Argus Quotes

Life is fragile and temporary. The faces of today quickly become the faces of the past. Sorrow, pain, and anger... it all fades- except love. Love is forever and there after, even when we've fallen to our graves.

Even Cronus, the Titan who literally had his kids for breakfast, would find these facts hard to swallow.

Through the darkest hours of the night and through the dreamers realm I seek, Far beyond the starry sky and beyond galaxies I am free. Through the grimmest memories and past a seasons air I cannot breathe, Far beyond this mortal world in an afterlife we shall meet.

Where death follows, there’s life. When darkness surrounds you in a world of chaos, search and you’ll eventually find the light.

Argus, you are fallen, and the light in all your lamps is utterly put out: one hundred eyes, one darkness all the same!

This coming from the god who zinged Guinevere and Lancelot while King Arthur was away slaying dragons.

There is no unthreatened, unthreatening conceptual home for the concept of gay origins. We have all the more reason, then, to keep our understanding of gay origin, of gay cultural and material reproduction, plural, multi-capillaried, argus-eyed, respectful, and endlessly cherished.

Obra de tal modo que cada uno de tus actos sea digno de convertirse en un recuerdo

…I bet Echo that she couldn't repeat the following line ten times fast:   Cupid's Academy counts kissing cousins as completed conquests cause his classes cunningly conspire unconscious couples to copulate and canoodle copiously.

Neither Tiphys nor Argus nor old Nauplius (whose great-grandfather and namesake had been the first Greek ever to steer by the Pole Star) could calculate their position with certainty.

Don't destroy Half-Blood while we're gone," was Chiron's parting instruction. Argus pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at us. This took a few minutes since he has one hundred eyes, but we got the message - be good, or else.

She wore an A-line bridal gown with a V-shaped neckline while Apollo playing Bach's Air on the G string.

It came to me on a winter day. Life so full and rich will fade. Though I wish it were not so, One cannot run from an expected fate. And as a steady gust of wind fell upon my face, It was then when I felt a chill and thus did then know; Though I wish it were not true, Life beautiful and sweet shall ripe and pass today. As a petal falls from a rose so shall she blossom and shed; Catching each falling tear, I will not leave a word unsaid.

The morning Julia found the phone, my parents were over for brunch. Everything was falling apart around Benjy, although I'll never know what he knew at the time, and neither will he. The adults were talking when he reentered the kitchen and said, "The sound of time. What happened to it?" "What are you talking about?" "You know," he said, waving his tiny hand about, "the sound of time." It took time - about five frustrating minutes - to figure out what he was getting at. Our refigerator was being repaired, so the kitchen lacked its omnipresent, nearly imperceptible buzzing sound. He spent virtually all his home life within reach of that sound, and so had come to associate it with life happening. I loved his misunderstanding, because it wasn't a misunderstanding. My grandfather heard the cries of his dead brothers. That was the sound of his time. My father heard attacks. Julia heard the boys' voices. I heard silences. Sam heard betrayals and the sounds of Apple products turning on. Max heard Argus's whining. Benjy was the only one still young enough to hear home.

Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound Seems from some faint Aeolian harp-string caught; Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes of thought As Hermes with his lyre in sleep profound The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus bound; For I am weary, and am overwrought With too much toil, with too much care distraught, And with the iron crown of anguish crowned. Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek, O peaceful Sleep! until from pain released I breathe again uninterrupted breath! Ah, with what subtile meaning did the Greek Call thee the lesser mystery at the feast Whereof the greater mystery is death!

Se escribe para recordar, para ser recordado, para vencer la amnesia, el silencio, el agujero oscuro del tiempo. Se escribe también para no morir, para durar. Se escribe como medicina, para consolarse, para consolar. Para volver inofensivo al dolor. Se escribe para ser feliz, se escribe para testimoniar, para dejar testamento de uno. Se escribe para jugar. Se escribe para darle un sentido a la insensatez del mundo. Para evocar. Para bautizar las cosas, para prorrogar la vida, para persuadir, para seducir. Para profetizar. Para lavarse el corazón. Para conocerse, para saber quién somos

One day might be different from another, but there ain't much difference when they're put together. September 14, 1911: Writer and teacher William Armstrong wrote celebrated children's books including the Newbery Medal-winning Sounder, about an African American sharecropper family with a loud and loyal hound, inspired by Odysseus' dog Argus. Armstrong was born in Virginia 102 years ago today.

The difference between killing one man and killing a thousand just doesn’t seem as salient to us as it should. And, as Glover observes, in many cases we will find the former far more disturbing. Three million souls can be starved and murdered in the Congo, and our Argus-eyed media scarcely blink. When a princess dies in a car accident, however, a quarter of the earth’s population falls prostrate with grief. Perhaps we are unable to feel what we must feel in order to change our world.

Argus had a thing for highlander ale – made with real Scotsmen

and he thinks of Argus Panoptes, the watchman of Hera, who had eyeballs all over his head and even on the tips of his fingers, so many eyes that when he closed fifty of them to sleep he held fifty more open to keep watch.

Ava, why don’t you ring this gentleman up for the Richard Argus moonlight piece?” She looked uneasy. “But—” “Now.” My smile cut across my face with the precision of a honed knife. “Careful with the tone, Fred. Ava is your best employee. You wouldn’t want to alienate her or any customers who value her opinion very highly, would you?” He blinked, his eyes darting around as his tiny brain struggled to process the not-so-subtle threat behind my words. “N-no, of course not,” Fred stuttered. “In fact, Ava, you stay right here with this gentleman. I’ll pack the piece myself.” “But she’ll get the commission.” I arched an eyebrow. “Yes.” The manager nodded so fast he resembled a bobblehead doll. “Of course.

You think she needs a chaperone?” When they didn’t answer, the nun tutted disapprovingly. “Let me explain something to you, Mrs. Attaviano, and I hope your daughter is listening, though I cannot be sure. Morally speaking, the only chaperone a young girl of good character requires is her own sense of decency and pride. She who possesses these qualities doesn’t need a chaperone – ever. She who lacks them...” The nun laughed lightly. “Argus himself couldn’t chaperone her.

As an example, when Zeus is dallying with the nymph Io, Hera spots them, so he turns Io into a lovely white heifer. Hera, not fooled, seizes the cow and places her under the guard of a giant named Argus Panoptes (“All-Seeing”) because his body is covered with one hundred eyes (making him, quite literally, the first private eye called in by a wife to intervene in a case of adultery). Zeus sends in the god Hermes to tell him a boring, endless story, which gradually puts Argus to sleep, one eye at a time; then Hermes kills him and frees Io. Not done, Hera sends a gadfly to chase Io (an apt choice for hassling a cow), which stings her all the way to Egypt. Hera takes all of the eyes from Argus’ corpse and puts them on the tail of her favorite bird, the peacock. Take away the fanciful elements and the metamorphoses, and you have a classic story of an unfaithful husband confronted by an angry wife who tries to get even with the other woman.

Three million souls can be starved and murdered in the Congo, and our Argus-eyed media scarcely blink. When a princess dies in a car accident, however, a quarter of the earth's population falls prostrate with grief. Perhaps we are unable to feel what we must feel in order to change our world.

My cat has been Petrified.I want to see some punishment!

fourth finger

In fact, we are living in an age of biblical prophecies come true. What would have seemed miraculous in the Middle Ages is now commonplace: the blind restored to sight, cripples who can walk, and the dead returned to life. Take the Argus II, a brain implant that restores a measure of sight to people with genetic eye conditions. Or the Rewalk, a set of robotic legs that enables paraplegics to walk again. Or the Rheobatrachus, a species of frog that became extinct in 1983 but, thanks to Australian scientists, has quite literally been brought back to life using old DNA. The

weren’t for Alan’s request for him to pass the ketchup bottle, he would have thought they didn’t realize he was there at all. Erin continued to complain about how Jonathan, for the third time that week, had said he needed to leave the afternoon class early, and that this time, he claimed he needed to go back to Lawrence Hall to talk to LaDonda. Nathan was puzzled to hear this. Even if Jonathan made a mistake and meant that he was meeting LaDonda at Schmidt Hall, he knew that he wasn’t telling the truth because LaDonda was waiting for Nathan in the lobby after they had returned to Lawrence Hall. Malick was waiting with her. She wanted to remind them both about meeting with Argus after dinner to prepare for the evening’s bonfire. Unless LaDonda is skilled at being at two places at once, Jonathan was definitely hiding something. Nathan noticed Jonathan

Mrs. O’Leary was the only one happy about the sleeping city. We found her pigging out at an overturned hot dog stand while the owner was curled up on the sidewalk, sucking his thumb. Argus was waiting for us with his hundred eyes wide open. He didn’t say anything. He never does. I guess that’s because he supposedly has an eyeball on his tongue. But his face made it clear he was freaking out. I told him what we’d learned in Olympus, and how the gods would not be riding to the rescue. Argus rolled his eyes in disgust, which looked pretty psychedelic since it made his whole body swirl. “You’d better get back to camp,” I told him. “Guard it as best you can.” He pointed at me and raised his eyebrow quizzically. “I’m staying,” I said. Argus nodded, like this answer satisfied him. He looked at Annabeth and drew a circle in the air with his finger. “Yes,” Annabeth agreed. “I think it’s time.

Now left to man's ingratitude he lay, Unhoused, neglected in the public way; And where on heaps the rich manure was spread, Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed. He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet; In vain he strove to crawl and kiss his feet; Yet (all he could) his tail, his tears, his eyes, Salute his master, and confess his joys. Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul; Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole, Stole unperceived: he turn'd his head and dried The drop humane: then thus impassion'd cried: "What noble beast in this abandon'd state Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate? His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise: If, as he seems, he was in better days, Some care his age deserves; or was he prized For worthless beauty? therefore now despised; Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state; And always cherish'd by their friends, the great." "Not Argus so, (Eumaeus thus rejoin'd,) But served a master of a nobler kind, Who, never, never shall behold him more!

Chances are you’re making your way to camp with your satyr guide. Or maybe you’ve already arrived and are reading this with the hope that it’ll calm your nerves. I’d say there’s a fifty–fifty chance of that happening. But I’m getting off topic. (I do that. I have ADHD. Bet you know what that’s like.) What I’m supposed to do is explain the story behind this book. A few months ago, Chiron – he’s the immortal centaur who’s also our camp activities director – was called away to rescue two unclaimed demigods and their satyr guide. (The satyr had got himself into a sticky situation. It took him days to get his fur clean.) Anyway, Argus, our resident security guard and part-time chauffeur, drove Chiron on this mission because, well, can you imagine a centaur driving an SUV? (You can? Hmm. Maybe you’re a child of Hypnos and saw it in a dream.) Our camp director, Mr D (aka Dionysus, the god of wine), was MIA, so that left us demigods on our own. ‘Don’t destroy Half-Blood while we’re gone,’ was Chiron’s parting instruction.

Just when the first collie came to Sunnybank is not known. But Terhune wrote and told many times how he acquired his own first collie when he was thirteen. He had painfully amassed a savings of $9 and took it to the New York dog pound. There he bought a tricolored collie, which he named Argus. “I devoted all my out-of-school hours to Argus’s education,” he wrote later. “He learned with bewildering ease, but I learned ten times as much from him as he ever learned from me.” It was Argus who made Terhune into a collie man – a strange, deep-rooted aberration afflicting collie owners by the score and, eventually, Terhune readers by the thousands. Its major symptom is the passionate, wholly illogical belief that one breed of dog rises regally far above the rest of the barking pack – and that the old Scottish sheep-herding breed whose very name, like its origins, is shrouded in mystery. Though every breed has its equally impassioned adherents, collie people had the clear advantage, in Terhune, of a trumplet-like spokesman. He was wont to write things like: “A dog is a dog, but a collie is – a collie. “Or: “…the Sunnybank collies aren’t merely dogs. There a super dogs!” But much more than such extravagant claims about collies, it was the attributes given to the collies in his stories that had such a powerful effect on his readers. They were wise beyond belief, everlastingly gentle with those where merited such treatment (and the collies always knew), terrifyingly vengeful with those who didn’t. And they were eternally loyal – so loyal that the word itself seems inadequate to describe their fealty.

According to a legend preserved in Aeschylus’s Prometheus Bound, the tormented nymph Io, when released from Argus by Hermes, fled, in the form of a cow, to Egypt; and there, according to a later legend, recovering her human form, gave birth to a son identified as Serapis, and Io became known as the goddess Isis. The Umbrian master Pinturicchio (1454–1513) gives us a Renaissance version of her rescue, painted in 1493 on a wall of the so-called Borgia Chambers of the Vatican for the Borgia Pope Alexander VI (Fig. 147). Figure 147. Isis with Hermes Trismegistus and Moses (fresco, Renaissance, Vatican, 1493) Pinturicchio shows the rescued nymph, now as Isis, teaching, with Hermes Trismegistus at her right hand and Moses at her left. The statement implied there is that the two variant traditions are two ways of rendering a great, ageless tradition, both issuing from the mouth and the body of the Goddess. This is the biggest statement you can make of the Goddess, and here we have it in the Vatican—that the one teaching is shared by the Hebrew prophets and Greek sages, derived, moreover, not from Moses’s God,17 but from that goddess of whom we read in the words of her most famous initiate, Lucius Apuleius (born c. a.d. 125): I am she that is the natural mother of all things, mistress and governess of all the elements, the initial progeny of worlds, chief of the powers divine, queen of all that are in hell, the principal of them that dwell in heaven, manifested alone and under one form of all the gods and goddesses. At my will the planets of the sky, the wholesome winds of the seas, and the lamentable silences of hell are disposed; my name, my divinity is adored throughout the world, in divers manners, in variable customs, and by many names.

In 1786, Jefferson, then the American ambassador to France, and Adams, then the American ambassador to Britain, met in London with Sidi Haji Abdul Rahman Adja, the ambassador to Britain. The Americans wanted to negotiate a peace treaty based on Congress’ vote to appease. During the meeting Jefferson and Adams asked the ambassador why Muslims held so much hostility towards America, a nation with which they had no previous contacts. In a later meeting with the American Congress, the two future presidents reported that Ambassador Sidi Haji Abdul Rahman Adja had answered that Islam “was founded on the Laws of their Prophet, that it was written in their Qur’an that all nations who should not have acknowledged their authority were sinners, that it was their right and duty to make war upon them wherever they could be found, and to make slaves of all they could take as Prisoners, and that every Musselman (Muslim) who should be slain in Battle was sure to go to Paradise.” For the following 15 years, the American government paid the Muslims millions of dollars for the safe passage of American ships or the return of American hostages. Most Americans do not know that the payments in ransom and Jizyah tribute amounted to 20 percent of United States government annual revenues in 1800. Not long after Jefferson’s inauguration as president in 1801, he dispatched a group of frigates to defend American interests in the Mediterranean, and informed Congress. Declaring that America was going to spend “millions for defense but not one cent for tribute,” Jefferson pressed the issue by deploying American Marines and many of America’s best warships to the Muslim Barbary Coast. The USS Constitution, USS Constellation, USS Philadelphia, USS Chesapeake, USS Argus, USS Syren and USS Intrepid all fought. In 1805, American Marines marched across the dessert from Egypt into Tripolitania, forcing the surrender of Tripoli and the freeing of all American slaves. During the Jefferson administration, the Muslim Barbary States, crumbled as a result of intense American naval bombardment and on shore raids by Marines. They finally agreed officially to abandon slavery and piracy. Jefferson’s victory over the Muslims lives on today in the Marine Hymn with the line “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, we will fight our country’s battles on the land as on the sea.” It wasn’t until 1815 that the problem was fully settled by the total defeat of all the Muslim slave trading pirates.

A little deeper was a fear of falling in love without reservation, of committing herself to someone who might then be snatched from her. Or simply leave her. But if you never really fall in love, you can never really miss it. (She did not dwell on this sentiment, dimly aware that it did not ring quite true.) Also, if she never really fell in love with someone, she could never really betray him, as in her heart of hearts she felt that her mother had betrayed her long-dead father. She still missed him terribly. With Ken it seemed to be different. Or had her expectations been gradually compromised over the years? Unlike many other men she could think of, when challenged or stressed Ken displayed a gentler, more compassionate side. His tendency to compromise and his skill in scientific politics were part of the accoutrements of his job; but underneath she felt she had glimpsed something solid. She respected him for the way he had integrated science into the whole of his life, and for the courageous support for science that he had tried to inculcate into two administrations. They had, as discreetly as possible, been staying together, more or less, in her small apartment at Argus. Their conversations were a joy, with ideas flying back and forth like shuttlecocks. Sometimes they responded to each other’s uncompleted thoughts with almost perfect foreknowledge. He was a considerate and inventive lover. And anyway, she liked his pheromones. She was sometimes amazed at what she was able to do and say in his presence, because of their love. She came to admire him so much that his love for her affected her own self-esteem: She liked herself better because of him. And since he clearly felt the same, there was a kind of infinite regress of love and respect underlying their relationship. At least, that was how she described it to herself. In the presence of so many of her friends, she had felt an undercurrent of loneliness. With Ken, it was gone. She was comfortable describing to him her reveries, snatches of memories, childhood embarrassments. And he was not merely interested but fascinated. He would question her for hours about her childhood. His questions were always direct, sometimes probing, but without exception gentle. She began to understand why lovers talk baby talk to one another. There was no other socially acceptable circumstance in which the children inside her were permitted to come out. If the one-year-old, the five-year-old, the twelve-year-old, and the twenty-year-old all find compatible personalities in the beloved, there is a real chance to keep all of these sub-personas happy. Love ends their long loneliness. Perhaps the depth of love can be calibrated by the number of different selves that are actively involved in a given relationship. With her previous partners, it seemed, at most one of these selves was able to find a compatible opposite number; the other personas were grumpy hangers-on.

The words that had shown up in his own mind had fallen into an irritating bit of doggerel: You cannot master me / but shall I your master be? This unsettled him, as there was nothing in his relationship—or feelings—regarding von Namtzen to which this could apply, and he realized quite well that it had to do with the presence of Jamie Fraser at Argus House.

Fanny had little or no self-esteem on her best days, and courage was another commodity she had precious little experience with. She dropped to her knees and prayed with all her heart for both. It was clear to her that divine intervention was the only way she would be able to rejoin that insufferable Argus Winslow and the dreadful waitress.

But there is no Golden Fleece. Only the Ram, bound for gold trade. You said so.” “No one Golden Fleece,” he responded, shaking a finger at me. “Colchis is rich in gold. It washes down in flakes out of the mountains. Men drop woolly sheepskins into the streams, and when they pull ’em out again, the fleeces glitter like little suns!” “What about the unsleeping dragon?” I asked. Before he could reply, we both heard the crunch of approaching footsteps and my brothers lurched into the circle of firelight. I prepared to bolt, but Polydeuces uttered a ground-shaking belch, tripped on nothing, and sprawled forward on top of me. He reeked of unwatered wine. Castor giggled. “Now look wha’ you did,” he declared, sweeping his arms wide apart. “We heard Argus tellin’ story ’bout the Fleece, all we want’s to come listen, an’ you crush poor ol’--ol’--whoever that is. I tol’ you, you drink too--too--too mush Herakles’ wine. Here, I help you up, boy.” He took three steps and fell over Polydeuces just when I’d gotten hold of his shoulders and was shoving him away. Both of my brothers flattened me in a human landslide. Argus howled with laughter.

My beloved grandson, I thank the gods for the joy of seeing your face again before I die. I wish with all my heart that you’d come back to us sooner.” Argus smiled, but made no move to approach his grandfather. “You’ll have to forgive me for staying away so long, Lord Aetes. As dearly as I love you, the idea of being put to death on my return to Aea kept me away. It’s a trivial thing, the fear of losing one’s life, but it means a lot to me.” Lord Aetes scowled. “Your father, Phrixus, was wrong to exile you, but every man has the right to rule his own family. I thought Phrixus was unjust, but I couldn’t intercede. I had a good reason.” He didn’t elaborate. “A very good one, no doubt,” Argus drawled. “Is it going to be good enough to justify executing me now that I’m back?” The king shook his head. “Your father and stepmother are both dead. Any quarrel you had with them is over. Your innocence and honor are not to be questioned by any man who owes me allegiance. All of your rights as a royal prince of Colchis are hereby restored.” “All of my rights?” Argus echoed. “You mean my stepbrother, Karos, is dead, too?” Lord Aetes didn’t answer. Argus stroked his beard. “I see. Well, won’t he be thrilled to learn that he’s going to have to share his inheritance.” “There will be peace between my grandsons,” Lord Aetes stated, gritting his teeth. “I will not have it otherwise. Did you come here to vex me, or to rejoin your family?” Argus’s laughter danced with the smoke and sparks rising from the fire pit. He strode around the hearth and embraced the king. “My apologies, Grandfather, but can you blame me for snapping? Look at the two of us. My years of exile have aged me so that we could pass for brothers!” Lord Aetes smiled and returned Argus’s hug. “That’s over now. We’ll soon have you looking your proper age.

Are we almost there?” I asked. “You won’t be sleeping on the beach tonight,” he replied. “Not unless you’re fool enough to insist on it.” “I don’t mind sleeping under the stars.” “Well, isn’t that what a legendary huntress always does?” He winked at me. “Or have you become someone else already?” He kept his teasing to a whisper. “Very funny.” “Put your quills down, little hedgehog, I’m not your enemy,” Argus replied. “I owe you plenty for what you’ve brought to this voyage. Thanks to you, I only felt like throttling Jason every second day. I wish I knew your true name so when I die, I can tell Hades, ‘See that girl? She’s sharp as a shark’s tooth, brave enough to battle the worst storm Poseidon could throw at her, and one of these days she’ll be as beautiful as a sunrise on a summer sea. So you tell the Fates to spin the thread of her life good and long, or you’ll have Argus to answer to!’” He chuckled. I placed my hand over his on the prow. “I hope the Pythia was wrong,” I told him. “Not because I like you, but so Hades doesn’t have to put up with you too soon.

I am Prince Jason of Iolkos, and my business here is with your king.” “Iolkos?” The lead spearman repeated the name in a way that showed he’d never heard of it. “What would my lord Aetes have to do with Iolkos, wherever that is? If that’s your only claim to an audience with the king--” Argus made an impatient noise. “Since when does Lord Aetes need the likes of you to decide who he’ll want to see? Or has his kingdom become so poor that he can no longer afford a little bread and salt for his own kin?” The spearman goggled at Argus. “Are you claiming kinship to Lord Aetes, old man?” “I look older than I am, fool, just as you’ll look the worse for wear when my grandfather finds out you insulted me. I’m Argus, son of Phrixus and the royal lady Nera, Lord Aetes’ eldest daughter by his chief wife. Do you recognize my name, or were you whelped yesterday, pup?” The spearman’s mouth flattened. “You were banished.” “So I was. Yet here I am. Now use the mind the gods gave you. Ask yourself why any sane man would risk his life by defying an order of exile. What could be so crucial that I’d be willing to put my own blood in the balance for it, eh?” He clapped the spearman on the back before the man could react and concluded, “Don’t you think Lord Aetes might want to know the answer to that, too?

What are you saying, Argus?” Jason came out of the darkness like a murdered man’s ghost. “I heard you mention my name.” “Only telling Atalanta here about your own exploits as a hunter,” Argus said as naturally as if it were true. “You ought to show her that leopard-skin trophy of yours. It’s a beauty.” “There’ll be time enough to show her that later.” Jason tried to look annoyed, but I could tell that Argus’s smooth talk had flattered him. “When I choose to do it, not when you try to send me off on an errand. I still lead this venture, not you.” I hated his arrogant attitude toward Argus, to whom he owed so much, but there was little I could do about it. The best I could manage was a ruse to divert him. “A leopard skin?” I put the proper note of awe into my voice. “You should wear it when Lord Aetes summons us to his hall. One look at such a prize and he’ll know who our leader is without asking!” “You think that will be necessary?” Jason growled, giving Argus a hard, resentful stare. I pretended I hadn’t heard that. “A leopard! Not even Herakles could boast such a kill. He wore a lion’s pelt, but brute strength’s all you need to slay one of those beasts. You need strength and brains to overcome a leopard.” “Would you really like to see the pelt?” Jason asked eagerly. I nodded. “For you, then, honored huntress,” he said in a low, honeyed voice. He leaped back aboard the Argo with so much vigor that Argus had to bite his lips to hold back the laughter. “I’ll never call you ‘girl’ again,” Argus said to me. “A woman twice your age would envy your cunning!” “If I were still ‘Glaucus,’ you’d say I was smart or clever, not cunning,” I chided him. “Pfff! What does one little word matter?” “So you won’t mind if I call the Argo a ferryboat?” I replied sweetly.

My beloved grandson, I thank the gods for the joy of seeing your face again before I die. I wish with all my heart that you’d come back to us sooner.” Argus smiled, but made no move to approach his grandfather. “You’ll have to forgive me for staying away so long, Lord Aetes. As dearly as I love you, the idea of being put to death on my return to Aea kept me away. It’s a trivial thing, the fear of losing one’s life, but it means a lot to me.

The old woman said something and thrust the bowl into my hands. I looked to Argus. “What am I supposed to do?” “You had a mind of your own last time we talked. What do you think you’re supposed to do?” he countered. “You’re helpful.” My words were bitter with sarcasm, but nothing on earth was half as bitter as that bowl of herbal brew.

You come from his lands. You know what women there do to attract a man. You will teach me.” I didn’t like the way our conversation was going. Even though she kept her voice soft and coaxing, she wasn’t asking for my help, she was demanding it. “Lady Medea, I don’t know about such things.” “You wouldn’t need to, would you?” Now her expression was hard and bitter. Her moods shifted at a frightening rate, and my apprehension grew with each change. “You don’t need to do anything but breathe and the men flock to you, ready to die for your sake.” “That’s not true. You heard how I came here. No one questioned my disguise for an instant.” Except Argus, I reminded myself. And perhaps Orpheus too, though he never came out and said anything about it directly. But she doesn’t need to hear that.

Well, well, isn’t that interesting,” Argus remarked from the doorway. “What?” I asked, watching her warily. “Apparently, our priestess is also the local Pythia. She foretells the future, but only for girls who’ve just become women.” “Is that what she’s doing now?” I asked. “Telling my future?” The old woman was still making noises like those of a hired mourner. I hoped that her woeful tune didn’t mean that my life was going to be one long tragedy. “What’s she saying?” “Oh, it’s mostly babble. You’re brave, you’re strong, you’re quick-witted, you’ll marry a king, find your true love, have lots of babies, kill whole armies with your beauty, and your fame will live forever, yap, yap, yap. If you were one of the local girls, she’d probably say that you attract fish. Don’t take any of it seriously, lass. It’s just an old woman’s way of giving you something to look forward to. That crone knows how hard a woman’s life can be, so she’s giving you a few dreams to distract you. Hope costs nothing, right?” For once, Argus’s smile looked natural.

Girl, are you all right?” Argus stood just outside the doorway, speaking barely above a whisper. “I’m fine,” I replied. For now. “So, this women’s business of yours--” He sounded ill at ease, speaking about what had just happened to me. “Your new friends here seem to think it’s the first time it’s happened to you. Are they right?” I nodded. “Ah. Seems like it’s something special to them, a great honor to share. This hut you’re in, it’s the women’s shrine, and that crone’s a priestess. The only reason they’re letting me come this close and talk to you is so I can translate what she’s got to say.” “Argus, please tell me what’s happening outside,” I said. “I know my brothers saw, but the others--?” “It doesn’t matter who saw what, by now everyone’s heard all about it. If I were you, lass, I’d stay inside that hut until I had grandchildren.

The man who won’t marry you because you chose this adventure doesn’t deserve you,” Milo said. “A man who truly loves you will understand why you ran away. He’ll know who you really are.” His smile was gone. “And if you can’t love him as much as he loves you, he’ll understand that, too.” “Milo…” I reached out to touch his arm, but just then Tiphys came running up to take back the steering oar. Argus was hot on his tail, calling him and all his ancestors so many foul names that I didn’t know whether to duck out of sight or start memorizing the most impressive ones. “Is this how you treat my beautiful ship?” Argus yelled, bright red in the face. “Trusting her to an inexperienced boy is bad enough, but at this time?” He gestured to the west, where the sun was already beginning to dip below the sea.” Count yourself lucky that I don’t give you a fine view of Aea from the bottom of her harbor!” “Gods above, calm yourself,” Tiphys muttered. “It was only for a moment. No harm was done.” “Why don’t I take you to the roof of the Sun Temple, once we’re ashore, and push you off? You can keep repeating, ‘No harm done, no harm done,’ up to the instant you hit the ground! Of all the miserable, ignorant--!” Argus choked on his own fury. I don’t know how long he would have gone on if a call from the prow hadn’t distracted him.

I’ll never call you ‘girl’ again,” Argus said to me. “A woman twice your age would envy your cunning!” “If I were still ‘Glaucus,’ you’d say I was smart or clever, not cunning,” I chided him. “Pfff! What does one little word matter?” “So you won’t mind if I call the Argo a ferryboat?” I replied sweetly.

he’d get the job done. He’d find the most efficient way to do it, and do it correctly the first time, so that no one would bother him about it again. Lazy didn’t mean stupid.

It warms my heart that you think so highly of me but not enough to tell me you’re the infamous Argus,” she said, her voice ice-cold. “So Lucia’s an important enough girlfriend for you to confide your Argus identity to but I’m not?

It’s nice to have someone who cares if you live or not. It makes me feel odd. Like lying in a sunbeam, but on the inside.

Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.

Small aircraft with Argus tube   29. Hertel stated that Junkers proposed a very cheap and

EXPENSIVE CARS The most expensive chassis on the British market is the 45-50 h.p. Rolls-Royce and the 50 h.p. double-six Daimler, the prices of both of which range from £1850. Complete cars, of course, vary in price according to the coachwork fitted, but one of the standard models of the 50 h.p. Daimler is an enclosed drive model with a fixed head, listed at prices ranging from £2500. Special coachwork jobs cost as much as £1200 to £1300 on other chassis, bringing the total price up to £3000 or more. There are also, of course, Continental chassis which sell at the same price, but the Import duty partly accounts for their high prices. These include the 45 h.p. Hispano-Suiza chassis (£1950), and Isotta Frasbin sports (£1850); super sports, (£1950). Another expensive English chassis is the 40 h.p. Lancaster (£1800). The Argus

Thanks. Any idea how to ride a flying horse?” Argus said. “Not really, but I’d imagine it would be along the lines of get in the saddle and don’t fall off,” Murphy said.

But even if, as Johnson argues, power and dominance serve no meaningful purpose, they always incur costs. In biology, the cost can be painfully visible. During courtship, the argus cock pheasant spreads his large secondary wing feathers, which are decorated with beautiful eye spots; the bigger they are, the more they stimulate the female. And the longer the feathers, the more progeny the cock will produce. So the more beautiful cocks produce more descendants. That should be a competitive advantage. But the evolution of the argus pheasant has run itself into a blind alley because the most gorgeous cock has feathers so huge and unwieldy that they may cause him to be eaten by a predator, because he can’t fly away fast enough. Oskar Heinroth, the teacher of Konrad Lorenz, commented: ‘Next to the wings of the argus pheasant, the hectic life of western civilized man is the most stupid product of intra-specific selection!

Midwest tornado. Paint cans and debris fell from the sky along with the burning embers of the tarp. Smaller explosions began inside the trailer. “The whole thing is going to go up,” Jenkins said. “And it will look like the dumb son of a bitch burned himself up in a methamphetamine lab.” “What about the guy in the grass?” Sloane said, scrambling to his feet and still struggling to catch his breath. “He’s dead.” “Maybe he has some identification, something that would tie him to Argus.” “You saw their operation. What do you think the chances are of that? The body will be gone by the time the police and fire get here. We need to get out of here.” Sloane stood and looked at the trailer. His last witness lay dead inside. SIERRA DE LA LAGUNA BAJA, MEXICO JAKE’ S VOICE GREW hoarse as he

lemme tell you: it’s kind of hard to predict orbital feline interdiction.

I wasn’t about to wait for Argus to give me permission to follow up. He was falling into the same traps that made the palace poison: hoarding truth, controlling the narrative, protecting whatever it was he was protecting.

Draco Malfoy being dragged by the ear toward them by Argus Filch.

It is really hard to get the Ay-era tech to build stuff that isn’t streamlined and necessary. But the Real American stuff? That’ll slap whatever extra nonsense you want onto a design, no complaints. It won’t work half the time, but it’ll do it! And fall apart in three months! But I can do a rebuild later.

In a video that went viral on TikTok, a male argus pheasant displayed his dazzling plumage to a female, who seemed to look off to the side. Viewers laughed at her apparent disinterest, not knowing that she was looking right at him with her side-facing visual field.

Are you with Vanessa?' said Tom. He wasn't sure why he'd asked that, but there was something about them that reminded him of Vanessa's friends. Something vaguely theatrical; a shout of color against the grime. A shine, which was more than the warmth of their skin or the luminous quality of their eyes. Just as Charissa and her friend had seemed to be creatures of the night, these people were the opposite. Light seemed to radiate from them somehow, reflecting against the sooty stones. The little girl smiled. 'I'm Swallowtail. This is Argus. We're friends of Vanessa's. We'll take you to her.' And, catching Tom's hand in hers, she and Argus led him through the silent streets of King's Cross, towards his doom and his heart's desire.

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch.

Chris was told he had been assigned to work in a communications vault that was the nerve center for this system of international espionage—a code room linking the TRW plant with CIA Headquarters and Rhyolite’s major ground stations in Australia. The continuing disclosures about the secret world fascinated Chris, and he was especially intrigued by what he saw as a bizarre contrast between the mechanical spies he had been told about and the location of the ground stations. The Rhyolite earth stations had been planted in a world that was about as close as man could find now to the Stone Age; they were situated near Alice Springs in the harsh Outback of Australia, an oasis in a desert where aborigines still lived much as Stone Age men did thousands of years ago. Under an Executive Agreement between the United States and Australia, Chris was told, all intelligence information collected by the satellites and relayed to the network of dish-shaped microwave antennas at Alice Springs was to be shared with the Australian intelligence service. However, Rogers told Chris, the United States, by design, was not living up to the agreement: certain information was not being passed to Australia. He explained that TRW was designing a new, larger satellite with a new array of sensors; the Australians, Rogers emphasized, were never to be told about it; anytime Chris sent messages that would reach Australia, he must delete any reference to the new satellite. Its name was Argus, or AR—for Advanced Rhyolite. Whoever in the CIA had selected the cryptonym must have enjoyed his choice, because it was appropriate. In Greek mythology, Argus was a giant with one hundred eyes … a vigilant guardian.

Asian women would caress her and

For the next month, reports of CIA activities in Australia dominated the front pages of several Australian newspapers. Using Chris’s disclosure of CIA tampering in Australia as a springboard, the newspapers initiated investigative series which suggested that the ouster of Prime Minister Whitlam might have been orchestrated by the American intelligence service, and there were fresh reports almost daily of different alleged CIA manipulations of political, economic and labor affairs in the country. None of the Australian journalists managed to discover the “deception” that Chris had alluded to—the Rhyolite-Argus deception. Nevertheless, the close Australian–American alliance that had been cemented in World War II was suddenly buffeted by a political tornado, and the incident touched off day after day of stormy sessions in the Australian parliament. There were demands for a complete investigation of the CIA’s role in Australia. But the government managed to ride out the storm. It simply remained aloof from the crisis, refusing to respond to the allegations and biding its time until they subsided.

Father Jude frowned into the blond sky. He was well thought of in his parish, calm and good. Things had been going smoothly down in Argus. He’d had a comfortable routine figured out. And now, what an unwelcome complication, in spite of the huge honor, to be afflicted with so many new problems, uncertainties, even doubts. And how terrifying, this feeling of loving someone. Thrilling. Awful.

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn’t believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

What’s facing it, firing-arc-wise? I’ve lost engine control, so I can’t rotate us.” “Railguns fourteen, sixteen, twenty through twenty-six, and thirty. One bombardment cannon that I do not think would have the accuracy you are looking for. The singularity shotgun, a plague dropper, five different pain inducers. Two missile tubes, four particle beams, one inferno lance, a magnetic flux projector, an x-ray array that you have marked as ‘no,’ the third and fifth segments of the pulse field generator, and the point defense flak cannon that you have named Larry.

Argus’ was a giant of classical mythology who had a hundred eyes. He was known as the ‘all-seeing one’,

Professor Slughorn,” wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, “I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?” Malfoy pulled himself free of Filch’s grip, looking furious. “All right, I wasn’t invited!” he said angrily. “I was trying to gate-crash, happy?” “No, I’m not!” said Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face. “You’re in trouble, you are! Didn’t the headmaster say that nighttime prowling’s out, unless you’ve got permission, didn’t he, eh?” “That’s all right, Argus, that’s all right,” said Slughorn, waving a hand. “It’s Christmas, and it’s not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we’ll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco.

at

The Tottenham directors soon discovered that Blanchflower was no ordinary footballer. He’d written a weekly column in the Birmingham Argus and had agreed to write a similar column for a Fleet Street paper. He had a feel for words and was a good writer.

He knew that attachments were for the living, and so he did the honorable thing. He let her go. He leaned close so she would hear him say it was all right for her to leave him. They knew it was now; they could feel something shift the way it always did. Even Argus, who’d been whimpering, grew quiet. It was not a dream, but something more. She breathed out, and inside that one breath was every word that had been spoken, every step she had taken, everyone she had ever loved.

Washington doled them out carefully, especially when it came to family members; he could abide entry-level nepotism for his nephew Robert Lewis, but he declined to offer a legal job to another nephew, Bushrod, because his “standing at the bar would not justify my nomination,” and “the eyes of Argus are upon me, and no slip will pass unnoticed that can be improved into a supposed partiality for friends or relations.

It was a witty fiction of the poets, that when Mercury had cast Argus into a sleep and with an enchanted wand closed his eyes, he then killed him. When Satan has by his witcheries lulled men asleep in sloth, then he destroys them. Some report that while the crocodile sleeps with its mouth open, the Indian rat gets into its belly and eats up its entrails. So while men sleep in security they are devoured.

In a video that went viral on TikTok, a male argus pheasant displayed his dazzling plumage to a female, who seemed to look off to the side. Viewers laughed at her apparent disinterest, not knowing that she was looking right at him with her side-facing visual field. A seal’s visual field is more similar to ours but with excellent coverage above its head and poor coverage below, presumably to spot fish silhouetted against the sky. A seal that swims upside down might look relaxed to a human observer, but is actually scanning the seafloor for food.