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--- OBJECT INSTANCES [0]


--- PRIMARY CLASS


--- SEE ALSO


--- SIMILAR TITLES [0]


yes and no
select ::: Being, God, injunctions, media, place, powers, subjects,
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temp ::: consecration, experiments, knowledge, meditation, psychometrics, remember, responsibility, temp, the Bad, the God object, the Good, the most important, the Ring, the source of inspirations, the Stack, the Tarot, the Word, top priority, whiteboard,

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



--- QUOTES [4 / 4 - 167 / 167] (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)



KEYS (10k)

   1 William James
   1 Sri Aurobindo
   1 Laozi
   1 Ernest Agyemang Yeboah

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   6 Lisa Kleypas
   6 Anonymous
   5 Friedrich Nietzsche
   4 Ernest Agyemang Yeboah
   4 Carl Sandburg
   3 Judith McNaught
   3 Jonathan Safran Foer
   3 Jodi Picoult
   2 Lysa TerKeurst
   2 Laozi
   2 J K Rowling

1:What's the difference between yes and no? ~ Laozi,
2:Tell him to live by yes and no - yes to everything good, no to everything bad. ~ William James,
3:All things hang here between God’s yes and no,Two Powers real but to each other untrue. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri 10.04 - The Dream Twilight of the Earthly Real,
4:Accept it as it is and be true to yourself, the real answer is in you. It is about saying no to whom and what no is due and saying yes to whom and what yes is due! A simple solution to most of the problems of mankind today is just Yes and No! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:What's the difference between yes and no? ~ Laozi,
2:Have you never read Eyes and No Eyes? I ~ Ngaio Marsh,
3:Yes and No the two most powerful words. ~ Lysa TerKeurst,
4:We create ying and yang, yes and no, plus and minus. ~ Frederick Lenz,
5:I’m glad I see with my eyes and not the pages I’ve read. ~ Alberto Caeiro,
6:To be blind is bad, but worse is to have eyes and not see. ~ Helen Keller,
7:Yes and no are soon said, but give much to think over. ~ Baltasar Gracian,
8:Yes means yes and no means no, but what is the meaning of silence? ~ Tayari Jones,
9:Tell him to live by yes and no - yes to everything good, no to everything bad. ~ William James,
10:I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work… Carl Sandburg ~ Anonymous,
11:Open your eyes, boy. Your eyes. Open your eyes and no more turn aside and brood. ~ Will Christopher Baer,
12:It must be a marvelous thing to feel so sure, to be able to meet someone's eyes and not look away. ~ Shannon Hale,
13:We must see with our own eyes and not accept any laid-down tradition as if it had some magical power in it. ~ Chogyam Trungpa,
14:When a question has no correct answer, there is only one honest response. The gray area between yes and no. Silence. ~ Anonymous,
15:When a question has no correct answer, there is only one honest response. The gray area between yes and no. Silence. ~ Dan Brown,
16:It is necessary to keep one's compass in one's eyes and not in the hand, for the hands execute, but the eye judges. ~ Michelangelo,
17:For some reason, a lot of Hollywood big shots are curious to see how they'd be drawn with bulging eyes and no chin. ~ Matt Groening,
18:The Truth lies not in the Yes and not in the No, but in the knowledge and the beginning from which the Yes and the No arise. ~ Karl Barth,
19:I was too much of an extremist to be able to live under the eye of God and at the same time say both yes and no to life ~ Simone de Beauvoir,
20:It is necessary to keep one's compass in one's eyes and not in the hand, for the hands execute, but the eye judges. ~ Michelangelo Buonarroti,
21:I'm a great believer in life to saying yes and not saying no, and hopefully making people smile and just having fun in life. ~ Richard Branson,
22:They stared at each other and then, at last, Kai closed his eyes and nodded his head, just once. The estates would always win. ~ Diana Peterfreund,
23:Every parent has those moments where they look at their child and think, 'There's a demon in those eyes and no one can see it but me! ~ Emma Donoghue,
24:I did a radio interview for a station in Connecticut or something, and it was the worst interview ever. It was all yes and no answers. ~ Macaulay Culkin,
25:To have your face rolled down over your eyes and not even to notice your blindness. That's dead, I think, as dead as it's possible to be. ~ Harry Bingham,
26:Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by us … did not become “Yes and no.”… For every one of God’s promises is “Yes” in Him. 2 Corinthians 1:19–20 ~ Beth Moore,
27:You said you were having fun."

"Well, yes and no, strictly speaking I was in hell. Perhaps I have always been there. One can have fun in hell. ~ Iris Murdoch,
28:God keep me from the divinity of Yes and Nothe Yea Nay Creeping Jesus, from supposing Up and Down to be the same thing as allexperimentalists must suppose. ~ William Blake,
29:If an apprentice does not hear what a master hears, is then that quality not present in the music? Yes and no. In the world in which the apprentice lives no. ~ Robert Fripp,
30:~I use humor instead of getting into that whole yes and no thing all the time. It's about just getting them to laugh rather than getting in power struggles.~ ~ Marcia Cross,
31:At first Babel longed for the use of just two words: Yes and No. But he knew that just to utter a single word would be to destroy the delicate fluency of silence. ~ Nicole Krauss,
32:Each man must see with his own eyes and not another's. People are as one finds them, good or bad. They change with each man's vision, yet remain the same. ~ Marmaduke William Pickthall,
33:Stop thinking, and end your problems. What difference between yes and no? What difference between success and failure? Must you value what others value, avoid what others avoid? How ridiculous! ~ Laozi,
34:She was followed by another thaumaturge, one rank beneath Sybil, who had dark skin and piercing eyes and no purpose, it seemed to Kai, other than to stand behind his queen and look smug. ~ Marissa Meyer,
35:People have been starving for intellectual fodder, but the best way to get people to close their eyes and not say anything is to tell them that they're not smart enough to comprehend. ~ Kamasi Washington,
36:There are only two words that will always lead you to success. Those words are yes and no. Undoubtedly, you've mastered saying yes. So start practicing saying no. Your goals depend on it! ~ Jack Canfield,
37:Dave? This is John."
"What are you-"
Alive?
"-in an ambulance or something?"
"Yes and no. Are you still at the police station?"
"Yeah. We were both-"
"Have I died yet? ~ David Wong,
38:Well, yes and no. It pulls and it repulses. For me, family was a bittersweet thing I usually thought I could handle, sometimes discovered I couldn’t, but always knew I should understand better. ~ Anonymous,
39:It’s that second when a man looks into your eyes and not only sees your soul, but identifies with it, a rare connection of two persons who were fated to meet, to know one another intimately. ~ Audrey Carlan,
40:It’s an island, boss. They’ll always find us.” Teddy met Chuck’s eyes and nodded. For the first time since they’d met, he could see fear in Chuck’s eyes, his jaw trying to tighten against it. ~ Dennis Lehane,
41:I never talked about you much." I said to Hardy. My voice sounded odd to my own ears.
Hardy stared into my eyes and nodded, understanding that some things mean too
much to be expressed easily. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
42:I've always thought that I've been strong in what I believe in. Not that I know what I believe for absolutely everything, but the things that I do believe, it's very black and white, and yes and no. ~ Kay Panabaker,
43:The voice within is what I'm married to. All marriage is a metaphor for that marriage. My lover is the place inside me where an honest yes and no come from. That's my true partner. It's always there. ~ Byron Katie,
44:Man is a symbol of the laws of creation; in him there is evolution, involution, struggle, progress and retrogression, struggle between positive and negative, active and passive, yes and no, good and evil. ~ Gurdjieff,
45:Sometimes a choppy wave would swamp me, and after I rose gasping I would vomit the foul-tasting water, wiping the sea from my eyes and nostrils. Then I regained my posture to do battle, again with the Solent. ~ Stephen Richards,
46:Do I regret taking the company public? Yes and no. Yes, because it put us under enormous pressure for a young company to go public at that point in its history, something you never could have done in the old days. ~ David Talbot,
47:Power is strength and the ability to see yourself through your own eyes and not through the eyes of another. It is being able to place a cicle of power at your own feet and not take power from someone else's circle. ~ Lynn Andrews,
48:Tris: Wait. So you have no idea what my aptitude is? Tori: Yes and No. My conclusion is that you display equal aptitude for Abnegation, Dauntless and Erudite. People who get this kind of result are..are called...Divergent. ~ Veronica Roth,
49:I glance into the faces of all these people out for a Sunday stroll, but I'm not seeing eyes and noses and mouths. I'm seeing stories. Every person has a story. All the hopes and dreams. And fears. And secrets. In every face. ~ Andrew Clements,
50:I'm not normal, Tate."

"I know." Her hand was working its way under my shirt, then touching my skin, sliding over my chest and stomach. "Does this feel good?"

I closed my eyes and nodded.

"You're normal enough. ~ Brenna Yovanoff,
51:When one is young, one venerates and despises without that art of nuances which constitutes the best gain of life, and it is only fair that one has to pay dearly for having assaulted men and things in this manner with Yes and No. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
52:A mind without a wall least ponder over any toxic thing entering into it that can harm it in the short or long run, for there exist no special rules of yes and no, or dos and don’ts that regulate things that gets into such a mind ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
53:Between yes and no,” Samy answered. “Difficult question. We don’t generally lie around for days wallowing in our happiness like roast beef in gravy, do we? Happiness is so short-lived. How long have you ever been genuinely happy in one stretch? ~ Nina George,
54:I'm not trying to be evasive, but when I say yes and no, I say 'yes' because there are narrow-minded people that won't look past the logo and 'no' because 'American Idol' put me in front of millions of people and I would not have a career without 'Idol. ~ Bo Bice,
55:Accept it as it is and be true to yourself, the real answer is in you. It is about saying no to whom and what no is due and saying yes to whom and what yes is due! A simple solution to most of the problems of mankind today is just Yes and No! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
56:So the best answer is to keep developing your own boundaries, your ability to say yes and no in love, and to be truthful. Then you will be confident in your abilities to take care of yourself in relationships, and you will enjoy getting to know those people you ~ John Townsend,
57:In the space between yes and no, there is a lifetime. It’s the difference between the path you walk and one you leave behind; it’s the gap between who you thought you could be and who you really are; it’s the legroom for the lies you will tell yourself in the future. ~ Jodi Picoult,
58:In the space between yes and no, there's a lifetime. It's the difference between the path you walk and the one you leave behind; it's the gap between who you thought you could be and who you really are; its the legroom for the lies you'll tell yourself in the future. ~ Jodi Picoult,
59:In the space between yes and no, there’s a lifetime. It’s the difference between the path you walk and the one you leave behind; it’s the gap between who you thought you could be and who you really are; its the legroom for the lies you’ll tell yourself in the future. ~ Jodi Picoult,
60:[T]he shaman treats all realities as subjective, much like some modern theoretical physicists are beginning to do. In such a viewpoint the question of whether an experience is real or not makes no sense, because the answer is yes and no, depending on your point of view. ~ Serge King,
61:How does one become butterfly?' Pooh asked pensively.
'You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar,' Piglet replied.
'You mean to die?' asked Pooh.
'Yes and now,' he answered. 'What looks like you will die, but what's really you will live on. ~ A A Milne,
62:She tried to avert her eyes from his bare chest. She should avert her eyes and not admire his magnificent, broad, powerful-looking chest, and focus only on his shoulder injury. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. Shoulder, Avelina. Injury, Avelina. Breathe, Avelina. She ~ Melanie Dickerson,
63:Liam. We’ll figure something else out. Please don’t go.”
“Why not? Would you miss me?”
Ty looked into his eyes and nodded jerkily. “Yes, I would.”
“So tell me why I shouldn’t go.” They stared at each other. Liam took a step back. “Or better yet, come with me and tell me every night. ~ Abigail Roux,
64:Death is our friend precisely because it brings us into absolute and passionate presence with all that is here, that is natural, that is love… Life always says Yes and No simultaneously. Death (I implore you to believe) is the true Yea-sayer. It stands before eternity and says only: Yes. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke,
65:Until you learn how to confidently say NO to so many things, you shall always say YES to so many things. The real summary of a regretful life is a life that failed to balance YES and NO. Yes! A life that failed to recognize when to courageously say NO and when to confidently say YES! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
66:Art serves a purpose. It expands our horizons, frees our minds, and opens us up to new experiences. It opens the imagination. All these great discoveries of our time — without the desire to reach beyond our boundaries, we would be forever stagnant. The folly is in closing one’s eyes and not recognizing it. ~ Carol Oates,
67:I'm going. A lot is possible. The weather's nice, Captain. Look: such a beautiful, solid,
rough sky -you'd almost feel like pounding a block of wood into it and hanging yourself on
it. Only because of the hyphen between yes and no? Is no to blame for yes, or yes for no?
I'll have to think about that. ~ Georg B chner,
68:Person who lives with the stress of an overwhelmed schedule will often ache with the sadness of an underwhelmed soul. So if we want to live better and invest wisely in our souls, we've got to change our approach to the way we make decisions. We've got to rethink how we use the two most powerful words, yes and no. ~ Lysa TerKeurst,
69:Wiley saw a flash of confusion cross Cassi’s brow. She appeared unsure if he was being goofy or serious. “Dish really is sick? Carver really asked you to join him on the ticket?” “Yes and no,” Wiley said. “Yes, Dish really is sick. And no, President Carver has not asked me to be his running mate—not yet. But he will. ~ Tim Tigner,
70:Our personal connections are political.  In fact, the situation is more extreme – the political cannot exist except through personal connections.  Does this mean that, despite our insistence on systemic change over lifestylism, the personal is political?  Yes and no – rather, it is more accurate to say: the social is political. ~ Anonymous,
71:Of course you do, but today is different.”

Understanding rippled across his features, a slight widening of his eyes and nostrils. A moment of surprise, and seeing that caused pain to flicker through my chest, because he hadn’t expected me to remember.

Seth expected so very little sometimes.

“Happy birthday. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
72:How does one become a butterfly?' she asked pensively.

'You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar.'

'You mean to die?' asked Yellow, remembering the three who fell out of the sky.

'Yes and No,' he answered.

'What looks like you will die, but what's really you will still live. ~ Trina Paulus,
73:What the hell was that?” he hissed at Montgomery. “A question.” The duke reached for another piece of toast. “Did you mean to alert him to our investigation on purpose?” Apollo growled. “Yes and no.” Montgomery shrugged. “I’m bored. Nothing’s happening. Sometimes it’s best to send the fox into the chicken house to see if a snake slithers out. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt,
74:Did they really deserve this?”

“Why is it that I always end up having these conversations?” Gabriel sighed. “The answer is yes and no. Yes, they deserved it because they didn’t believe in Our Lord. And no, they didn’t because they were innocent of sin. They made their choice, however. God has a plan for all of us – including the innocent. ~ Phillip W Simpson,
75:Surely such a pure, perfect sound could not be coming from the skinny little girl in the dreadful pink dress? But as he watched Rosanna, he no longer saw her sallow skin, or the way she seemed to be all arms and legs. Instead, he saw her huge, expressive brown eyes and noticed a hint of colour appear in her cheeks as her exquisite voice soared to a crescendo. ~ Lucinda Riley,
76:You ever get the feeling your life is a string festooned with bells and tie4d to hundreds of others you don't know anything about? And that sometimes somebody pulls their string, and your bells ring?" Gary looked at me a long moment before rather gently saying, "Yes and no, darlin'. We all get that feeling from time to time. Difference is, with you, it could be real. ~ C E Murphy,
77:No one escapes that moment of innocence when the world attacks him and installs within him the spirit of opposites... As long as everything within you is saying yes and no, dark and light, with big earth-shaking ideas, you come nowhere near art, I think. Light and dark don't exist for us as artists. Light is something given to you and you're allowing it to pass through. ~ Milton Resnick,
78:The genius of American culture and its integrity comes from fidelity to the light. Plain as day, we say. Happy as the day is long. Early to bed, early to rise. American virtues are daylight virtues: honesty, integrity, plain speech. We say yes when we mean yes and no when we mean no, and all else comes from the evil one. America presumes innocence and even the right to happiness. ~ Richard Rodriguez,
79:Love has no middle term; either it destroys, or it saves. All human destiny is this dilemma. This dilemma, destruction or salvation, no fate proposes more inexorably than love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; coffin, too. The same sentiment says yes and no in the human heart. Of all the things God has made, the human heart is the one that sheds most light, and alas! most night. ~ Victor Hugo,
80:Martin hesitated. This was a definite yes and no answer. Yes, gay guys picked up strangers on the street, for that matter sometimes so did lesbians. And certainly straight people did whether they'd admit it or not. Of course, straight people were encouraged not to pick up people on the street, while gays and lesbians were encouraged not to exist at all. But none of that was the point. ~ Marshall Thornton,
81:Break the cinnamon in half.'

The cinnamon stick was light, curled around itself like a brittle roll of papyrus. Not a stick at all, Lillian remembered as she look closer, but bark, the meeting place between inside and out. It crackled as she broke it, releasing a spiciness, part heat, part sweet, that pricked her eyes and nose, and made her tongue tingle without even tasting it. ~ Erica Bauermeister,
82:Yes and no. Because America has only about 1 percent of the population serving in the military, it is hard for many civilians to understand the sacrifices military families make. However, my experience is that after the Vietnam War, the public learned that they should support the military whether or not they support the war. You've seen that outpouring of support for the veterans of both Iraq and Afghanistan. ~ Steve Stivers,
83:At every step one has to wrestle for truth; one has to surrender for it almost everything to which the heart, to which our love, our trust in life, cling otherwise. That requires greatness of soul: the service of truth is the hardest service. What does it mean, after all, to have integrity in matters of the spirit? That one is severe against one's heart...that one makes of every Yes and No a matter of conscience. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
84:Leading up to a live event you need to do your homework and go to bed early. Sometimes it's very tempting to go out with everybody else, They're all going to a party or going out for a nice meal and you think 'oh well I'd like to go', but sometimes you think 'no, if I'm going to be sitting in front of a camera under a light in everybody's home tomorrow I don't want big bags under my eyes and not really know what I'm talking about'. ~ Jill Douglas,
85:Where are we going?” “To catch a bail jumper.” “You know where one is?” “Yes and no.” Serge pulled a fake document from his pocket. “I don’t have any particular suspect in my sights. But mathematically, at any particular time, there is the nearest bail jumper to you. Might be ten miles, might be one. Except the odds are much better in Florida, where you can throw a rock in any all-night waffle joint and it’ll ricochet off three fugitives. ~ Tim Dorsey,
86:In flight from intellectual heaviness, [he] arrives at intelligent weightlessness. Every notion is flipped this way and that; the answer to every question is yes and no; the proliferating examples from all the arts...overwhelm the observations that they are designed to illustrate; the general impression in one of uncontrollable articulateness. [He] does not think his thoughts; he convenes them. There is not a sign of struggle anywhere. ~ Leon Wieseltier,
87:Do Muslims believe the Quran to be God’s “literal” word? Yes and No. Yes, in the sense that the Quran is seen as representing the exact words of the original text as revealed by God. And No, in the sense that the Quran is not a book that is devoid of metaphor and allegory. What would be more correct then is to say that Muslims believe the Quran to be “God’s immutable word” because they believe it to be unchanging over time and unable to be changed. ~ Anonymous,
88:He knew what it was to have orphan status thrust upon you. Like someone had pushed you through a door, locked it, and left you in a new land with no map. All comforts were gone, unreachable. It seemed, at times, you had to relearn how to speak again. When you were grieving and in despair, basic things were different, like actually responding to yes and no questions. How to eat. How to sleep. How to smile. That one had taken him over a year to relearn. ~ Lydia Kang,
89:Each year comes with its own memories! Memories that make us ponder! Memories that shake our nerves and thought to think about things we did, things we could have done, things we should have done, the right time and timing for the yes and no we could have say with courage or humility, the right time and timing of our steps and things we should have never done! When you remember the year, you remember something! Something good or something bad! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
90:[D]emocracy will soon degenerate into an anarchy, such an anarchy that every man will do what is right in his own eyes and no man's life or property or reputation or liberty will be secure, and every one of these will soon mould itself into a system of subordination of all the moral virtues and intellectual abilities, all the powers of wealth, beauty, wit and science, to the wanton pleasures, the capricious will, and the execrable cruelty of one or a very few. ~ John Adams,
91:Espresso The black coffee they serve out of doors among tables and chairs gaudy as insects. Precious distillations filled with the same strength as Yes and No. It’s carried out from the gloomy kitchen and looks into the sun without blinking. In the daylight a dot of beneficent black that quickly flows into a pale customer. It’s like the drops of black profoundness sometimes gathered up by the soul, giving a salutary push: Go! Inspiration to open your eyes. ~ Tomas Transtr mer,
92:We lived in the same house. That much was true enough. But mostly we lived in our own particular and peculiar bodies. Bodies we didn't choose. We hear, we see, we smell, we feel with our eyes and noses, ears and hands. We have minds. We have hearts. We have mouths and tongues. That is all we have. That is the only way we know anything--the the smallness of our own insignificant bodies. And so we remain separate, residents of our own small, separate countries. ~ Benjamin Alire S enz,
93:It is very important for I think those of us who desperately want peace, who see war as, at some level, a break-down, a manifestation of human weakness, to understand that sometimes it’s also necessary – and you know, to – to be able to balance two ideas at the same time; that we are constantly striving for peace, we are doubling up on our diplomacy, we are going to actively engage, we are going to try to see the world through other people’s eyes and not just our own. ~ Barack Obama,
94:Some of you may be thinking, Wait a minute: you can’t hate religion and love Jesus. Jesus IS a religion. To which I’d answer yes and no. If you mean by religion, “a set of beliefs concerning the cause, nature, and purpose of the universe,” then yes and amen, Christianity is a religion. But by that definition, so is atheism. But if we mean by religion, “what one must do, or behave like, in order to gain right standing with God,” then real Christianity isn’t a religion. ~ Jefferson Bethke,
95: Noon Hour
She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day's pay.
Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,
Leans and feels at her throat
Cool-moving things out of the free open ways:
At her throat and eyes and nostrils
The touch and the blowing cool
Of great free ways beyond the walls.
~ Carl Sandburg,
96: The Noon Hour
She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day’s pay.
Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,
Leans and feels at her throat
Cool-moving things out of the free open ways:
At her throat and eyes and nostrils
The touch and the blowing cool
Of great free ways beyond the walls.
~ Carl Sandburg,
97:There was a yoga teacher in India in the twelfth century named Saraha, and he said (to loosely paraphrase him): “Those who believe in existence as solid are stupid. Those who believe that everything is empty are even more stupid.” He was referring to any beliefs that limit our experience and cause us to be unable to perceive what’s in front of our eyes and nose. Beliefs that we hold so strongly and so dearly that we’re willing to fight for them, beliefs that blind us and make us deaf. ~ Pema Ch dr n,
98:I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn’t made life wonderful, it’s made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify “book” by peeling open my clapped hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,
99:When one is young, one venerates and despises without that art of nuances which constitutes the best gain of life, and it is only fair that one has to pay dearly for having assaulted men and things in this manner with Yes and No. Everything is arranged so that the worst of tastes, the taste for the unconditional, should be cruelly fooled and abused until a man learns to put a little art into his feelings and rather to risk trying even what is artificial — as the real artists of life do. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
100:Although the typical abusive man works to maintain a positive public image, it is true that some women have abusive partners who are nasty or intimidating to everyone. How about that man? Do his problems result from mistreatment by his parents? The answer is both yes and no; it depends on which problem we’re talking about. His hostility toward the human race may sprout from cruelty in his upbringing, but he abuses women because he has an abuse problem. The two problems are related but distinct. ~ Lundy Bancroft,
101:It isn’t that I like it and I don’t like it—that’s too simple. Or, if you will, it isn’t “both yes and no.” It’s “this but also that.” I’d love to settle in on a strong feeling or reaction. But, having seen whatever I see, my mind keeps on going and I see something else. It’s that I quickly see the limitations of whatever I say or whatever judgment I make about anything. There’s a wonderful remark of Henry James: “Nothing is my last word on anything.” There’s always more to be said, more to be felt. ~ Susan Sontag,
102:But the body fails us and the mirror knows, and we no longer insist that the gray hush be carried off its surface by the cloth, for we have run to fat, and wrinkles encircle the eyes and notch the neck where the skin wattles, and the flesh of the arms hangs loose like an overlarge sleeve, veins thicken like ropes and empurple the body as though they had been drawn there by a pen, freckles darken, liver spots appear, the hairah, the hair is exhausted and gray and lusterless, in weary rolls like cornered lint. ~ William H Gass,
103:True freedom and the end of suffering is living in such a way as if you had completely chosen whatever you feel or experience at this moment. This inner alignment with Now is the end of suffering. Is suffering really necessary? Yes and no. If you had not suffered as you have, there would be no depth to you as a human being, no humility, no compassion. You would not be reading this now. Suffering cracks open the shell of ego, and then comes a point when it has served its purpose. Suffering is necessary until you realize it is unnecessary. ~ Eckhart Tolle,
104:I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn’t made life wonderful, it’s made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify “book” by peeling open my clapped hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,
105:Nobody needs to go anywhere else. We are all, if we only knew it, already there. If I only knew who in fact I am, I should cease to behave as what I think I am; and if I stopped behaving as what I think I am, I should know who I am. What in fact I am, if only the Manichee I think I am would allow me to know it, is the reconciliation of yes and no lived out in total acceptance and the blessed experience of Not-Two. In religion all words are dirty words. Anybody who gets eloquent about Buddha, or God, or Christ, ought to have his mouth washed out with carbolic soap. ~ Aldous Huxley,
106:A Christian in many American circles, for example, means 'right-wing, gun-toting fanatic who hates Democrats.' As such, a pacifist Democrat who called himself a Christian in those circles, would be lying, albeit unwittingly. To most of this world, America is Christian, just as to most Americans being an Arab means being a Muslim. Both labels have only limited usefulness.

I have been called a Christian writer, but I'm not a right-wing, gun-toting fanatic who hates Democrats, not by a long shot. So am I a Christian? Yes and no - it depends on what Christian means to you. . . But labels are almost impossible to shed. ~ Ted Dekker,
107:There we stood, in the middle of the living room, hugging it out, each trying to hold back our tears until our need to cry outweighed our need to be the manly fucking men we were and we were no longer able to hold in the tears.
“I’m not fucking crying,” Bear sobbed.
“Me either, you fucking pussy,” I sobbed back as my old friend held me tighter and we hugged and punched each other hard on the backs until I was sure we were going to give each other bruises, and if it went on much longer, probably some broken ribs. When he finally let go of me we quickly wiped our eyes and noses on our t-shirts, because real men don’t fucking cry. ~ T M Frazier,
108:However hard he tried, he could never manage to make himself visible to human eyes and not because he can't, since for him nothing is impossible, it's simply that he wouldn't know what face to wear when introducing himself to the beings he supposedly created and who probably wouldn't recognize him anyway. There are those who say we're very fortunate that god chooses not to appear before us, because compared with the shock we would get were such a thing to happen, our fear of death would be mere child's play. Besides, all the many things that have been said about god and about death are nothing but stories, and this is just another one. ~ Jos Saramago,
109:This is where we left off, isn’t it? Me, throwing myself at you. You, turning me away. I thought I understood before. I wasn’t well enough for the kind of relationship I wanted with you. But now I don’t understand. Because there’s nothing to stop us from finding out if … if we are meant to …” Distressed and mortified, she couldn’t find words for what she wanted. “Unless I was mistaken in how you once felt for me? Did you ever desire me, Kev?” “No.” His voice was barely audible. “It was only friendship. And pity.” Win felt her face go very white. Her eyes and nose prickled. A hot tear leaked down her cheek. “Liar,” she said, and turned away. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
110:Now see here, Guy,” said the voice, “you’re not dealing with any dumb two-bit trigger pumping morons with low hair-lines, little piggy eyes and no conversation, we’re a couple of intelligent caring guys that you’d probably quite like if you met us socially! I don’t go around gratuitously shooting people and then bragging about it afterward in seedy space-rangers bars, like some cops I could mention! I go around shooting people gratuitously and then I agonize about it afterward for hours to my girlfriend!”
“And I write novels!” chimed in the other cop. “Though I haven’t had any of them published yet, so I better warn you, I’m in a meeeean mood! ~ Douglas Adams,
111:This is where we left off, isn't it? Me, throwing myself at you. You, turning me away. I thought I understood before. I wasn't well enough for the kind of relationship I wanted with you. But now I don't understand. Because there's nothing to stop us from finding out if... if we are meant to..." Distressed and mortified, she couldn't find words for what she wanted. "Unless I was mistaken in how you once felt for me? Did you ever desire me, Kev?"
"No." His voice was barely audible. "It was only friendship. And pity."
Win felt her face go very white. Her eyes and nose prickled. A hot tear leaked down her cheek. "Liar," she said, and turned away. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
112:THERE ARE…ENEMIES, said Death, as Binky galloped through icy mountains. “They’re all dead—” OTHER ENEMIES. YOU MAY AS WELL KNOW THIS. DOWN IN THE DEEPEST KINGDOMS OF THE SEA, WHERE THERE IS NO LIGHT, THERE LIVES A TYPE OF CREATURE WITH NO BRAIN AND NO EYES AND NO MOUTH. IT DOES NOTHING BUT LIVE AND PUT FORTH PETALS OF PERFECT CRIMSON WHERE NONE ARE THERE TO SEE. IT IS NOTHING EXCEPT A TINY YES IN THE NIGHT. AND YET…AND YET…IT HAS ENEMIES THAT BEAR ON IT A VICIOUS, UNBENDING MALICE, WHO WISH NOT ONLY FOR ITS TINY LIFE TO BE OVER BUT ALSO THAT IT HAD NEVER EXISTED. ARE YOU WITH ME SO FAR? “Well, yes, but—” GOOD. NOW, IMAGINE WHAT THEY THINK OF HUMANITY. ~ Terry Pratchett,
113:... Feral, from the Latin adjective ferus, wild, via bestia fear, wild animal. Generally held to mean having escaped from domestication, and having devolved back to a natural state.
Turner said, "It's like you've been sanded down to nothing but yes and no, and you and them, and black and white, and live or die. It makes me wonder, what does that to a person?"
"Life," Reacher said. "Mine, anyway."
"You're like a predator. Cold, and hard. Like this whole thing. You have it all mapped out. The four guys in the car, and their bosses. You're swimming toward them, right now, and there's going to be blood in the water. Yours or theirs, but there's going to be blood. ~ Lee Child,
114:But if ncRNAs are so important for cellular function, surely we would expect to find that sometimes diseases are caused by problems with them. Shouldn’t there be lots of examples where defects in production or expression of ncRNAs lead to clinical disorders, aside from the imprinting or X inactivation conditions? Well, yes and no. Because these ncRNAs are predominantly regulatory molecules, acting in networks that are rich in compensatory mechanisms, defects may only have relatively subtle impacts. The problem this creates experimentally is that most genetic screens are good at detecting the major phenotypes caused by mutations in proteins, but may not be so useful for more subtle effects. ~ Nessa Carey,
115:Noticing Poppy’s awkward retreat, Cam sent her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, little sister.” “Amelia hardly ever cries,” Poppy said. “She’s fine.” Cam ran his hand along Amelia’s spine in soothing strokes. “She just needs…” As he paused, Poppy said, “A shoulder to lean on.” “Yes.” He drew Amelia to the stairs, and gestured for Poppy to sit beside them. Cradling Amelia on his lap, Cam found a handkerchief in his pocket and wiped her eyes and nose. When it became apparent that no sense could be made from her jumbled words, he hushed her gently and held her against his large, warm body while she sobbed and hid her face. Overwhelmed with relief, she let him rock her as if she were a child. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
116:I was looking at the sensoriums of heroes. I was sensing through the eyes and nose of Shelley and John Webster, and using the hearing and touch of Ginsberg and Duncan and Kerouac–– and the jazz lucidity of Creeley, and the Doug fir of Snyder, and the almost mystical, physical perceptions of D.H. Lawrence and of Olson himself. I was convinced that poetry was about, by, and from, the meat, that poetry was the product of flesh brushing itself against experience. We are seekers moving in the Tathagata brushing ourselves against the universe of the real, solid illusions. It is by our touches that we become ourselves –– as our ancestors became us and as we became our maturing, sharpening, brightening selves. ~ Michael McClure,
117:My nose is Gargantuan! You little Pig-snout, you tiny Monkey-Nostrils, you virtually invisible Pekinese-Puss, don't you realize that a nose like mine is both scepter and orb, a monument to me superiority? A great nose is the banner of a great man, a generous heart, a towering spirit, an expansive soul--such as I unmistakably am, and such as you dare not to dream of being, with your bilious weasel's eyes and no nose to keep them apart! With your face as lacking in all distinction--as lacking, I say, in interest, as lacking in pride, in imagination, in honesty, in lyricism--in a word, as lacking in nose as that other offensively bland expanse at the opposite end of your cringing spine--which I now remove from my sight by stringent application of my boot! ~ Edmond Rostand,
118:He was wise in the ways of pain. He had to be, for he felt none.

When the Xenons put electrodes to his testicles, he was vastly entertained by the pretty lights.

When the Ylls fed firewasps into his nostrils and other body orifices the resultant rainbows pleased him. And when later they regressed to simple disjointments and eviscerations, he noted with interest the deepening orchid hues that stood for irreversible harm.

"This time?" he asked the boditech when his scouter had torn him from the Ylls.

"No," said the boditech.

"When?"

There was no answer.

"You're a girl in there, aren't you? A human girl?"

"Well, yes and no," said the boditech. "Sleep now."

He had no choice.

- 'Painwise ~ James Tiptree Jr,
119:Since I met you,' he said, 'I've had no eyes and no thought for any other girl. When I was away nothing mattered about my coming back but this. If there was one thing I was sure of, it wasn't what I'd been taught by anyone else to believe, not what I learned from other people was the truth, but the truth that I felt in myself- about you.'

'Don't say any more.' She had gone very white. But for once her frailness did not stop him. It had to come out now.

'It isn't very pretty to have been made a fool of by one's own feelings,' he said. 'To take childish promises and build a-a castle out of them. And yet- even now sometimes I can't believe that all the things we said to each other were so trivial or so immature. Are you sure you felt so little for me as you pretend? ~ Winston Graham,
120:And what is your assessment?” “The Nazarene seems to have power to sway the masses with delusion, make them believe his magic tricks. He speaks of the visitation of Yahweh, the Day of the Lord and coming judgment. But he does not tolerate violence, and prepares no arms.” “Does he claim to be Messiah?” Demas said, “Yes and no. He gives many hints that it is so. But he will not come out and claim it in public.” Barabbas was not comforted by the assurance. He still appeared agitated. “And what of Simon?” “He did not speak a single ill word of you when we were with him. He does not seem to be against you.” Gestas added, “Jesus teaches, ‘He that is not against you is for you.’ I heard him say that if anyone wanted to be his disciple, they must deny themselves, pick up their cross, and follow him. ~ Brian Godawa,
121:You lost.” “I know.” “Drop to your knees.” “Why don’t you make this interesting,” he gritted out, “and take off your pants?” His words supplied an image of him kneeling between my naked legs. I stopped a shiver before it could form. My brows winged up. “You reneging?” Very slowly, he eased to his feet, inching his big body higher and higher. I gave my cuticles my attention. I heard his teeth grind together, even thought I heard his jawbone crack. I flicked him an insouciant glance and patted my mouth to smother a fake yawn. That murderous gleam had branched from his eyes and now consumed his expression. His black clothes rustled as he moved to his knees. I studied my cuticles again, waiting, my breath suspended, the casual pretense the only thing keeping me from gaping. “You did a…good job,” he ground out. ~ Gena Showalter,
122:Stop thinking, and end your problems.
What difference between yes and no?
What difference between success and failure?
Must you value what others value,
avoid what others avoid?
How ridiculous!

Other people are excited,
as though they were at a parade.
I alone don't care,
I alone am expressionless,
like an infant before it can smile.

Other people have what they need;
I alone possess nothing.
I alone drift about,
like someone without a home.
I am like an idiot, my mind is so empty.

Other people are bright;
I alone am dark.
Other people are sharp;
I alone am dull.
Other people have purpose;
I alone don't know.
I drift like a wave on the ocean,
I blow as aimless as the wind.

I am different from ordinary people.
I drink from the Great Mother's breasts. ~ Lao Tzu,
123: The Newcomer
'There's something new in the river,'
The fish said as it swam.
'It's got no scales, no fins and no gills,
And ignores the impassable dam.'
'There's something new in the trees.'
I heard a bloated thrush sing.
'It's got no beak, no claws, and no feathers,
And not even the ghost of a wing.'
'There's something new in the warren,'
Said the rabbit to the doe.
'It's got no fur, no eyes and no paws,
Yet digs further than we dare go.'
'There's something new in the whiteness,'
Said the snow-bright polar bear.
'I saw its shadow on a glacier,
But it left no pawmarks there.'
Through the animal kingdom
The news was spreading fast.
No beak, no claws, no feather,
No scales, no fur, no gills,
It lives in the trees and the water,
In the soil and the snow and the hills,
And it kills and it kills and it kills.
~ Brian Patten,
124:community ownership doesn’t work in large-scale societies where people operate in anonymity. In The Power of Scale, anthropologist John Bodley wrote: “The size of human societies and cultures matters because larger societies will naturally have more concentrated social power. Larger societies will be less democratic than smaller societies, and they will have an unequal distribution of risks and rewards.”9 Right, because the bigger the society is, the less functional shame becomes. When the Berlin Wall came down, jubilant capitalists announced that the essential flaw of communism had been its failure to account for human nature. Well, yes and no. Marx’s fatal error was his failure to appreciate the importance of context. Human nature functions one way in the context of intimate, interdependent societies, but set loose in anonymity, we become a different creature. Neither beast is more nor less human. ~ Christopher Ryan,
125:I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And by and by my Soul return'd to me,
And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show;

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Here or There as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd you down into the Field,
He knows about it all — He knows — HE knows! ~ Omar Khayy m,
126: Bridge Ghazal
My love and I reside upon the belly of a bridge
with heartbeats of the sky?--the drums upon the bridge.
I've heard of songs that rise at night from pitch black oceans.
I've heard the strums of lyrics made by four hands on a bridge.
My love and I do landscapes for the gardens of the sea.
At night we sleep as seedlings at the center of its bridge.
Once I saw a Sufi breathe in seabirds, and send them out again.
I've seen people bearing blindfolds near the entrance of a bridge.
My love's old love, he says, had tried to douse him in a moat.
He grew gills to save himself and hid beneath a drawbridge.
The masters speak of magic at the middle of the rings
where Yes and No chase each other round the props of any bridge.
My love's new love, some say, makes far too much of things
as fundamental, elemental, as the structure of a bridge.
Anonymous submission.
~ C.J. Sage,
127:Marion and Alice were all for not using and so all went to sleep that night with a grim resolve. They got up about noon, smoked a joint with their coffee, feeling good about the fact that they werent giving any thought to not using, and sat around for a while, watched a little television, talked about maybe eating something, but not really feeling like it, then sort of moped around thinking and talking about the various things that should be done that day and making plans for doing them, then watched a little more TV, and more coffee, and more grass, spending much of the time dabbing at their running eyes and noses, and by three oclock they realized they were making a big deal out of nothing, that if they really wanted to stop using they certainly could, they were proving that right then, but it was stupid to panic and to think the world was coming to an end just because they couldnt score for any uncut weight right now, so they got back into the spoon. Their noses and eyes cleared up and they listened to music as they ate. A ~ Hubert Selby Jr,
128:The premise beneath all of these spiritualities is that sin has not intruded upon the relation between the sacred and human nature, that human nature itself offers access--indeed, we assume, unblemished access--to God, that human nature itself mediates the divine. Gone are the days when people understood that an avalanche has fallen between God and human beings, that human nature retains its shape as made in the image of God but has lost its relationship to God and stands in pained alienation from him. It is no small anomaly that we have arrived at this point. How can we be so knowledgeable about evil in the world and so innocent about sin in ourselves? Is it not strange that we who see so much tragedy through television, who are so knowledgeable of the darkness in our world, who pride ourselves on being able to stare with clear eyes and no denials at what is messy, untidy, ugly, and painful, are also those who know so little about sin in ourselves? The reason, of course, is that we have lost the moral world in which sin is alone understood. The ~ John Piper,
129:And now you feel the pressure to court someone like Lady Penelope because…”
“Because I cannot publicly court someone better suited for me. Perhaps someone like you,” Merrick replied, and he heard Cassius inhale sharply.
“Me? Even if it were possible… I am nothing more than a simple—”
“No, Cassius. You are not simple.” Merrick shut his eyes, his lips trembling, his chest loosening in blissful relief as he let the words flow out of him. “You are pure and real and complicated. To someone like me, you might simply be everything.”
He felt Cassius move closer, but he kept his lids closed, held his breath.
“I do not…” Cassius began but trailed off. “I long for this…for one moment that is only for me.”
Cassius’s breath ghosted against his lips; his fingertip traced his jaw, his cheek, his eyebrow as his heart thundered in his ears. When Cassius’s lips brushed against his own, he opened his eyes and noticed how Cassius watched him, his gaze filled with wonder.
Their lips met a second time, gentle, tentative at first before Cassius increased the pressure ~ Riley Hart,
130:Oh, Hunter, if I rode into this village with the tosi tivo and killed your people, how would you feel?”
His face tightened. “You would kill my mother? Warrior and Maiden? The little ones?”
“No. And you wouldn’t Aunt Rachel or Amy or Uncle Henry. That isn’t the question, is it?”
“This Comanche cannot change his face.”
“And I can’t change mine.”
He traced the hollow of her cheek, his mouth tipping into a sad smile. “I like your face, Blue Eyes. It is carved upon my heart.”
“We’re caught in the middle, aren’t we, Hunter? From the first, we knew it would come to this.”
“I will make no war on the helpless,” he whispered raggedly. “No women, no children. That will be good?”
Still shy with him, she touched a finger to his bottom lip. “Could you lift your blade against a man with blue eyes and not think of me, Hunter?”
He made a strangled sound and pulled her roughly into his arms, pressing his mouth against her hair. Neither of them spoke. There were no words. They drew comfort from the only thing they could, the warmth of each other’s arms. ~ Catherine Anderson,
131:EAMES: Word is, you're not welcome in these parts.
COBB: Yeah?
EAMES: There's a price on your head from Cobol Engineering. Pretty big one, actually.
COBB: You wouldn't sell me out.
Eames looks at Cobb, offended.
EAMES: 'Course I would.
COBB: (smiles) Not when you hear what I'm selling.
A ramshackle balcony overlooking a busy street. Eames pours.
COBB: Inception.
Eames' glass stops halfway to his mouth.
COBB: Don't bother telling me it's impossible.
EAMES: It's perfectly possible. Just bloody difficult.
COBB: That's what I keep saying to Arthur.
EAMES: Arthur? You're still working with that stick-in-the-mud?
COBB: He's a good point man.
EAMES: The best. But he has no imagination. If you're going to perform inception, you need imagination.
COBB: You've done it before?
EAMES: Yes and no. We tried it. Got the idea in place, but it didn't take.
COBB: You didn't plant it deep enough?
EAMES: It's not just about depth. You need the simplest version of the idea-the one that will grow naturally in the subject's mind. Subtle art. ~ Christopher J Nolan,
132:When he went out it was freezing, and a pale winter sun was rising over Paris.

No thought of escape had as yet crossed Monsieur Monde's mind.

'Morning, Joseph.'

'Morning, monsieur.'

As a matter of fact, it started like an attack of flu. In the car he felt a shiver. He was very susceptible to head colds. Some winters they would hang on for weeks, and his pockets would be stuffed with wet handkerchiefs, which mortified him. Moreover, that morning he ached all over, perhaps from having slept in an awkward position, or was it a touch of indigestion due to last night's supper?

'I'm getting flu,' he thought.

Then, just as they were crossing the Grands Boulevards, instead of automatically checking the time on the electric clock as he usually did, he raised his eyes and noticed the pink chimney pots outlined against a pale blue sky where a tiny white cloud was floating.

It reminded him of the sea. The harmony of blue and pink suddenly brought a breath of Mediterranean air to his mind, and he envied people who, at that time of year, lived in the South and wore white flannels. ~ Georges Simenon,
133:Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year,
I felt a door opening in me and I entered
the clarity of early morning.

One after another my former lives were departing,
like ships, together with their sorrow.

And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas
assigned to my brush came closer,
ready now to be described better than they were before.

I was not separated from people,
grief and pity joined us.
We forget—I kept saying—that we are all children of the King.

For where we come from there is no division
into Yes and No, into is, was, and will be.

We were miserable, we used no more than a hundredth part
of the gift we received for our long journey.

Moments from yesterday and from centuries ago—
a sword blow, the painting of eyelashes before a mirror
of polished metal, a lethal musket shot, a caravel
staving its hull against a reef—they dwell in us,
waiting for a fulfillment.

I knew, always, that I would be a worker in the vineyard,
as are all men and women living at the same time,
whether they are aware of it or not. ~ Czes aw Mi osz,
134: Late Ripeness
Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year,
I felt a door opening in me and I entered
the clarity of early morning.
One after another my former lives were departing,
like ships, together with their sorrow.
And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas
assigned to my brush came closer,
ready now to be described better than they were before.
I was not separated from people,
grief and pity joined us.
We forget - I kept saying - that we are all children of the King.
For where we come from there is no division
into Yes and No, into is, was, and will be.
We were miserable, we used no more than a hundredth part
of the gift we received for our long journey.
Moments from yesterday and from centuries ago a sword blow, the painting of eyelashes before a mirror
of polished metal, a lethal musket shot, a caravel
staving its hull against a reef - they dwell in us,
waiting for a fulfillment.
I knew, always, that I would be a worker in the vineyard,
as are all men and women living at the same time,
whether they are aware of it or not.
~ Czeslaw Milosz,
135:Let us face ourselves. We are Hyperboreans; we know very well how far off we live. 'Neither by land nor by sea will you find the way to the Hyperboreans'—Pindar already knew this about us. Beyond the north, ice, and death—our life, our happiness. We have discovered happiness, we know the way, we have found the exit out of the labyrinth of thousands of years. Who else has found it? Modern man perhaps? 'I have got lost; I am everything that has got lost,' sighs modern man. This modernity was our sickness: lazy peace, cowardly compromise, the whole virtuous uncleanliness of the modern Yes and No. … Rather live in the ice than among modern virtues and other south winds! We were intrepid enough, we spared neither ourselves nor others; but for a long time we did not know where to turn with our intrepidity. We became gloomy, we were called fatalists. Our fatum—abundance, tension, the damming of strength. We thirsted for lightning and deeds and were most remote from the happiness of the weakling, 'resignation.' In our atmosphere was a thunderstorm; the nature we are became dark—for we saw no way. Formula for our happiness: a Yes, a No, a straight line, a goal. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
136:Can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help."
Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want... whatever we want..."
"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly.
"It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed. ~ J K Rowling,
137:I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn't made my life wonderful, its made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify "book" by peeling open my hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it wasn't the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,
138:Sounds of The Fleetwoods singing, “Come Softly to Me” and Robin Luke singing “Susie Darlin” and Little Anthony popping the vocal on “I Ran All the Way Home.” Were they all hits in that summer of 1960? Yes and no. Mostly yes. In the long purple evenings when rock and roll from WLAM blurred into night baseball from WCOU, time shifted. I think it was all 1960 and that the summer went on for a space of years, held magically intact in a web of sounds: the sweet hum of crickets, the machine-gun roar of playing-cards riffling against the spokes of some kid’s bicycle as he pedaled home for a late supper of cold cuts and iced tea, the flat Texas voice of Buddy Knox singing “Come along and be my party doll, and I’ll make love to you, to you,” and the baseball announcer’s voice mingling with the song and with the smell of freshly cut grass: “Count’s three and two now. Whitey Ford leans over ... shakes off the sign ... now he’s got it ... Ford pauses ... pitches ... and there it goes! Williams got all of that one! Kiss it goodbye! RED SOX LEAD, THREE TO ONE!” Was Ted Williams still playing for the Red Sox in 1960? You bet your ass he was—.316 for my man Ted. I remember that very clearly. Baseball ~ Stephen King,
139: For The One Who Would Take Man's Life In His Hands
Tiger Christ unsheathed his sword,
Threw it down, became a lamb.
Swift spat upon the species, but
Took two women to his heart.
Samson who was strong as death
Paid his strength to kiss a slut.
Othello that stiff warrior
Was broken by a woman's heart.
Troy burned for a sea-tax, also for
Possession of a charming whore.
What do all examples show?
What must the finished murderer know?
You cannot sit on bayonets,
Nor can you eat among the dead.
When all are killed, you are alone,
A vacuum comes where hate has fed.
Murder's fruit is silent stone,
The gun increases poverty.
With what do these examples shine?
The soldier turned to girls and wine.
Love is the tact of every good,
The only warmth, the only peace.
"What have I said?" asked Socrates.
"Affirmed extremes, cried yes and no,
Taken all parts, denied myself,
Praised the caress, extolled the blow,
Soldier and lover quite deranged
Until their motions are exchanged.
-What do all examples show?
What can any actor know?
The contradiction in every act,
The infinite task of the human heart."
~ Delmore Schwartz,
140:He’s rumored to have more bravery than sense.”
“Then he and Gabe make a good pair,” Oliver growled.
“Lay off of him, will you?” Jarret told Oliver. Closest to being a blend of their parents, he had black hair but blue-green eyes and no trace of Oliver’s Italian features. “You’ve been ragging him ever since that stupid carriage race. He was drunk. It’s a state you ought to be familiar with.”
Oliver whirled on Jarret. “Yes, but you were not drunk, yet you let him-“
“Don’t blame Jarret,” Gabe put in. “Chetwin challenged me to it. He would have branded me a coward if I’d refused.”
“Better a coward than dead.” Oliver had no tolerance for such idiocy. Nothing was worth risking one’s life for-not a woman, not honor, and certainly not reputation. A pity that he hadn’t yet impressed that upon his idiot brothers.
Gabe, of all people, ought to know better. The course he’d run was the most dangerous in London. Two large boulders flanked the path so closely that only one rig could pass between them, forcing a driver to fall back at the last minute to avoid being dashed on the rocks. Many was the time drivers pulled out too late.
The sporting set called it “threading the needle.” Oliver called it madness. ~ Sabrina Jeffries,
141:Kyle, please. Stop. This isn’t you. You aren’t even here anymore,” Cole said softly with his arms around her.
Kyle blinked and shook her head. Shame. Again.
Then she fought him desperately—eyeing her scattered clothes and the door.
“You don’t have to do this for me. I don’t want a show.” Cole put his hands on her face and kissed her lips gently. For the first time.
Their separated souls rejoiced and found each other again. He lifted her off the altar and set her on her feet.
“Be you for me, Kyle. Be the Kyle you’re so very afraid of being. I’ll keep her safe.” Cole skimmed his lips along her cheek and looked at her hopefully.
Kyle gazed into his eyes and nodded solemnly. The moment seemed bigger than the two of them.
Cole asked permission. “Kyle McHugh, may I worship you?”
A tear fell from her eye as she whispered, “Yes.”
Cole took a step back and whipped the cloth off her shoulders. She was no vixen now. Kyle looked terrified. She clenched her fists, as if willing herself not to run. Cole turned and gathered her scattered clothes. He found her panties and took them to her, kneeling at her feet. Kyle looked puzzled, but as he worked the panties up her legs, she got it. Unlike all the other men, he was dressing her. ~ Debra Anastasia,
142:Did you get Paige to bed okay?”
“Yes and no,” Kendra says quietly, coming down the steps to the parking lot. Andrea’s following on her heels like an obedient dog. “We got her upstairs, but she was all messed up and crying about the pony not being pink, and she woke up Catia.”
Bollocks,” I say, with feeling.
“What is ‘bollocks’?” Luca asks, sounding very interested.
“Never mind,” I say firmly to him.
“We have to have a meeting tomorrow morning after breakfast,” Kendra says gloomily. “To set new house rules.”
“Oh no,” I sigh.
“Yup. We should go to bed now. I don’t think Catia really cares that much.” Kendra adds cynically, “She’s just going through the motions. But, you know, we shouldn’t look like we’re--”
“Taking the piss,” I finish.
Taking the piss?” Luca echoes, his accent so funny that I stifle a giggle. Not quite well enough; he hears it and aims a playful smack to the back of my head, which I dodge with another giggle. That’s the thing about Luca. One moment we’re teaching each other, then we’re kissing, then we’re fighting, or being serious. And it can change so fast, it’s dizzying.
No wonder I don’t feel in control of anything when I’m with him. And honestly, cool as he seems, I don’t know if he’s any more in control of what’s between us than I am. ~ Lauren Henderson,
143:It was a Game called Yes and No, where Scrooge’s nephew had to think of something, and the rest must find out what; he only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was. The brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed, elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn’t made a show of, and wasn’t led by anybody, and didn’t live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last the plump sister, falling into a similar state, cried out:
“I have found it out! I know what it is, Fred! I know what it is!”
“What is it?” cried Fred.
“It’s your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!”
Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though some objected that the reply to “Is it a bear?” ought to have been “Yes;” inasmuch as an answer in the negative was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts from Mr. Scrooge, supposing they had ever had any tendency that way. ~ Charles Dickens,
144:His hand was a claw, sharp enough to open her. She would be like all the others—Ruta Badowski, in her broken dancing shoes. Tommy Duffy, still with the dirt of his last baseball game under his nails. Gabriel Johnson, taken on the best day of his life. Or even Mary White, holding out for a future that never arrived. She’d be like all those beautiful, shining boys marching off to war, rifles at their hips and promises on their lips to their best girls that they’d be home in time for Christmas, the excitement of the game showing in their bright faces. They’d come home men, heroes with adventures to tell about, how they’d walloped the enemy and put the world right side up again, funneled it into neat lines of yes and no. Black and white. Right and wrong. Here and there. Us and them. Instead, they had died tangled in barbed wire in Flanders, hollowed by influenza along the Western Front, blown apart in no-man’s-land, writhing in trenches with those smiles still in place, courtesy of the phosgene, chlorine, or mustard gas. Some had come home shell-shocked and blinking, hands shaking, mumbling to themselves, following orders in some private war still taking place in their minds. Or, like James, they’d simply vanished, relegated to history books no one bothered to read, medals put in cupboards kept closed. Just a bunch of chess pieces moved about by unseen hands in a universe bored with itself. ~ Libba Bray,
145:Let us look one another in the face. We are Hyperboreans—we know well enough how much out of the way we live. 'Neither by land nor sea shalt thou find the road to the Hyperboreans': Pindar already knew that of us. Beyond the North, beyond the ice, beyond death—our life, our happiness.... We have discovered happiness, we know the road, we have found the exit out of whole millennia of labyrinth. Who else has found it? Modern man perhaps? 'I know not which way to turn; I am everything that knows not which way to turn,' sighs modern man.... It was from this modernity that we were ill—from lazy peace, from cowardly compromise, from the whole virtuous uncleanliness of modern Yes and No. This tolerance and largeur of heart which 'forgives' everything because it 'Understands' everything is sirocco to us. Better to live among ice than among modern virtues and other south winds! ...We were brave enough, we spared neither ourselves nor others: but for long we did not know where to apply our courage. We became gloomy, we were called fatalists. Our fatality—was the plenitude, the tension, the blocking-up of our forces. We thirsted for lightning and action, of all things we kept ourselves furthest from the happiness of the weaklings, from 'resignation'.... There was a thunderstorm in our air, the nature which we are grew dark—for we had no road. Formula of our happiness: a Yes, a No, a straight line, a goal... ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
146:Opposite to [Godliness] is atheism in profession, and idolatry in practise. Atheism is so senseless and odious to mankind that it never had many professors. Can it be by accident that all birds, beasts, and men have their right side and left side alike shaped (except in their bowels), and just two eyes and no more on either side of the face, and just two ears on either side of the head, and a nose with two holes and no more between the eyes, and one mouth under the nose, and either two fore legs or two wings or two arms on the sholders and two legs on the hips, one on either side and no more? Whence arises this uniformity in all their outward shapes but from the counsel and contrivance of an author? Whence is it that the eyes of all sorts of living creatures are transparent to the very bottom and the only transparent members in the body, having on the outside an hard transparent skin, and within transparent juices with a crystalline lens in the middle and a pupil before the lens, all of them so truly shaped and fitted for vision that no artist can mend them? Did blind chance know that there was light and what was its refraction, and fit the eyes of all creatures after the most curious manner to make use of it? These and such like considerations always have and ever will prevail with mankind to believe that there is a being who made all things and has all things in his power, and who is therefore to be feared. ~ Isaac Newton,
147:more defenseless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted. . . .” Malfoy’s mouth contorted involuntarily, as though he had tasted something very bitter. “Now, about tonight,” Dumbledore went on, “I am a little puzzled about how it happened. . . . You knew that I had left the school? But of course,” he answered his own question, “Rosmerta saw me leaving, she tipped you off using your ingenious coins, I’m sure.” “That’s right,” said Malfoy. “But she said you were just going for a drink, you’d be back. . . .” “Well, I certainly did have a drink . . . and I came back . . . after a fashion,” mumbled Dumbledore. “So you decided to spring a trap for me?” “We decided to put the Dark Mark over the tower and get you to hurry up here, to see who’d been killed,” said Malfoy. “And it worked!” “Well . . . yes and no . . .” said Dumbledore. “But am I to take it, then, that nobody has been murdered?” “Someone’s dead,” said Malfoy, and his voice seemed to go up an octave as he said it. “One of your people . . . I don’t know who, it was dark. . . . I stepped over the body. . . . I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way. . . .” “Yes, they do that,” said Dumbledore. There was a bang and shouts from below, louder than ever; it sounded as though people were fighting on the actual spiral staircase that led to where Dumbledore, Malfoy, and Harry stood, and Harry’s heart thundered ~ J K Rowling,
148:Dragging his lips down between her thighs, Kev rooted in the hot silk of her, finding the delicate blunt point of her clitoris, using the velvet flat of his tongue to paint and caress. She clutched his head more tightly and sobbed his name, the throaty sound exciting him.
When the responsive movements of her hips took on a regular rhythm, he pulled his mouth from her and pushed her knees wide and apart. He took an eternity to ease into the lush clenching flesh. Fully seated, he wrapped his arms around her, securing her against his body.
She wriggled, urging him to thrust, but he held still and fast and pressed his mouth to her ear, and whispered that he would make her come just like this, he would stay hard inside her as long as it took. Her ear turned scarlet, and she tightened and throbbed around him. "Please, move," she whispered, and he gently said no.
"Please, move, please..."
No.
But after a while he began to flex his hips in a subtle rhythm. She whimpered and trembled as he drove into her, nudging deeper, relentless in his restraint. The climax broke over her finally, tearing low cries from her lips, bringing wild shudders to the surface. Kev was quiet, experiencing a release so acute and paralyzing that it robbed him of all sound. Her slender body pulled at him, milked him, enclosed him in delicate heat.
The pleasure was so great it caused an unfamiliar stinging in his eyes and nose, and that shook him to his foundations. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
149:Have you seen a leaf, a leaf from a tree?"
"I have. "
"I saw one recently, a yellow one, with some green,decayed on the edges. Blown about by the wind. When I was 10 years old, I'd close my eyes on purpose, in winter, and imagine a leaf – green, bright, with veins, and the sun shining. I'd open my eyes and not believe it, because it was so good, then I'd close them again. "
"What's that, an allegory?"
"N-no... Why? Not an allegory, simply a leaf, one leaf. A leaf is good. Everything is good."
"Everything? "
"Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn't know he's happy; only because of that. It's everything, everything! Whoever learns will at once immediately become happy, that same moment. This mother-in-law will die and the girl won't remain – everything is good. I discovered suddenly. "
"And if someone dies of hunger, or someone offends and dishonors the girl – is that good? "
"Good. And if someone's head get smashed in for the child's sake, that's good, too; and if it doesn't get smashed in, that's good, too. Everything is good, everything. For all those who know that everything is good. If they knew it was good with them, it would be good with them, but as long as they don't know it's good with them, it will not be good with them. That's the whole thought, the whole, there isn't any more! "
"And when did you find out that you were so happy? "
"Last week, on Tuesday, no, Wednesday, because it was Wednesday by then, in the night. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
150: On The Late Late Massachers Stillbirths And Deformed
Children A Smoother Lovelier Skin Job
The seven­day beauty plan:
Avenge O Lord thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Will cause up to I million deaths from leukaemia
Forget not, in thy book record their groans
Now for the vitally important step.
Cream your face and neck a second time
No American president world­famous for beauty creams
responsible for the freedom and safety of so many young offenders
TODAY'S MEN OF ACTION
The Triple Tyrant Macmillan Kennedy Watkinson
The West governments are satisfied as to the moral
necessity to resume Racing from Newmarket
EXTRA SPECIAL!
Atmospheric testing: A test card is shown
continuously from to a.m. until 15 minutes
before slayn by the bloody Piemontese
why pay higher fares?
There is always trouble when President Kennedy the jovial
gravel­voiced little sailor
defends glamorous Olive Oyl from contamination of the
atmosphere
EXTRA MONEY
their moans The Vales redoubled to the Hills
Another fire blazes in the city of London AND ALL THAT
JAZZ
Do you draw your curtains with a walking­stick?
The mutation was caused by a heavy dose of radiation
received
by the Mother at Hiroshima
This baby's eyes and nose had merged into
one misshapen feature in the middle of its
forehead, lost 6' from Hips
sufferers can now wear fashion stockings
Early may fly the Babylonian wo
followed by
TOMORROW'S WEATHER
The Epilogue
29
close down.
~ Adrian Henri,
151:Elizabeth,” he said with reassuring calm, “I gave you my word you’d be safe if you came today.”
Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes and nodded, “I know. I also know I shouldn’t be here. I really ought to leave. I should, shouldn’t I?” Opening her eyes again, she looked beseechingly into his-the seduced asking the seducer for advice.
“Under the circumstances, I don’t think I’m the one you ought to ask.”
“I’ll stay,” she said after a moment and saw the tension in his shoulders relax. Unbuttoning her jacket, she gave it to him, along with her bonnet, and he took them over to the fireplace, hanging them on the pegs in the wall. “Stand by the fire,” he ordered, walking over to the table and filling two glasses with wine, watching as she obeyed.
The front of her hair that had not been covered by her bonnet was damp, and Elizabeth reached up automatically, pulling out the combs that held it off her face on the sides and giving the mass a hard shake. Unconscious of the seductiveness of her gesture, she raised her hands, combing her fingers through the sides of it and lifting it.
She glanced toward Ian and saw him standing perfectly still beside the table, watching her. Something in his expression made her hastily drop her hands, and the spell was broken, but the effect of that warmly intimate look in his eyes was vibrantly, alarmingly alive, and the full import of the risk she was taking by being here made Elizabeth begin to quake inside. She did not know this man at all; she’d only met him hours ago; and yet even now he was watching her with a look that was much too…personal. And possessive. ~ Judith McNaught,
152:Andrei Yanuaryevich (one longs to blurt out, “Jaguaryevich”) Vyshinsky, availing himself of the most flexible dialectics (of a sort nowadays not permitted either Soviet citizens or electronic calculators, since to them yes is yes and no is no), pointed out in a report which became famous in certain circles that it is never possible for mortal men to establish absolute truth, but relative truth only. He then proceeded to a further step, which jurists of the last two thousand years had not been willing to take: that the truth established by interrogation and trial could not be absolute, but only, so to speak, relative. Therefore, when we sign a sentence ordering someone to be shot we can never be absolutely certain, but only approximately, in view of certain hypotheses, and in a certain sense, that we are punishing a guilty person. Thence arose the most practical conclusion: that it was useless to seek absolute evidence-for evidence is always relative-or unchallengeable witnesses-for they can say different things at different times. The proofs of guilt were relative, approximate, and the interrogator could find them, even when there was no evidence and no witness, without leaving his office, “basing his conclusions not only on his own intellect but also on his Party sensitivity, his moral forces” (in other words, the superiority of someone who has slept well, has been well fed, and has not been beaten up) “and on his character” (i.e., his willingness to apply cruelty!)… In only one respect did Vyshinsky fail to be consistent and retreat from dialectical logic: for some reason, the executioner’s bullet which he allowed was not relative but absolute… ~ Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn,
153:Magic: Belief conjures the Will, becomes the courage, taking its own moral or physical colour. Desire seeks all essential affixes—the only necessity is sincerity. Importance lies in things 'as now'. Flesh exists to be exploited. It is in all things and all things will be through it. All emanations are through the flesh and nothing has reality for us without it. The Soul is ever unknowable because we can only realize by finite form in Time-Space. So, whatever you attribute to the inconceivable is your Ego, as conceived. The mind and its great thought-stream determines everything and permits all things conceivable as possible. This thought-stream refracts illations both from the Soul and from ourselves into our time-sense—images and symbols which inspire us from the inter-relatabilities, and our reactions form our future destiny of good and evil with thought the nexus to all things past and becoming. Whether the gods created us or we created them is of no import except as an expedient. Magic is now a quasi-charlatanism seeking victims: magicians have become coprophagists having the most corrupt collection of gleanings and remnants ever given that name. Too long ago its principles were lost, scattered or vulgarized, the symbols losing parallelism and truth. The doctrine lost pageantry, and the rituals became haphazard—the thing itself without inner meaning. As now, Magic adopts an erotic egocentricism as secret meaning, hence there are no Magicians with any simple thesis of the great inner Truth—only a rag-bag remains of this 'wonder' cult. But, one cannot dismiss modern magicians so easily. Yes and no, there is something in most things and little enough in much, if any. Ability to enact is the denominator of our Truth. All parasitical longing seeks flesh to feed on... whether by magic or otherwise. ~ Anonymous,
154:At the moment Ormsley looked on the verge of tears as his damp, faded blue eyes roved almost lovingly over Ian’s face. “Good afternoon, my lord,” he intoned formally, but the ecstatic expression on his face gaze Ian the impression the servant was restraining himself from wrapping his arms around him. “And-and may I say-“ The elderly man stopped, his voice hoarse with emotion, and cleared his throat. “And may I say how very-how very very good it is to have you here at-“ His voice choked, he flushed, and Ian’s ire at his grandfather was momentarily forgotten.
“Good afternoon, Ormsley,” Ian said, grinning at the look of sublime pleasure that crossed Ormsley’s lined face when Ian knew his name. Sensing the butler was about to bow again, Ian put out his hand instead, forcing the loyal retainer to shake hands with him. “I trust,” Ian joked gently, “that you’ve conquered your habit of overindulging in French brandy?”
The faded old eyes brightened like diamonds at this added proof that Ian’s father had spoken of him to Ian.
“Welcome home. Welcome home at last, my lord,” Ormsley said hoarsely, returning Ian’s handshake.
“I’m only staying a few hours,” Ian told him calmly, and the butler’s hand went a little limp with disappointment. He recovered himself, however, and escorted Ian down a wide, oak-paneled hall. A small army of footmen and housemaids seemed to be lurking about, ostensibly dusting mirrors, paneling, and floors. As Ian passed, several of them stole long, lingering looks at him, then turned to exchange swift gratified smiles. His mind on the looming meeting with his grandfather, Ian was oblivious to the searching scrutiny and startled glances he was receiving, but he was dimly aware that a few of the servants were hastily dabbing at their eyes and noses with handkerchiefs. ~ Judith McNaught,
155:Nothingness is the fragrance of the beyond. It is the opening of the heart to the transcendental. It is the unfoldment of the one-thousand-petalled lotus. It is man's destiny. Man is complete only when he has come to this fragrance, when he has come to this absolute nothingness inside his being, when this nothingness has spread all over him, when he is just a pure sky, unclouded. This nothingness is what Buddha calls nirvana. First we have to understand what this nothingness actually is, because it is not just empty; it is full, it is overflowing. Never for a single moment think that nothingness is a negative state, an absence, no. Nothingness is simply no-thingness. Things disappear, only the ultimate substance remains. The identity of "yes" and "no" is the secret of nothingness. Nothingness is not identical with "no", nothingness is the identity of "yes" and "no", where polarities are no more polarities, where opposites are no more opposites. When you make love to a woman or to a man, the point of orgasm is the point of nothingness. At that moment the woman is no more a woman and the man is no more a man. Those forms have disappeared. That polarity between man and woman is no more there; it is utterly relaxed. They have both melted into each other. They have unformed themselves, they have gone into a state which cannot be defined. The identity of yes and no is the secret of emptiness, nothingness, nirvana. Emptiness is not just empty; it is a presence, it is the ultimate peak of consciousness.a very solid presence. If you want to know it you will have to go into life, into some situation where yes and no meet, then you will know it. Where the body and the soul meet, when the world and God meet, where opposites are no longer opposites only then will you have a taste of it. The taste of it is the taste of Tao, of Zen, of Hassidism, of Yoga. ~ Osho,
156:You act like a normal human and you’ll win an Oscar,” Marco said. He led the way up to his house and opened the door. “Okay, look, you wait right there by that table. Don’t go anywhere. If my dad comes in and talks to you, just say ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ Got it? Yes and no answers only. I’ll run up to my room. I’m gonna call one of the others to meet us at the bookstore. You’re already driving me nuts.” I stood by the table. There was a primitive computer on the table. It even had a solid, two-dimensional screen. And a keyboard! An actual keyboard. I touched the keyboard. It was amazing. Andalite computers once had keyboards, too. Although ours were very different. And it had been centuries since we’d used them. On the screen of the computer was a game. The object of the game was to spot the errors in a primitive symbolic language and correct them. Of course, before I could play I had to make sense of the system. But that was simple enough. Once I understood the system, it was easy to spot the errors. I quickly rewrote it to make sense out of it. I said to myself. “Hello?” I turned around. It was an older human. He was paler than Marco, but other features were similar. Marco had warned me to say nothing to his father but “yes” and “no.” “No,” I said to Marco’s father. “I’m Marco’s dad. Are you a friend of his?” “Yes.” “What’s your name?” “No,” I answered. “Your name is ‘No’?” “Yes.” “That’s an unusual name, isn’t it?” “No.” “It’s not?” “Yes.” “Yes, it’s not an unusual name?” “No.” “Now I’m totally confused.” “Yes.” Marco’s father stared at me. Then, in a loud voice, he yelled, “Hey, Marco? Marco? Would you . . . um . . . your friend is here. Your friend ‘No’ is here.” “No,” I said. “Yes, that’s what I said.” Marco came running down the stairs. “Whoa!” he cried. “Um, Dad! You met my friend?” “No?” Marco’s father said. “What?” Marco asked. Marco’s father shook his head. “I must be getting old. I don’t understand you kids.” “Yes,” I offered. ~ Katherine Applegate,
157: Wilderness
THERE is a wolf in me ... fangs pointed for tearing gashes ... a red tongue for raw
meat ... and the hot lapping of blood-I keep this wolf because the wilderness
gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me ... a silver-gray fox ... I sniff and guess ... I pick things out
of the wind and air ... I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them
and hide the feathers ... I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me ... a snout and a belly ... a machinery for eating and
grunting ... a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun-I got this too from the
wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me ... I know I came from saltblue water-gates ... I scurried
with shoals of herring ... I blew waterspouts with porpoises ... before land was ...
before the water went down ... before Noah ... before the first chapter of
Genesis.
There is a baboon in me ... clambering-clawed ... dog-faced ... yawping a
galoot's hunger ... hairy under the armpits ... here are the hawk-eyed hankering
men ... here are the blond and blue-eyed women ... here they hide curled asleep
waiting ... ready to snarl and kill ... ready to sing and give milk ... waiting-I keep
the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird ... and the eagle flies among the
Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want
... and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone,
warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue
Ozark foothills of my wishes-And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the
wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my
red-valve heart-and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child
heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is
going to God-Knows-Where-For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I
sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
~ Carl Sandburg,
158:Wilderness
by Carl Sandburg

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot’s hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness. ~ Carl Sandburg,
159: Part Ii: The Fields Of Coleraine
On the fields of Col'raine there'll be labour in vain
Before the Great Western is ended,
The nags will have toil'd, and the silks will be soil'd.
And the rails will require to be mended.
For the gullies are deep, and the uplands are steep,
And mud will of purls be the token,
And the tough stringy-bark, that invites us to lark,
With impunity may not be broken.
Though Ballarat's fast, and they say he can last,
And that may be granted hereafter,
Yet the judge's decision to the Border division
Will bring neither shouting nor laughter.
And Blueskin, I've heard that he goes like a bird,
And I'm told that to back him would pay me ;
He's a good bit of stuff, but not quite good enough,
'Non licuit credere famae.'
Alfred ought to be there, we all of us swear
By the blood of King Alfred, his sire ;
He's not the real jam, by the blood of his dam,
So I shan't put him down as a flyer.
Now, Hynam, my boy, I wish you great joy,
I know that when fresh you can jump, sir ;
But you'll scarce be in clover, when you're ridden all over,
And punish'd from shoulder to rump, sir.
Archer goes like a shot, they can put on their pot,
And boil it to cover expenses ;
Their pot will boil over, the run of his Dover
He'll never earn over big fences.
There's a horse in the race, with a blaze on his face,
And we know he can gallop a docker !
He's proved himself stout, of his speed there's no doubt,
And his jumping's according to Cocker.
212
When Hynam's outstripp'd, and when Alfred is whipp'd,
To keep him in sight of the leaders,
While Blueskin runs true, but his backers look blue,
For his rider's at work with the bleeders ;
When his carcase of beef brings 'the bullock' to grief,
And the rush of the tartan is ended ;
When Archer's in trouble—who's that pulling double,
And taking his leaps unextended ?
He wins all the way, and the rest—sweet, they say,
Is the smell of the newly-turn'd plough, friend,
But you smell it too close when it stops eyes and nose,
And you can't tell your horse from your cow, friend.
~ Adam Lindsay Gordon,
160:At any rate,’ he continued, ‘we hoped that once the war was over the Oracle might start working again. When it did not … Rachel became concerned.’ ‘Who’s Rachel?’ Meg asked. ‘Rachel Dare,’ I said. ‘The Oracle.’ ‘Thought the Oracle was a place.’ ‘It is.’ ‘Then Rachel is a place, and she stopped working?’ Had I still been a god, I would have turned her into a blue-belly lizard and released her into the wilderness never to be seen again. The thought soothed me. ‘The original Delphi was a place in Greece,’ I told her. ‘A cavern filled with volcanic fumes, where people would come to receive guidance from my priestess, the Pythia.’ ‘Pythia.’ Meg giggled. ‘That’s a funny word.’ ‘Yes. Ha-ha. So the Oracle is both a place and a person. When the Greek gods relocated to America back in … what was it, Chiron, 1860?’ Chiron see-sawed his hand. ‘More or less.’ ‘I brought the Oracle here to continue speaking prophecies on my behalf. The power has passed down from priestess to priestess over the years. Rachel Dare is the present Oracle.’ From the cookie platter, Meg plucked the only Oreo, which I had been hoping to have myself. ‘Mm-kay. Is it too late to watch that movie?’ ‘Yes,’ I snapped. ‘Now, the way I gained possession of the Oracle of Delphi in the first place was by killing this monster called Python who lived in the depths of the cavern.’ ‘A python like the snake,’ Meg said. ‘Yes and no. The snake species is named after Python the monster, who is also rather snaky, but who is much bigger and scarier and devours small girls who talk too much. At any rate, last August, while I was … indisposed, my ancient foe Python was released from Tartarus. He reclaimed the cave of Delphi. That’s why the Oracle stopped working.’ ‘But, if the Oracle is in America now, why does it matter if some snake monster takes over its old cave?’ That was about the longest sentence I had yet heard her speak. She’d probably done it just to spite me. ‘It’s too much to explain,’ I said. ‘You’ll just have to –’ ‘Meg.’ Chiron gave her one of his heroically tolerant smiles. ‘The original site of the Oracle is like the deepest taproot of a tree. The branches and leaves of prophecy may extend across the world, and Rachel Dare may be our loftiest branch, but if the taproot is strangled the whole tree is endangered. With Python back in residence at his old lair, the spirit of the Oracle has been completely blocked. ~ Rick Riordan,
161:You must have traveled all night,” she heard herself say.
“I had to come back early.” She felt his lips brush her tumbled hair. “I left some things unfinished. But I had a feeling you might need me. Tell me what’s happened, sweetheart.”
Amelia opened her mouth to answer, but to her mortification, the only sound she could make was a sort of miserable croak. Her self-control shattered. She shook her head and choked on more sobs, and the more she tried to stop them, the worse they became.
Cam gripped her firmly, deeply, into his embrace. The appalling storm of tears didn’t seem to bother him at all. He took one of Amelia’s hands and flattened it against his heart, until she could feel the strong, steady beat. In a world that was disintegrating around her, he was solid and real. “It’s all right,” she heard him murmur. “I’m here.”
Alarmed by her own lack of self-discipline, Amelia made a wobbly attempt to stand on her own, but he only hugged her more closely. “No, don’t pull away. I’ve got you.” He cuddled her shaking form against his chest. Noticing Poppy’s awkward retreat, Cam sent her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, little sister.”
“Amelia hardly ever cries,” Poppy said.
“She’s fine.” Cam ran his hand along Amelia’s spine in soothing strokes. “She just needs…”
As he paused, Poppy said, “A shoulder to lean on.”
“Yes.” He drew Amelia to the stairs, and gestured for Poppy to sit beside them.
Cradling Amelia on his lap, Cam found a handkerchief in his pocket and wiped her eyes and nose. When it became apparent that no sense could be made from her jumbled words, he hushed her gently and held her against his large, warm body while she sobbed and hid her face. Overwhelmed with relief, she let him rock her as if she were a child.
As Amelia hiccupped and quieted in his arms, Cam asked a few questions of Poppy, who told him about Merripen’s condition and Leo’s disappearance, and even about the missing silverware.
Finally getting control of herself, Amelia cleared her aching throat. She lifted her head from Cam’s shoulder and blinked.
“Better?” he asked, holding the handkerchief up to her nose.
Amelia nodded and blew obediently. “I’m sorry,” she said in a muffled voice. “I shouldn’t have turned into a watering pot. I’m finished now.”
Cam seemed to look right inside her. His voice was very soft. “You don’t have to be sorry. You don’t have to be finished, either.”
She realized that no matter what she did or said, no matter how long she wanted to cry, he would accept it. And he would comfort her. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
162:Yuguo fell apart, into a thousand little pieces. He felt it happen, fragments of his mind detaching from the rest, splitting off, becoming their own, being mapped by Nexus. Here was Yuguo’s knowledge of coding, his comprehension of data structures, of objects and methods, of intents and game players, of threads and loops and conditions. Here was football Yuguo, the precise way his left foot grounded into the grass and his hips swiveled and his arm balanced as his right foot shot forward to kick the checked ball at the goal. Here was Yuguo’s shy lust for girls, the patterns his eyes drew over their curves when he saw them, the anxiety that struck him dumb when they were near. Here was Yuguo’s despair that had led him to this room, his quiet dread that his country and the world were getting worse instead of better, that the future was one of slow strangulation at the electronic hands of smiling tame AIs with famous faces, their forked tongues lapping out of the viewscreens to feed saccharine to the masses, the old men who’d always ruled China laughing and holding their leashes. Here were the words a young woman had said to him just minutes ago. “Critical mass. Weak apart, strong together.” Here were her eyes, fiery eyes, hanging in space. Here was her name: Lifen. Then those pieces fell apart, into smaller pieces, which fell apart into fragments even smaller: Yuguo’s sensation of red. Yuguo’s concept of 1 and 0. Yuguo’s left thumb. The sound in Yuguo’s head when he heard the third note of his favorite pop song. Yuguo’s yes. Yuguo’s no. Yuguo’s and. Yuguo’s or. Yuguo’s xor. Yuguo’s now. Yuguo’s future. Yuguo’s past. He could see himself now. He was a golden statue of Yuguo, immobile, one foot in front of the other, standing in a space of white light. But the statue wasn’t solid, it was made of grains, millions of grains, flecks of gold dust, millions of parts of him. And as he watched they were separating, pulling gradually apart, so that he was no longer a single entity but a cloud, a fog, a fog of Yuguo, and if a strong wind came, he would just blow away, and if the pieces split any more he knew there wouldn’t be any such thing as Yuguo left at all. Yuguo’s fear. Yuguo’s end. And then the pieces rushed together, and he was inside that statue, he was that statue, and he was all of it, 1 and 0, yes and no, future and past, sound and sight, football and coding. He was all of it. He was whole. He was a mind. I’m Yuguo, he realized. I’m him. I’m me. I’m Yuguo! His eyes snapped open. He was in his body. His body made of molten gold. No, not gold, flesh and blood. ~ Ramez Naam,
163:Curse it,” Bran said the next morning, standing before the fire in shirt and trousers with his shoulder stiffy bandaged. “You think this necessary?”
He pointed at the mail coats lying on the table, their linked steel rings gleaming coldly in the light of two glowglobes. It was well before dawn. The Marquis had woken us himself, with the news that Galdran’s forces were nigh. And his messengers had brought from Renselaeus the mail coats, newly made and expensive.
“Treachery--” Shevraeth paused to cough and to catch his breath. He, too, stood there in only shirt and trousers and boots, and I looked away quickly, embarrassed. “We should be prepared for treachery. It was his idea to send archers against you in the mountains. He will have them with him now.” He coughed again, the rattling cough of a heavy cold.
I sighed. My own fever and aches had all settled into my throat, and my voice was gone.
Bran was the worst off. Besides the wound in his shoulder, he coughed, sneezed, and sounded hoarse. His eyes and nose watered constantly. Luckily the Renselaeus munificence extended to a besorceled handkerchief that stayed dry and clean despite its heavy use.
Groaning and wincing, Bran lifted his arm just high enough for a couple of equerries to slip the chain mail over his head. As it settled onto him, chinging softly, he winced and said, “Feels like I’ve got a horse lying athwart my shoulders.”
I picked up the one set aside for me and retreated to my room to put it on, and then the tunic they’d given me. Branaric’s wallet containing Debegri’s letter lay safe and snug in my waistband.
When I came back, Branaric started laughing. “A mouse in mail!” he said, pointing. He and Shevraeth both had battle tunics on, and swords belted at their sides; they looked formidable, whereas I felt I looked ridiculous. My mail shirt was the smallest of the three, but it was still much too large, and it bunched and folded beneath my already outsized tunic, making me feel like an overstuffed cushion.
But the Marquis said nothing at all as he indicated a table where a choice of weapons lay, with belts and baldrics of various sizes and styles. In silence I belted on a short sword similar to the one I’d thrown down in surrender above the Vesingrui fortress. I found a helm that fit pretty well over my braid coronet, and then I was ready.
Within a short time we were mounted on fresh chargers that were also armored. Despite the chill outside I started warm, for we’d each drunk an infusion of listerblossoms against illness.
Our way was lit by torches as we raced over the ancient road, under trees that had been old before my family first came to Tlanth. Except for the rhythm of hooves there was no sound, but I sensed that forest life was watching us. ~ Sherwood Smith,
164:What’s wrong?”
Before I could stop myself, I mumbled, “I’m used to resting my head on a warm tiger-fur pillow is what’s wrong.”
He grunted, “Hmm, let me see what I can do.”
Panicky, I squeaked out, “No, really. I’m okay. Don’t bother.”
He ignored my protests, scooped up my mummy-wrapped self, and set me down again on his side of the fire. He turned me on my side so I faced the fire, lay down behind me, and slid an arm under my neck to cradle my head.
“Is that more comfortable for you?”
“Uh, yes and no. My head can definitely rest better in this position. Unfortunately, the rest of me is feeling the complete opposite of relaxed.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t you relax?”
“Because you’re too close for me to relax.”
Bemused, he said, “Me being too close never bothered you when I was a tiger.”
“The tiger you and the man you are two completely different things.”
He put his arm around my waist and tugged me closer so we were spooned together. He sounded irritated and disappointed when he muttered, “It doesn’t feel different to me. Just close your eyes and imagine I’m still a tiger.”
“It doesn’t exactly work like that.” I lay stiffly in his arms, nervous, especially when he began nuzzling the back of my neck.
He said softly, “I like the smell of your hair.” His chest rumbled against my back, sending massaging vibrations through my body as he purred.
“Ren, can you not do that right now?”
He lifted his head. “You like it when I purr. It helps you sleep better.”
“Yes, well, that only works with the tiger. How can you do that as a man anyway?”
He paused, and said, “I don’t know. I just can,” then buried his face in my hair again and stroked my arm.
“Uh, Ren? Explain to me how you plan to keep watch like this.”
His lips grazed my neck. “I can hear and smell the Kappa, remember?”
I twitched and shivered, with nerves, or anticipation, or something else, and he noticed. He stopped kissing my neck and lifted his head to peer at my face in the flickering firelight. His voice was solemn and calm. “Kells, I hope you know that I would never hurt you. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
Rolling toward him, I lifted my hand and touched his cheek. Looking into his blue eyes, I sighed. “I’m not afraid of you, Ren. I trust you with my life. I’ve just never been close to someone like this before.”
He kissed me softly and smiled. “I haven’t either.”
He shifted, lying down again. “Now, turn around and go to sleep. I’m warning you that I plan to sleep with you in my arms all night long. Who knows when, or if, I’ll ever get to do it again. So try to relax, and for heaven’s sake, don’t wiggle!”
He pulled me back against his warm chest, and I closed my eyes. I ended up sleeping better than I had in weeks. ~ Colleen Houck,
165:The Birth of Our Daughter, Emily"
by Anne Delaney

It is a long labour.
The hour-hands fly then slow.
The hills of pain grow higher,
and we in our ascent
are faced with whole ranges rising in the sky.
The nuurses whisper to each other
that my eyes are purple glass, which they admire,
though my sighs are harsh;
they close the door,
discreet upon the scandal of my noise.

We have an older boy
who wants the ring of news
to widen into fact,
but is willing to wait as we engage, enact
the water-tale, the song of blood.
Too young to know
that flesh which parts to take the seed
will break again as life is freed
(and who can say where joy or pain will lead?)

Blessed are the cries of birth:
a woman's, child's, the silent worth
of being (questioned everywhere on earth).
In other wards the nurses bring
the gleaner and his knife that sing
the cosmic praise of death:
"O up in smoke the chimney go
the unwanted miracles, ho, ho, ho!"
Row on row, the women of the future lie
discussing Kant, success and vie
for knowledge and its rotten swain.
"A seed", he says, "is just a seed
to throw upon a fire."

The doctor is called (he smiles, is bald);
his voice of authority,
his eyes that know.
He blesses, assures, his faith endures,
high priest of scientism,
he fades and then returns to see:
dilated now most perfectly.

Push, he says,
and then we three, the father, child and mother (me)
are melted, fused into one.
We cry, we strain, are almost done.
A face is born. He checks to see:
Yes, eyes and nose,
brows and mouth,
are situated properly.

But the baby's large, the face is blue,
the shoulders will not, will not
go through.
The doctor yells
and stumbles over tubing,
his voice collapses like the bombed roofs of cathedrals.
The hand of the high-priest trembles as he shoves
the needle into my veins
and shouts for more technology
(his practiced eye knows,
there are bells that summon us not
to prayer but to disaster).

The baby refuses to be born.
The doctor insists.
Though his stainless steel authorrity is no longer intact,
he is prepared for any unseemly act.
There is a spray of blood upon his linen breast,
there is a loud, white, ceramic panic,
there is an astringent perfume of dread,
the knowledge
that all can collapse,
and lie still beneath fluorescent light.
There is the losing, falling, sinking, blinding, draining down the
sinkhole eyes,
and white horses galloping up on fields of moon.

I cry aloud in one last plight,
shouting "yes" before the extinction of the light,
when shoulder one,
then two
are born of me, of you.
A pinched wail from the electric blue
rubber doll baby.
The man, my husband, weeps, then laughs, as I;
A girl, a girl! I cry.

She curls, uncurls her miniature toes;
they run with her, suction her nose.
Legs and hands lash, mouth opens a sweet gash.
Oxygen bursts into sacrificial lamb,
I am, she screams,
I am, I AM. ~ Michael D O Brien,
166:Did you ever notice how very fickle males are?” she asked the horse. “And how very foolish females are about them?” she added, aware of how inexplicably deflated she felt. She realized as well that she was being completely irrational-she had not intended to come here, had not wanted him to be waiting, and now she felt almost like crying because he wasn’t!
Giving the ribbons of her bonnet an impatient jerk, she untied them. Pulling the bonnet off, she pushed the back door of the cottage open, stepped inside-and froze in shock!
Standing at the opposite side of the small room, his back to her, was Ian Thornton. His dark head was slightly bent as he gazed at the cheery little fire crackling in the fireplace, his hands shoved into the back waistband of his gray riding breeches, his booted foot upon the grate. He’d taken off his jacket, and beneath his soft lawn shirt his muscles flexed as he withdrew his right hand and shoved it through the side of his hair. Elizabeth’s gaze took in the sheer male beauty of his wide, masculine shoulders, his broad back and narrow waist.
Something in the somber way he was standing-added to the fact that he’d waited more than two hours for her-made her doubt her earlier conviction that he hadn’t truly cared whether she came or not. And that was before she glanced sideways and saw the table. Her heart turned over when she saw the trouble he’d taken: A cream linen tablecloth covered with crude china, obviously borrowed from Charise’s house. In the center of the table a candle was lit, and a half-empty bottle of wine stood beside a platter of cold meat and cheese.
In all her life Elizabeth had never known that a man could actually arrange a luncheon and set a table. Women did that. Women and servants. Not men who were so handsome they made one’s pulse race. It seemed she’d been standing there for several minutes, not mere seconds, when he stiffened suddenly, as if sensing her presence. He turned, and his harsh face softened with a wry smile: “You aren’t very punctual.”
“I didn’t intend to come,” Elizabeth admitted, fighting to recover her balance and ignore the tug of his eyes and voice. “I got caught in the rain on my way to the village.”
“You’re wet.”
“I know.”
“Come over by the fire.”
When she continued to watch him warily, he took his foot off the grate and walked over to her. Elizabeth stood rooted to the floor, while all of Lucinda’s dark warnings about being alone with a man rushed through her mind. “What do you want?” she asked him breathlessly, feeling dwarfed by his towering height.
“Your jacket.”
“No-I think I’d like to keep it on.”
“Off,” he insisted quietly. “It’s wet.”
“Now see here!” she burst out backing toward the open door, clutching the edges of her jacket.
“Elizabeth,” he said with reassuring calm, “I gave you my word you’d be safe if you came today.”
Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes and nodded, “I know. I also know I shouldn’t be here. I really ought to leave. I should, shouldn’t I?” Opening her eyes again, she looked beseechingly into his-the seduced asking the seducer for advice.
“Under the circumstances, I don’t think I’m the one you ought to ask. ~ Judith McNaught,
167: The Mummery
THE TWO CAVEES
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
FITCH _a Pelter of Railrogues_
PICKERING _his Partner, an Enemy to Sin_
OLD NICK _a General Blackwasher_
DEAD CAT _a Missile_
ANTIQUE EGG _Another_
RAILROGUES, DUMP-CARTERS. NAVVIES and Unassorted SHOVELRY in the
Lower Distance
_Scene_-The Brink of a Railway Cut, a Mile Deep.
_Time_-1875.
FITCH:
Gods! what a steep declivity! Below
I see the lazy dump-carts come and go,
Creeping like beetles and about as big.
The delving PaddiesPICKERING:
Case of _infra dig._
FITCH:
Loring, light-minded and unmeaning quips
Come with but scant propriety from lips
Fringed with the blue-black evidence of age.
'Twere well to cultivate a style more sage,
For men will fancy, hearing how you pun,
Our foulest missiles are but thrown in fun.
(_Enter Dead Cat._)
516
Here's one that thoughtfully has come to hand;
Slant your fine eye below and see it land.
(_Seizes Dead Cat by the tail and swings it in act to throw._)
DEAD CAT (_singing_):
Merrily, merrily, round I goOver and under and at.
Swing wide and free, swing high and low
The anti-monopoly cat!
O, who wouldn't be in the place of me,
The anti-monopoly cat?
Designed to admonish,
Persuade and astonish
The capitalist andFITCH _(letting go):_
Scat!
_(Exit Dead Cat.)_
PICKERING:
Huzza! good Deacon, well and truly flung!
Pat Stanford it has grassed, and Mike de Young.
Mike drives a dump-cart for the villains, though
'Twere fitter that he pull it. Well, we owe
The traitor one for leaving us!-some day
We'll get, if not his place, his cart away.
Meantime fling missiles-any kind will do.
_(Enter Antique Egg.)_
Ha! we can give them an _ovation_, too!
ANTIQUE EGG:
In the valley of the Nile,
Where the Holy Crocodile
Of immeasurable smile
Blossoms like the early rose,
517
And the Sacred Onion grows
When the Pyramids were new
And the Sphinx possessed a nose,
By a storkess I was laid
In the cool papyrus shade,
Where the rushes later grew,
That concealed the little Jew,
Baby Mose.
Straining very hard to hatch,
I disrupted there my yolk;
And I felt my yellow streaming
Through my white;
And the dream that I was dreaming
Of posterity was broke
In a night.
Then from the papyrus-patch
By the rising waters rolled,
Passing many a temple old,
I proceeded to the sea.
Memnon sang, one morn, to me,
And I heard Cambyses sass
The tomb of Ozymandias!
FITCH:
O, venerablest orb of all the earth,
God rest the lady fowl that gave thee birth!
Fit missile for the vilest hand to throw
I freely tender thee mine own. Although
As a bad egg I am myself no slouch,
Thy riper years thy ranker worth avouch.
Now, Pickering, please expose your eye and say
If-whoop!_(Exit egg.)_
I've got the range.
PICKERING:
Hooray! hooray!
A grand good shot, and Teddy Colton's down:
It burst in thunderbolts upon his crown!
Larry O'Crocker drops his pick and flies,
518
And deafening odors scream along the skies!
Pelt 'em some more.
FITCH:
There's nothing left but tarwish I were a Yahoo.
PICKERING:
Well, you are.
But keep the tar. How well I recollect,
When Mike was in with us-proud, strong, erect
_Mens conscia recti_-flinging mud, he stood,
Austerely brave, incomparably good,
Ere yet for filthy lucre he began
To drive a cart as Stanford's hired man,
That pitch-pot bearing in his hand, Old Nick
Appeared and tarred us all with the same stick.
_(Enter Old Nick)_.
I hope he won't return and use his arts
To make us part with our immortal parts.
OLD NICK:
Make yourself easy on that score my lamb;
For both your souls I wouldn't give a damn!
I want my tar-pot-hello! where's the stick?
FITCH:
Don't look at _me_ that fashion!-look at Pick.
PICKERING:
Forgive me, father-pity my remorse!
Truth is-Mike took that stick to spank his horse.
It fills my pericardium with grief
That I kept company with such a thief.
(_Endeavoring to get his handkerchief, he opens his coat and
the tar-stick falls out. Nick picks it up, looks at the culprit
519
reproachfully and withdraws in tears._)
FITCH (_excitedly_):
O Pickering, come hither to the brinkThere's something going on down there, I think!
With many an upward smile and meaning wink
The navvies all are running from the cut
Like lunatics, to right and leftPICKERING:
Tut, tut'Tis only some poor sport or boisterous joke.
Let us sit down and have a quiet smoke.
(_They sit and light cigars._)
FITCH (_singing_):
When first I met Miss Toughie
I smoked a fine cigyar,
An' I was on de dummy
And she was in de cyar.
BOTH (_singing_):
An' I was on de dummy
And she was in de cyar.
FITCH (_singing_):
I couldn't go to her,
An' she wouldn't come to me;
An' I was as oneasy
As a gander on a tree.
BOTH (_singing_):
An' I was as oneasy
As a gander on a tree.
FITCH (_singing_):
520
But purty soon I weakened
An' lef' de dummy's bench,
An' frew away a ten-cent weed
To win a five-cent wench!
BOTH (_singing_)
An' frew away a ten-cent weed
To win a five-cent wench!
FITCH:
Is there not now a certain substance sold
Under the name of fulminate of gold,
A high explosive, popular for blasting,
Producing an effect immense and lasting?
PICKERING:
Nay, that's mere superstition. Rocks are rent
And excavations made by argument.
Explosives all have had their day and season;
The modern engineer relies on reason.
He'll talk a tunnel through a mountain's flank
And by fair speech cave down the tallest bank.
(_The earth trembles, a deep subterranean explosion is heard and a section of
the bank as big as El Capitan starts away and plunges thunderously into the cut.
A part of it strikes De Young's dumpcart abaft the axletree and flings him,
hurtling, skyward, a thing of legs and arms, to descend on the distant mountains,
where it is cold. Fitch and Pickering pull themselves out of the debris and stand
ungraveling their eyes and noses._)
FITCH:
Well, since I'm down here I will help to grade,
And do dirt-throwing henceforth with a spade.
PICKERING:
God bless my soul! it gave me quit a start.
Well, fate is fate-I guess I'll drive this cart.
521
~ Ambrose Bierce,

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



15

   2 Integral Yoga
   1 Philosophy
   1 Occultism


   3 The Mother
   2 Satprem
   2 Nolini Kanta Gupta


   3 The Mothers Agenda
   2 Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness


10.04_-_The_Dream_Twilight_of_the_Earthly_Real, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Or people its dormitories in infant sleep?
  All things hang here between God's yes and no,
  Two Powers real but to each other untrue,

1.02_-_The_Three_European_Worlds, #The Ever-Present Origin, #Jean Gebser, #Integral
  
  With Leonardo the perspectival means and techniques attain their perfection. His Trattatodella Pittura (a collection of his writings assembled by others after his death based on a mid-sixteenth-century compilation known as the Codex Vaticanus Urbinas 1270) is the first truly scientific and not merely theoretical description of all possible types of perspective. It is the first detailed discussion of light as the visible reality of our eyes and not, as was previously believed, as a symbol of the divine spirit. This emergent illumination dispels any remaining obscurities surrounding perspective, and reveals Leonardo as the courageous discoverer of aerial and color, as opposed to linear, perspective. Whereas linear perspective created the perspectival illusion on a plane surface by the projections of technical drafting, aerial and color perspective achieve their comprehension and rendering of space by techniques of gradation of color and hue, by the use of shadow, and by the chromatic treatment of the horizon.
  

1.09_-_The_Secret_Chiefs, #Magick Without Tears, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
  
  yes and no: the system which was given to me to put forward is only one of many. "Above the Abyss" all these technical wrinkles are ironed out. One man whom I suspect of being a Secret Chief has hardly any acquaintance with the technique of our system at all. That he accepts The Book of the Law is almost his only link with my work. That, and his use of the Ophidian Vibrations: I don't know which of us is better at it, but I am sure that he must be a very long way ahead of me if he is one of Them.
  
  --
  
  You ask whether, contact once made, I am able to renew it should I so wish. Again, yes and no. But the real answer is that no such gesture on my part can ever be necessary. For one thing, the "Chief" is so far above me that I can rely on Him to take the necessary steps, whenever contact would be useful; for another, there is one path always open which is perfectly sufficient for all possible contingencies.
  

1.12_-_The_Superconscient, #Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  
  The ordinary mind, which we all know, sees things one at a time, in succession, linearly. It cannot take leaps, for that would create holes in its logic and cause it to lose its bearings: things would become "incoherent," irrational, or vague. It cannot see more than one thing at a time, or a contradiction would arise; if it accepts a particular truth or fact within its field of consciousness, it must automatically reject all that is different from that particular truth or fact; it works like a camera shutter, letting in one and only one image at a time. Anything that is not part of its momentary vision belongs to the limbo of error, falsehood, or darkness. All things, therefore, are part of an inexorable system of opposites: white versus black, truth versus falsehood, God versus Satan, and this ordinary mind moves along like a donkey on a road, glancing at one tuft of grass after another. In short, the ordinary mind keeps punching out little pieces of time and space. The more one goes down the ladder of consciousness, the smaller the pieces. We can suppose that to a beetle, whatever crosses its path comes from the future to its right, cuts the line of its present and disappears into the past to its left; a man standing astride the beetle, who can be on the right and on the left at the same time, is simply miraculous and untenable, unless he has one leg in truth and the other in falsehood, which is not possible, therefore man does not exist he is impossible in beetle terms. For us, the shutter has grown a little wider, future and past are no longer to the right and left in space, but yesterday and tomorrow in time we have gained a little time since the beetle. But there is another, supramental consciousness that can widen the shutter even more, gain even more time, and stand astride yesterday and tomorrow; it sees simultaneously present, past and future, black and white, truth and so-called falsehood, good and so-called evil, yes and no for all opposites are the result of dividing time into little pieces.
  

1.15_-_The_Supramental_Consciousness, #Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  This is the fundamental experience. Whenever we approach that great Silence, everything changes; we feel Certainty, Peace, like a shipwrecked man who has found a rock. Nothing in life is secure; only that Rock never fails us. That is why it is said that God's kingdom is not of this world. Sri Aurobindo's experience, too, had begun with Nirvana, but it ended with the plenitude of the world. This apparent contradiction is central to our understanding of the practical secret of true life.
  The mind, even the overmind of our prophets, is irreversibly bound to dualities (dualities within Unity): if God is above, He cannot be below; if this is white, it is not black. For the supramental experience, however, everything is embraced; it is always yes and no at the same time, the Mother remarked. The two poles of each thing are constantly integrated within another "dimension" ("the secret inner spaces," as the Vedic rishis called them, II.4.9). Thus, the Transcendent is not elsewhere, outside the world; it is everywhere here, at once fully within and fully without. The supramental consciousness, likewise, is fully in the world and fully outside the world; it is seated on the unshakable Rock and in the middle of the current. This is why it can truly enjoy life and be in control of life; for if we are exclusively in the current we find neither peace nor control;
  we are merely carried away like a straw. We might be able to guess what the supramental experience is by going back to the first experiences of the beginning of yoga. Indeed, we had noticed that by stepping back in our consciousness, by a slight movement of withdrawal, we entered an expanse of silence behind, as if a portion of

1.18_-_The_Eighth_Circle,_Malebolge_The_Fraudulent_and_the_Malicious._The_First_Bolgia_Seducers_and_Panders._Venedico_Caccianimico._Jason._The_Second_Bolgia_Flatterers._Allessio_Interminelli._Thais., #The Divine Comedy, #Dante Alighieri, #Christianity
  76
  And with the eyes and nostrils wages war.
  The bottom is so deep, no place suffices

3.7.1.06_-_The_Ascending_Unity, #Essays In Philosophy And Yoga, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  
  HE HUMAN mind loves a clear simplicity of view; the more trenchant a statement, the more violently it is caught by it and inclined to acceptance. This is not only natural to our first crudity of thinking, and the more attractive because it makes things delightfully easy to handle and saves an immense amount of worry of enquiry and labour of reflection, but, modified, it accompanies us to the higher levels of a more watchful mentality. Alexander's method with the fateful knot is our natural and favourite dealing with the tangled web of things, the easy cut, the royal way, the facile philosophy of this and not this, that and not that, a strong yes and no, a simple division, a pair of robust opposites, a clean cut of classification.
  

3_-_Commentaries_and_Annotated_Translations, #Hymns to the Mystic Fire, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  the correlative tt^. yt^ is a hanging introductory relative vaguely
  referring to the idea of the sentence Bd\ kEryes and not a relative
  pronoun qualifying Bdm^.

4.1.1.04_-_Foundations_of_the_Sadhana, #Letters On Yoga III, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Divine Power descends through this silence and freedom of the
  Self and begins to work in the Adhara. This is what you felt as a pressure; its coming through the top of the head, the forehead and eyes and nose meant that it was working to open the mental centres - especially the two higher centres of thought and will and vision in the inner mental being. These two centres are called the thousand-petalled lotus and the ajna-cakra between the eyebrows. Thirdly, by this working the inner parts of the being are opened and freed; you are liberated from the limitations of the ordinary personal mind, vital and physical and become aware of a wider consciousness in which you can be more capable of the needed transformation. But that is necessarily a matter of time and long working and you are only taking the first steps in this way.
  

Agenda_Vol_10, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  "They preach violence to us, or nonviolence. But these are two faces of the same
  Falsehood, the yes and no of the same impotence: the little saints have gone bankrupt with
  the rest, and others want to seize power-what power? That of the statesmen? Are we going

Agenda_Vol_2, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  Ah... not much!
  yes and no in the sense that I do manage to bring about a general progress. Some individuals are
  receptive, sometimes astonishingly so, receiving the exact suggestion exactly where it's needed, but

Agenda_Vol_3, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  naked.
  (Mother looks at the photo) There is something in his forehead, eyes and nose (why the nose?...)
  that's very similar in all who have experienced the inner contact.
  --
  You may ask me questions, but you will find all the answers in what he has written, don't you think?
  yes and no.
  What do you want to know?
  --
  What do you mean, something both is and is not at the same time?
  Something is, and simultaneously its opposite exists. Well, for us it can't be both yes and no at the same
  time; but for the Lord it's CONSTANTLY both yes and no at the same time!
  It's the same with our notion of space. "I am here," we say, "therefore you are not here." But I am

Book_of_Imaginary_Beings_(text), #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Satyr uttered inarticulate sounds and was so loathsome to
  the eyes and nostrils that Sulla had him at once sent back to
  the wilderness.

The_Act_of_Creation_text, #The Act of Creation, #Arthur Koestler, #Psychology
  nevertheless believe that the characters are real? The answer is neither
  yes nor no, but yes and no. The so-called law of contradiction in
  logic that a thing is either A or not-A but cannot be both is a late
  --
  on one occasion, Yes, on the others, No. (d) 'Solution precedes exe-
  cution of solution' yes and no. (e) 'Solution retained after a single
  performance' definitely No. (f) Noveltyyes.

The_Coming_Race_Contents, #The Coming Race, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
  GOD has created the world, the material world as it is?
  yes and no, more "No" than "Yes". For he has not
  created it directly. There have been many creators,

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