereupon the merry maidens
Brought the beer in silver pitchers
From the copper-banded vessels,
For the wedding-guests assembled;
And the beer, fermenting, sparkled
On the beard of Ilmarinen,
On the beards of many heroes.
When the guests had all partaken
Of the wondrous beer of barley,
Spake the beer in merry accents
Through the tongues of the magicians,
Through the tongue of many a hero,
Through the tongue of Wainamoinen,
Famed to be the sweetest singer
Of the Northland bards and minstrels,
These the words of the enchanter:
'O thou beer of honeyed flavor,
Let us not imbibe in silence,
Let some hero sing thy praises,
Sing thy worth in golden measures;
Let the hostess start the singing,
Let the bridegroom sound thy virtues!
Have our songs thus quickly vanished,
Have our joyful tongues grown silent?
Evil then has been the brewing,
Then the beer must be unworthy,
That it does not cheer the singer,
Does not move the merry minstrel,
That the golden guests are joyless,
And the cuckoo is not singing.
Never will these benches echo
Till the bench-guests chant thy virtues;
Nor the floor resound thy praises
Till the floor-guests sing in concord;
Nor the windows join the chorus
Till the window-guests have spoken;
All the tables will keep silence
Till the heroes toast thy virtues;
Little singing from the chimney
Till the chimney-guests have chanted.'
On the floor a child was sitting,
Thus the little boy made answer:
'I am small and young in singing,
Have perchance but little wisdom;
Be that as it may, my seniors,
Since the elder minstrels sing not,
Nor the heroes chant their legends,
Nor the hostess lead the singing,
I will sing my simple stories,
Sing my little store of knowledge,
To the pleasure of the evening,
To the joy of the invited.'
Near the fire reclined an old man,
And the gray-beard thus made answer:
'Not the time for children's singing,
Children's wisdom is too ready,
Children's songs are filled with trifles,
Filled with shrewd and vain deceptions,
Maiden-songs are full of follies;
Leave the songs and incantations
To the ancient wizard-singers;
Leave the tales of times primeval
To the minstrel of Wainola,
To the hero of the Northland,
To the, ancient Wainamoinen.'
Thereupon Osmoinen answered:
'Are there not some sweeter singers
In this honored congregation,
That will clasp their hands together,
Sing the ancient songs unbroken,
Thus begin the incantations,
Make these ancient halls re-echo
For the pleasure of the evening,
For the joy of the in-gathered?'
From the hearth-stone spake, the gray-beard
'Not a singer of Pohyola,
Not a minstrel, nor magician,
That was better skilled in chanting
Legends of the days departed,
Than was I when I was singing,
In my years of vain ambition;
Then I chanted tales of heroes,
On the blue back of the waters,
Sang the ballads of my people,
In the vales and on the mountains,
Through the verdant fields and forests;
Sweet my voice and skilled my singing,
All my songs were highly lauded,
Rippled like the quiet rivers,
Easy-flowing like the waters,
Easy-gliding as the snow-shoes,
Like the ship upon the ocean.
'Woe is me, my days are ended,
Would not recognize my singing,
All its sweetness gone to others,
Flows no more like rippling waters,
Makes no more the hills re-echo!
Now my songs are full of discord,
Like the rake upon the stubble,
Like the sledge upon the gravel,
Like the boat upon the sea-shore!'
Then the ancient Wainamoinen
Spake these words in magic measures:
'Since no other bard appeareth
That will clasp my hand in singing,
I will sing some simple legends,
Sing my, garnered store of wisdom,
Make these magic halls re-echo
With my tales of ancient story,
Since a bard I was created,
Born an orator and singer;
Do not ask the ways of others,
Follow not the paths of strangers.'
Wainamoinen, famous minstrel,
Song's eternal, wise supporter,
Then began the songs of pleasure,
Made the halls resound with joyance,
Filled the rooms with wondrous singing;
Sang the ancient bard-magician
All the oldest wisdom-sayings,
Did not fail in voice nor legends,
All the wisest thoughts remembered.
Thus the ancient Wainamoinen
Sang the joy of all assembled,
To the pleasure of the evening,
To the merriment of maidens,
To the happiness of heroes;
All the guests were stilled in wonder
At the magic of his singing,
At the songs of the magician.
Spake again wise Wainamoinen,
When his wonder-tales had ended:
'l have little worth or power,
Am a bard of little value,
Little consequence my singing,
Mine abilities as nothing,
If but Ukko, my Creator,
Should intone his wisdom-sayings,
Sing the source of good and evil,
Sing the origin of matter,
Sing the legends of omniscience,
Sing his songs in full perfection.
God could sing the floods to honey,
Sing the sands to ruddy berries,
Sing the pebbles into barley,
Sing to beer the running waters,
Sing to salt the rocks of ocean,
Into corn-fields sing the forests,
Into gold the forest-fruitage,
Sing to bread the hills and mountains,
Sing to eggs the rounded sandstones;
He could touch the springs of magic,
He could turn the keys of nature,
And produce within thy pastures,
Hurdles filled with sheep and reindeer,
Stables filled with fleet-foot stallions,
Kine in every field and fallow;
Sing a fur-robe for the bridegroom,
For the bride a coat of ermine,
For the hostess, shoes of silver,
For the hero, mail of copper.
'Grant O Ukko, my Creator,
God of love, and truth, and justice,
Grant thy blessing on our feasting,
Bless this company assembled,
For the good of Sariola,
For the happiness of Northland!
May this bread and beer bring joyance,
May they come in rich abundance,
May they carry full contentment
To the people of Pohyola,
To the cabin and the mansion;
May the hours we spend in singing,
In the morning, in the evening,
Fill our hearts with joy and gladness!
Hear us in our supplications,
Grant to us thy needed blessings,
Send enjoyment, health, and comfort,
To the people here assembled,
To the host and to the hostess,
To the bride and to the bridegroom,
To the sons upon the waters,
To the daughters at their weavings,
To the hunters on the mountains,
To the shepherds in the fenlands,
That our lives may end in honor,
That we may recall with pleasure
Ilmarinen's magic marriage
To the Maiden of the Rainbow,
Snow-white virgin of the Northland.'
~ Elias Lönnrot,
1408:Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
IsLove, forgive us!cinders, ashes, dust;
Love in a palace is perhaps at last
More grievous torment than a hermits fast:
That is a doubtful tale from faery land,
Hard for the non-elect to understand.
Had Lycius livd to hand his story down,
He might have given the moral a fresh frown,
Or clenchd it quite: but too short was their bliss
To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice hiss.
Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare,
Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair,
Hoverd and buzzd his wings, with fearful roar,
Above the lintel of their chamber door,
And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor.

For all this came a ruin: side by side
They were enthroned, in the even tide,
Upon a couch, near to a curtaining
Whose airy texture, from a golden string,
Floated into the room, and let appear
Unveild the summer heaven, blue and clear,
Betwixt two marble shafts:there they reposed,
Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed,
Saving a tythe which love still open kept,
That they might see each other while they almost slept;
When from the slope side of a suburb hill,
Deafening the swallows twitter, came a thrill
Of trumpetsLycius startedthe sounds fled,
But left a thought, a buzzing in his head.
For the first time, since first he harbourd in
That purple-lined palace of sweet sin,
His spirit passd beyond its golden bourn
Into the noisy world almost forsworn.
The lady, ever watchful, penetrant,
Saw this with pain, so arguing a want
Of something more, more than her empery
Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh
Because he mused beyond her, knowing well
That but a moments thought is passions passing bell.
Why do you sigh, fair creature? whisperd he:
Why do you think? returnd she tenderly:
You have deserted me;where am I now?
Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow:
No, no, you have dismissd me; and I go
From your breast houseless: ay, it must be so.
He answerd, bending to her open eyes,
Where he was mirrord small in paradise,
My silver planet, both of eve and morn!
Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn,
While I am striving how to fill my heart
With deeper crimson, and a double smart?
How to entangle, trammel up and snare
Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there
Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose?
Ay, a sweet kissyou see your mighty woes.
My thoughts! shall I unveil them? Listen then!
What mortal hath a prize, that other men
May be confounded and abashd withal,
But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical,
And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice
Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinths voice.
Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar,
While through the thronged streets your bridal car
Wheels round its dazzling spokes.The ladys cheek
Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek,
Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain
Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain
Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung,
To change his purpose. He thereat was stung,
Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim
Her wild and timid nature to his aim:
Besides, for all his love, in self despite,
Against his better self, he took delight
Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new.
His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue
Fierce and sanguineous as twas possible
In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell.
Fine was the mitigated fury, like
Apollos presence when in act to strike
The serpentHa, the serpent! certes, she
Was none. She burnt, she lovd the tyranny,
And, all subdued, consented to the hour
When to the bridal he should lead his paramour.
Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth,
Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my truth,
I have not askd it, ever thinking thee
Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny,
As still I do. Hast any mortal name,
Fit appellation for this dazzling frame?
Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth,
To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?
I have no friends, said Lamia, no, not one;
My presence in wide Corinth hardly known:
My parents bones are in their dusty urns
Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns,
Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me,
And I neglect the holy rite for thee.
Even as you list invite your many guests;
But if, as now it seems, your vision rests
With any pleasure on me, do not bid
Old Apolloniusfrom him keep me hid.
Lycius, perplexd at words so blind and blank,
Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank,
Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade
Of deep sleep in a moment was betrayd.

It was the custom then to bring away
The bride from home at blushing shut of day,
Veild, in a chariot, heralded along
By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song,
With other pageants: but this fair unknown
Had not a friend. So being left alone,
(Lycius was gone to summon all his kin)
And knowing surely she could never win
His foolish heart from its mad pompousness,
She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress
The misery in fit magnificence.
She did so, but tis doubtful how and whence
Came, and who were her subtle servitors.
About the halls, and to and from the doors,
There was a noise of wings, till in short space
The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace.
A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone
Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan
Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade.
Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade
Of palm and plantain, met from either side,
High in the midst, in honour of the bride:
Two palms and then two plantains, and so on,
From either side their stems branchd one to one
All down the aisled place; and beneath all
There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall.
So canopied, lay an untasted feast
Teeming with odours. Lamia, regal drest,
Silently paced about, and as she went,
In pale contented sort of discontent,
Missiond her viewless servants to enrich
The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.
Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first,
Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst
Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees,
And with the larger wove in small intricacies.
Approving all, she faded at self-will,
And shut the chamber up, close, hushd and still,
Complete and ready for the revels rude,
When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude.

The day appeard, and all the gossip rout.
O senseless Lycius! Madman! wherefore flout
The silent-blessing fate, warm cloisterd hours,
And show to common eyes these secret bowers?
The herd approachd; each guest, with busy brain,
Arriving at the portal, gazd amain,
And enterd marveling: for they knew the street,
Rememberd it from childhood all complete
Without a gap, yet neer before had seen
That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne;
So in they hurried all, mazd, curious and keen:
Save one, who lookd thereon with eye severe,
And with calm-planted steps walkd in austere;
Twas Apollonius: something too he laughd,
As though some knotty problem, that had daft
His patient thought, had now begun to thaw,
And solve and melt:twas just as he foresaw.

He met within the murmurous vestibule
His young disciple. Tis no common rule,
Lycius, said he, for uninvited guest
To force himself upon you, and infest
With an unbidden presence the bright throng
Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong,
And you forgive me. Lycius blushd, and led
The old man through the inner doors broad-spread;
With reconciling words and courteous mien
Turning into sweet milk the sophists spleen.

Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room,
Filld with pervading brilliance and perfume:
Before each lucid pannel fuming stood
A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood,
Each by a sacred tripod held aloft,
Whose slender feet wide-swervd upon the soft
Wool-woofed carpets: fifty wreaths of smoke
From fifty censers their light voyage took
To the high roof, still mimickd as they rose
Along the mirrord walls by twin-clouds odorous.
Twelve sphered tables, by silk seats insphered,
High as the level of a mans breast reard
On libbards paws, upheld the heavy gold
Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told
Of Ceres horn, and, in huge vessels, wine
Came from the gloomy tun with merry shine.
Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood,
Each shrining in the midst the image of a God.

When in an antichamber every guest
Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure pressd,
By ministring slaves, upon his hands and feet,
And fragrant oils with ceremony meet
Pourd on his hair, they all movd to the feast
In white robes, and themselves in order placed
Around the silken couches, wondering
Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring.

Soft went the music the soft air along,
While fluent Greek a voweld undersong
Kept up among the guests discoursing low
At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow;
But when the happy vintage touchd their brains,
Louder they talk, and louder come the strains
Of powerful instruments:the gorgeous dyes,
The space, the splendour of the draperies,
The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer,
Beautiful slaves, and Lamias self, appear,
Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed,
And every soul from human trammels freed,
No more so strange; for merry wine, sweet wine,
Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine.
Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height;
Flushd were their cheeks, and bright eyes double bright:
Garlands of every green, and every scent
From vales deflowerd, or forest-trees branch rent,
In baskets of bright osierd gold were brought
High as the handles heapd, to suit the thought
Of every guest; that each, as he did please,
Might fancy-fit his brows, silk-pillowd at his ease.

What wreath for Lamia? What for Lycius?
What for the sage, old Apollonius?
Upon her aching forehead be there hung
The leaves of willow and of adders tongue;
And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him
The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim
Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage,
Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage
War on his temples. Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an Angels wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine
Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
The tender-persond Lamia melt into a shade.

By her glad Lycius sitting, in chief place,
Scarce saw in all the room another face,
Till, checking his love trance, a cup he took
Full brimmd, and opposite sent forth a look
Cross the broad table, to beseech a glance
From his old teachers wrinkled countenance,
And pledge him. The bald-head philosopher
Had fixd his eye, without a twinkle or stir
Full on the alarmed beauty of the bride,
Brow-beating her fair form, and troubling her sweet pride.
Lycius then pressd her hand, with devout touch,
As pale it lay upon the rosy couch:
Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins;
Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains
Of an unnatural heat shot to his heart.
Lamia, what means this? Wherefore dost thou start?
Knowst thou that man? Poor Lamia answerd not.
He gazd into her eyes, and not a jot
Ownd they the lovelorn piteous appeal:
More, more he gazd: his human senses reel:
Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs;
There was no recognition in those orbs.
Lamia! he criedand no soft-toned reply.
The many heard, and the loud revelry
Grew hush; the stately music no more breathes;
The myrtle sickend in a thousand wreaths.
By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceased;
A deadly silence step by step increased,
Until it seemd a horrid presence there,
And not a man but felt the terror in his hair.
Lamia! he shriekd; and nothing but the shriek
With its sad echo did the silence break.
Begone, foul dream! he cried, gazing again
In the brides face, where now no azure vein
Wanderd on fair-spaced temples; no soft bloom
Misted the cheek; no passion to illume
The deep-recessed vision:all was blight;
Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white.
Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man!
Turn them aside, wretch! or the righteous ban
Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images
Here represent their shadowy presences,
May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn
Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn,
In trembling dotage to the feeblest fright
Of conscience, for their long offended might,
For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries,
Unlawful magic, and enticing lies.
Corinthians! look upon that gray-beard wretch!
Mark how, possessd, his lashless eyelids stretch
Around his demon eyes! Corinthians, see!
My sweet bride withers at their potency.
Fool! said the sophist, in an under-tone
Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan
From Lycius answerd, as heart-struck and lost,
He sank supine beside the aching ghost.
Fool! Fool! repeated he, while his eyes still
Relented not, nor movd; from every ill
Of life have I preservd thee to this day,
And shall I see thee made a serpents prey?
Then Lamia breathd death breath; the sophists eye,
Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly,
Keen, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as well
As her weak hand could any meaning tell,
Motiond him to be silent; vainly so,
He lookd and lookd again a level--No!
A Serpent! echoed he; no sooner said,
Than with a frightful scream she vanished:
And Lycius arms were empty of delight,
As were his limbs of life, from that same night.
On the high couch he lay!his friends came round--
Supported himno pulse, or breath they found,
And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound.
(line 50): Keats adopted here, in the manuscript, a pointing notice before: he placed the note of interrogation at the end of this line, a semi-colon at the end of line 51, and a full-stop at the end of line 54. The pointing of the text is from the first edition.

(lines 124-6): Leigh Hunt notes - "This is the very quintessence of the romantic."

(line 140): Rejected reading, "wainscoated" for "marbled plain."

(line 239): In the Autobiography of Haydon, as edited by the late Mr. Tom Taylor, we read at page 354 of Volume 1 (edition of 1853) that Keats and Lamb, at one of the meetings at Haydon's house, agreed that Newton "had destroyed all the poetry of the rainbow, by reducing it to the prismatic colours." This meeting was what Haydon calls "the immortal dinner" of the 28th of December 1817; so that the idea appears to have persisted in Keats's mind.

Last line: The following extract is appended in Keats's edition as a note to the last line of Lamia:--
"Philostratus, in his fourth book 'de Vita Apollonii', hath a memorable instance in this kind, which I may not omit, of one Menippus Lycius, a young man twenty-five years of age, that going betwixt Cenchreas and Corinth, met such a phantasm in the habit of a fair gentlewoman, which taking him by the hand, carried him home to her house, in the suburbs of Corinth, and told him she was a Phoenician by birth, and if he would tarry with her, he should hear her sing and play, and drink such wine as never any drank, and no man should molest him; but she, being fair and lovely, would live and die with him, that was fair and lovely to behold. The young man, a philosopher, otherwise staid and discreet, able to moderate his passions, though not this of love, tarried with her a while to his great content, and at last married her, to whose wedding, amongst other guests, came Apollonius; who, by some probable conjectures, found her out to be a serpent, a lamia; and that all her furniture was, like Tantalus' gold, descried by Homer, no substance but mere illusions. When she saw herself descried, she wept, and desired Apollonius to be silent, but he would not be moved, and thereupon she, plate, house, and all that was in it, vanished in an instant: many thousands took notice of this fact, for it was done in the midst of Greece." ~ John Keats, Lamia. Part II
1409:The Kalevala - Rune Xxii
When the marriage was completed,
When the many guests had feasted,
At the wedding of the Northland,
At the Dismal-land carousal,
Spake the hostess of Pohyola
To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
'Wherefore, bridegroom, dost thou linger,
Why art waiting, Northland hero?
Sittest for the father's pleasure,
For affection of the mother,
For the splendor of the maidens,
For the beauty of the daughter?
Noble son-in-law and brother,
Wait thou longer, having waited
Long already for the virgin,
Thine affianced is not ready,
Not prepared, thy life-companion,
Only are her tresses braided.
'Chosen bridegroom, pride of Pohya,
Wait thou longer, having waited
Long already for the virgin,
Thy beloved is preparing,
Only is one hand made ready.
'Famous artist, Ilmarinen,
Wait still longer, having waited
Long already for the virgin,
Thy beloved is not ready,
Only is one foot in fur-shoes,'
Spake again the ancient Louhi:
'Chosen suitor of my daughter,
Thou hast thrice in kindness waited,
Wait no longer for the virgin,
Thy beloved now is ready,
Well prepared thy life-companion,
Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow.
'Beauteous daughter, join thy suitor,
Follow him, thy chosen husband,
Very near is the uniting,
Near indeed thy separation.
At thy hand the honored bridegroom,
Near the door he waits to lead thee,
Guide thee to his home and kindred;
At the gate his steed is waiting,
Restless champs his silver bridle,
And the sledge awaits thy presence.
'Thou wert anxious for a suitor,
Ready to accept his offer,
Wert in haste to take his jewels,
Place his rings upon thy fingers;
Now, fair daughter, keep thy promise;
To his sledge, with happy footsteps,
Hie in haste to join the bridegroom,
Gaily journey to the village
With thy chosen life-companion,
With thy suitor, Ilmarinen.
Little hast thou looked about thee,
Hast not raised thine eyes above thee,
Beauteous maiden of the Northland,
Hast thou made a rueful bargain,
Full of wailing thine engagement,
And thy marriage full of sorrow,
That thy father's ancient cottage
Thou art leaving now forever,
Leaving also friends and kindred,
For the, blacksmith, Ilmarinen?
'O how beautiful thy childhood,
In thy father's dwelling-places,
Nurtured like a tender flower,
Like the strawberry in spring-time
Soft thy couch and sweet thy slumber,
Warm thy fires and rich thy table;
From the fields came corn in plenty,
From the highlands, milk and berries,
Wheat and barley in abundance,
Fish, and fowl, and hare, and bacon,
From thy father's fields and forests.
'Never wert thou, child, in sorrow,
Never hadst thou grief nor trouble,
All thy cares were left to fir-trees,
All thy worry to the copses,
All thy weeping to the willows,
All thy sighing to the lindens,
All thy thinking to the aspens
And the birches on the mountains,
Light and airy as the leaflet,
As a butterfly in summer,
Ruddy as a mountain-berry,
Beautiful as vernal flowers.
'Now thou leavest home and kindred,
Wanderest to other firesides,
Goest to another mother,
Other sisters, other brothers,
Goest to a second father,
To the servant-folk of strangers,
From thy native hills and lowlands.
There and here the homes will differ,
Happier thy mother's hearth-stone;
Other horns will there be sounded,
Other portals there swing open,
Other hinges there be creaking;
There the doors thou canst not enter
Like the daughters of Wainola,
Canst not tend the fires and ovens
As will please the minds of strangers.
'Didst thou think, my fairest maiden,
Thou couldst wed and on the morrow
Couldst return, if thou shouldst wish it,
To thy father's court and dwelling?
Not for one, nor two, nor three days,
Wilt thou leave thy mother's chambers,
Leave thy sisters and thy brothers,
Leave thy father's hills and lowlands.
Long the time the wife must wander,
Many months and years must wander,
Work, and struggle, all her life long,
Even though the mother liveth.
Great, indeed, must be the changes
When thou comest back to Pohya,
Changed, thy friends and nearest kindred,
Changed, thy father's ancient dwellings,
Changed, the valleys and the mountains,
Other birds will sing thy praises!'
When the mother thus had spoken,
Then the daughter spake, departing:
'In my early days of childhood
Often I intoned these measures:
'Art a virgin, yet no virgin,
Guided by an aged mother,
In a brother's fields and forests,
In the mansion of a father!
Only wilt become a virgin,
Only when thou hast a suitor,
Only when thou wedst a hero,
One foot on the father's threshold,
And the other for the snow-sledge
That will speed thee and thy husband
To his native vales and highlands!'
'I have wished thus many summers,
Sang it often in my childhood,
Hoped for this as for the flowers,
Welcome as the birds of spring-time.
Thus fulfilled are all my wishes,
Very near is my departure,
One foot on my father's threshold,
And the, other for the journey
With my husband to his people;
Cannot understand the reason
That has changed my former feelings,
Cannot leave thee now with gladness,
Cannot go with great rejoicing
From my dear, old home and kindred,
Where as maiden I have lingered,
From the courts where I was nurtured,
From my father's band and guidance,
From my faithful mother's counsel.
Now I go, a maid of sorrow,
Heavy-hearted to the bridegroom,
Like the bride of Night in winter,
Like the ice upon the rivers.
'Such is not the mind of others,
Other brides of Northland heroes;
Others do not leave unhappy,
Have no tears, nor cares, nor sorrows,
I alas! must weep and murmur,
Carry to my grave great sadness,
Heart as dark as Death's black river.
'Such the feelings of the happy,
Such the minds of merry maidens:
Like the early dawn of spring-time,
Like the rising Sun in summer
No such radiance awaits me,
With my young heart filled with terror;
Happiness is not my portion,
Like the flat-shore of the ocean,
Like the dark rift of the storm-cloud,
Like the cheerless nights of winter!
Dreary is the day in autumn,
Dreary too the autumn evening,
Still more dreary is my future!'
An industrious old maiden,
Ever guarding home and kindred,
Spake these words of doubtful comfort:
'Dost thou, beauteous bride, remember,
Canst thou not recall my counsels?
These the words that I have taught thee:
'Look not joyfully for suitors,
Never heed the tongues of wooers,
Look not in the eyes of charmers,
At their feet let fall thy vision.
He that hath a mouth for sweetness,
He that hath an eye for beauty,
Offers little that will comfort;
Lempo sits upon his forehead,
In his mouth dwells dire Tuoni.'
'Thus, fair bride, did I advise thee,
Thus advised my sister's daughter:
Should there come the best of suitors,
Noblest wooers, proudest lovers,
Give to all these wisdom-sayings,
Let thine answer be as follows:
'Never will I think it wisdom,
Never will it be my pleasure,
To become a second daughter,
Linger with my husband's mother;
Never shall I leave my father,
Never wander forth to bondage,
At the bidding of a bridegroom:
Never shall I be a servant,
Wife and slave to any hero,
Never will I be submissive
To the orders of a husband.'
'Fairest bride, thou didst not heed me,
Gav'st no thought to my advices,
Didst not listen to my counsel;
Wittingly thy feet have wandered
Into boiling tar and water,
Hastened to thy suitor's snow-sledge,
To the bear-dens of thy husband,
On his sledge to be ill-treated,
Carried to his native country,
To the bondage of his people,
There, a subject to his mother.
Thou hast left thy mother's dwelling,
To the schooling of the master;
Hard indeed the master's teachings,
Little else than constant torture;
Ready for thee are his bridles,
Ready for thy bands the shackles,
Were not forged for any other;
Soon, indeed, thou'lt feel the hardness,
Feel the weight of thy misfortune,
Feel thy second father's censure,
And his wife's inhuman treatment,
Hear the cold words or thy brother,
Quail before thy haughty sister.
'Listen, bride, to what I tell thee:
In thy home thou wert a jewel,
Wert thy father's pride and pleasure,
'Moonlight,' did thy father call thee,
And thy mother called thee 'Sunshine,'
'Sea-foam' did thy brother call thee,
And thy sister called thee 'Flower.'
When thou leavest home and kindred
Goest to a second mother,
Often she will give thee censure,
Never treat thee as her daughter,
Rarely will she give thee counsel,
Never will she sound thy praises.
'Brush-wood,' will the father call thee,
'Sledge of Rags,' thy husband's mother,
'Flight of Stairs,' thy stranger brother,
'Scare-crow,' will the sister call thee,
Sister of thy blacksmith-husband;
Then wilt think of my good counsels,
Then wilt wish in tears and murmurs,
That as steam thou hadst ascended,
That as smoke thy soul had risen,
That as sparks thy life had vanished.
As a bird thou canst not wander
From thy nest to circle homeward,
Canst not fall and die like leaflets,
As the sparks thou canst not perish,
Like the smoke thou canst not vanish.
'Youthful bride, and darling sister,
Thou hast bartered all thy friendships,
Hast exchanged thy loving father,
Thou hast left thy faithful mother
For the mother of thy husband;
Hast exchanged thy loving brother,
Hast renounced thy gentle sister,
For the kindred of thy suitor;
Hast exchanged thy snow-white covers
For the rocky couch of sorrow;
Hast exchanged these crystal waters
For the waters of Wainola;
Hast renounced these sandy sea-shores
For the muddy banks of Kalew;
Northland glens thou hast forsaken
For thy husband's barren meadows;
Thou hast left thy berry-mountains
For the stubble-fields and deserts.
'Thou, O maiden, hast been thinking
Thou wouldst happy be in wedlock;
Neither work, nor care, nor sorrow,
From this night would be thy portion,
With thy husband for protection.
Not to sleep art thou conducted,
Not to happiness, nor joyance,
Wakefulness, thy night-companion,
And thy day-attendant, trouble;
Often thou wilt drink of sorrow,
Often long for vanished pleasures.
'When at home thou hadst no head-gear,
Thou hadst also little sadness;
When thy couch was not of linen,
No unhappiness came nigh thee;
Head-gear brings but pain and sorrow,
Linen breeds bad dispositions,
Linen brings but deeps of anguish,
And the flax untimely mourning.
'Happy in her home, the maiden,
Happy at her father's fireside,
Like the master in his mansion,
Happy with her bows and arrows.
'Tis not thus with married women;
Brides of heroes may be likened
To the prisoners of Moskva,
Held in bondage by their masters.
'As a wife, must weep and labor,
Carry trouble on both shoulders;
When the next hour passes over,
Thou must tend the fire and oven,
Must prepare thy husband's dinner,
Must direct thy master's servants.
When thine evening meal is ready,
Thou must search for bidden wisdom
In the brain of perch and salmon,
In the mouths of ocean whiting,
Gather wisdom from the cuckoo,
Canst not learn it from thy mother,
Mother dear of seven daughters;
Cannot find among her treasures
Where were born the human instincts,
Where were born the minds of heroes,
Whence arose the maiden's beauty,
Whence the beauty of her tresses,
Why all life revives in spring-time.
'Weep, O weep, my pretty young bride.
When thou weepest, weep sincerely,
Weep great rivers from thine eyelids,
Floods of tears in field and fallow,
Lakelets in thy father's dwelling;
Weep thy rooms to overflowing,
Shed thy tears in great abundance,
Lest thou weepest on returning
To thy native hills and valleys,
When thou visitest thy father
In the smoke of waning glory,
On his arm a withered tassel.
'Weep, O weep, my lovely maiden,
When thou weepest, weep in earnest,
Weep great rivers from thine eyelids;
If thou dost not weep sincerely,
Thou wilt weep on thy returning
To thy Northland home and kindred,
When thou visitest thy mother
Old and breathless near the hurdles,
In her arms a barley-bundle.
'Weep, O weep, sweet bride of beauty,
When thou weepest, weep profusely;
If thou dost not weep in earnest,
Thou wilt weep on thy returning
To thy native vales and highlands,
When thou visitest thy brother
Lying wounded by the way-side,
In his hand but empty honors.
'Weep, O weep, my sister's daughter,
Weep great rivers from thine eyelids;
If thou dost not weep sufficient,
Thou wilt weep on thy returning
To the scenes of happy childhood,
When thou visitest thy sister
Lying, prostrate in the meadow,
In her hand a birch-wood mallet.'
When the ancient maid had ended,
Then the young bride sighed in anguish,
Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
Spake these words in deeps of sorrow:
'O, ye sisters, my beloved,
Ye companions of my childhood,
Playmates of my early summers,
Listen to your sister's counsel:
Cannot comprehend the reason,
Why my mind is so dejected,
Why this weariness and sadness,
This untold and unseen torture,
Cannot understand the meaning
Of this mighty weight of sorrow!
Differently I had thought it,
I had hoped for greater pleasures,
I had hoped to sing as cuckoos,
On the hill-tops call and echo,
When I had attained this station,
Reached at last the goal expectant;
But I am not like the cuckoo,
Singing, merry on the hill-tops;
I am like the songless blue-duck,
As she swims upon the waters,
Swims upon the cold, cold ocean,
Icicles upon her pinions.
'Ancient father, gray-haired mother,
Whither do ye wish to lead me,
Whither take this bride, thy daughter,
That this sorrow may pass over,
Where this heavy heart may lighten,
Where this grief may turn to gladness?
Better it had been, O mother,
Hadst thou nursed a block of birch-wood,
Hadst thou clothed the colored sandstone,
Rather than this hapless maiden,
For the fulness of these sorrows,
For this keen and killing trouble.
Many sympathizers tell me:
'Foolish bride, thou art ungrateful,
Do not grieve, thou child of sorrow,
Thou hast little cause for weeping.'
'O, deceive me not, my people,
Do not argue with me falsely,
For alas! I have more troubles
Than the waterfalls have pebbles,
Than the Ingerland has willows,
Than the Suomi-hills have berries;
Never could the Pohya plow-horse
Pull this mighty weight of sorrow,
Shaking not his birchen cross-bar,
Breaking not his heavy collar;
Never could the Northland reindeer
Heavy shod and stoutly harnessed,
Draw this load of care and trouble.'
By the stove a babe was playing,
And the young child spake as follows:
'Why, O fair bride, art thou weeping,
Why these tears of pain and sadness?
Leave thy troubles to the elk-herds,
And thy grief to sable fillies,
Let the steeds of iron bridles
Bear the burden of thine anguish,
Horses have much larger foreheads,
Larger shoulders, stronger sinews,
And their necks are made for labor,
Stronger are their bones and muscles,
Let them bear thy heavy burdens.
There is little good in weeping,
Useless are thy tears of sorrow;
Art not led to swamps and lowlands,
Nor to banks of little rivers;
Thou art led to fields of flowers,
Led to fruitful trees and forests,
Led away from beer of Pohya
To the sweeter mead of Kalew.
At thy shoulder waits thy husband,
On thy right side, Ilmarinen,
Constant friend and life-protector,
He will guard thee from all evil;
Husband ready, steed in waiting,
Gold-and-silver-mounted harness,
Hazel-birds that sing and flutter
On the courser's yoke and cross-bar;
Thrushes also sing and twitter
Merrily on hame and collar,
Seven bluebirds, seven cuckoos,
Sing thy wedding-march in concord.
'Be no longer full of sorrow,
Dry thy tears, thou bride of beauty,
Thou hast found a noble husband,
Better wilt thou fare than ever,
By the side of Ilmarinen,
Artist husband, metal-master,
Bread-provider of thy table,
On the arm of the fish-catcher,
On the breast of the elk-hunter,
By the side of the bear-killer.
Thou hast won the best of suitors,
Hast obtained a mighty hero;
Never idle is his cross-bow,
On the nails his quivers hang not,
Neither are his dogs in kennel,
Active agents is his bunting.
Thrice within the budding spring-time
In the early hours of morning
He arises from his fare-couch,
From his slumber in the brush-wood,
Thrice within the sowing season,
On his eyes the deer has fallen,
And the branches brushed his vesture,
And his locks been combed by fir-boughs.
Hasten homeward with thy husband,
Where thy hero's friends await thee,
Where his forests sing thy welcome.
'Ilmarinen there possesses
All the birds that fly in mid-air,
All the beasts that haunt the woodlands,
All that feed upon the mountains,
All that graze on hill and valley,
Sheep and cattle by the thousands;
Sweet the grass upon his meadows,
Sweet the barley in his uplands,
In the lowlands corn abundant,
Wheat upon the elm-wood fallows,
Near the streamlets rye is waving,
Waving grain on many acres,
On his mountains gold and silver,
Rich his mines of shining copper,
Highlands filled with magic metals,
Chests of jewels in his store-house,
All the wealth of Kalevala.'
~ Elias Lönnrot,
1410:Mother And Daughter- Sonnet Sequence
Young laughters, and my music! Aye till now
The voice can reach no blending minors near;
'Tis the bird's trill because the spring is here
And spring means trilling on a blossomy bough;
'Tis the spring joy that has no why or how,
But sees the sun and hopes not nor can fear-Spring is so sweet and spring seems all the year.
Dear voice, the first-come birds but trill as thou.
Oh music of my heart, be thus for long:
Too soon the spring bird learns the later song;
Too soon a sadder sweetness slays content
Too soon! There comes new light on onward day,
There comes new perfume o'er a rosier way:
Comes not again the young spring joy that went.
ROME, November 1881.
That she is beautiful is not delight,
As some think mothers joy, by pride of her,
To witness questing eyes caught prisoner
And hear her praised the livelong dancing night;
But the glad impulse that makes painters sight
Bids me note her and grow the happier;
And love that finds me as her worshipper
Reveals me each best loveliness aright.
Oh goddess head! Oh innocent brave eyes!
Oh curved and parted lips where smiles are rare
And sweetness ever! Oh smooth shadowy hair
Gathered around the silence of her brow!
Child, I'd needs love thy beauty stranger-wise:
And oh the beauty of it, being thou!
I watch the sweet grave face in timorous thought
Lest I should see it dawn to some unrest
And read that in her heart is youth's ill guest,
The querulous young sadness, born of nought,
That wearies of the strife it has not fought,
And finds the life it has not had unblest,
And asks it knows not what that should be best,
And till Love come has never what it sought.
But she is still. A full and crystal lake
So gives it skies their passage to its deeps
In an unruffled morn where no winds wake,
And, strong and fretless, 'stirs not, nor yet sleeps.
My darling smiles and 'tis for gladness' sake;
She hears a woe, 'tis simple tears she weeps.
'Tis but a child. The quiet Juno gaze
Breaks at a trifle into mirth and glow,
Changed as a folded bud bursts into blow,
And she springs, buoyant, on some busy craze,
Or, in the rhythm of her girlish plays,
Like light upon swift waves floats to and fro,
And, whatsoe'er's her mirth, needs me to know,
And keeps me young by her young innocent ways.
Just now she and her kitten raced and sprang
To catch the daisy ball she tossed about;
Then they grew grave, and found a shady tree,
And kitty tried to see the notes she sang:
Now she flies hitherward--'Mother! Quick! Come see!
Two hyacinths in my garden almost out!'
Last night the broad blue lightnings flamed the sky;
We watched, our breaths caught as each burst its way,
And through its fire out-leaped the sharp white ray,
And sudden dark re-closed when it went by:
But she, that where we are will needs be nigh,
Had tired with hunting orchids half the day.
Her father thought she called us; he and I,
Half anxious, reached the bedroom where she lay.
Oh lily face upon the whiteness blent!
How calm she lay in her unconscious grace!
A peal crashed on the silence ere we went;
She stirred in sleep, a little changed her place,
'Mother,' she breathed, a smile grew on her face:
'Mother,' my darling breathed, and slept content.
Sometimes, as young things will, she vexes me,
Wayward, or too unheeding, or too blind.
Like aimless birds that, flying on a wind,
Strike slant against their own familiar tree;
Like venturous children pacing with the sea,
That turn but when the breaker spurts behind
Outreaching them with spray: she in such kind
Is borne against some fault, or does not flee.
And so, may be, I blame her for her wrong,
And she will frown and lightly plead her part,
And then I bid her go. But 'tis not long:
Then comes she lip to ear and heart to heart.
And thus forgiven her love seems newly strong,
And, oh my penitent, how dear thou art!
Her father lessons me I at times am hard,
Chiding a moment's fault as too grave ill,
And let some little blot my vision fill,
Scanning her with a narrow near regard.
True. Love's unresting gaze is self-debarred
From all sweet ignorance, and learns a skill,
Not painless, of such signs as hurt love's will,
That would not have its prize one tittle marred.
Alas! Who rears and loves a dawning rose
Starts at a speck upon one petal's rim:
Who sees a dusk creep in the shrined pearl's glows,
Is ruined at once: 'My jewel growing dim!'
I watch one bud that on my bosom blows,
I watch one treasured pearl for me and him.
A little child she, half defiant came
Reasoning her case--'twas not so long ago-'I cannot mind your scolding, for I know
However bad I were you'd love the same.'
And I, what countering answer could I frame?
'Twas true, and true, and God's self told her so.
One does but ask one's child to smile and grow,
And each rebuke has love for its right name.
And yet, methinks, sad mothers who for years,
Watching the child pass forth that was their boast,
Have counted all the footsteps by new fears
Till even lost fears seem hopes whereof they're reft
And of all mother's good love sole is left-Is their Love, Love, or some remembered ghost?
Oh weary hearts! Poor mothers that look back!
So outcasts from the vale where they were born
Turn on their road and, with a joy forlorn,
See the far roofs below their arid track:
So in chill buffets while the sea grows black
And windy skies, once blue, are tost and torn,
We are not yet forgetful of the morn,
And praise anew the sunshine that we lack.
Oh, sadder than pale sufferers by a tomb
That say 'My dead is happier, and is more'
Are they who dare no 'is' but tell what's o'er-Thus the frank childhood, those the lovable ways-Stirring the ashes of remembered days
For yet some sparks to warm the livelong gloom.
Love's Counterfeit.
Not Love, not Love, that worn and footsore thrall
Who, crowned with withered buds and leaves gone dry,
Plods in his chains to follow one passed by,
Guerdoned with only tears himself lets fall.
Love is asleep and smiling in his pall,
And this that wears his shape and will not die
Was once his comrade shadow, Memory-His shadow that now stands for him in all.
And there are those who, hurrying on past reach,
See the dim follower and laugh, content,
'Lo, Love pursues me, go where'er I will!'
Yet, longer gazing, some may half beseech,
'This must be Love that wears his features still:
Or else when was the moment that Love went?'
Love's Mourner