Bedford Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Bedford. Here they are! All 100 of them:

It is impossible to be both selfish and happy
Joyce Meyer (Any Minute)
War means fighting, and fighting means killing.
Nathan Bedford Forrest
The war of my life had begun; and though one of God's most powerless creatures, I resolved never to be conquered.
Harriet Ann Jacobs (Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself & HistoryClass for The American Promise 4e V1 (The Bedford Series in History and Culture))
WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day! KING. What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin; If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more methinks would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
William Shakespeare (Henry V)
Mr. Herbert Demarest Alexander Hamilton Jr. High 2236 Bedford Avenue Brooklyn NY Dear Mr Demarest, Then why don't you give him 'Withering Heights'? At least Heathcoat knew how to kick some ass. Chas. Banks 3d Base
Steve Kluger (Last Days of Summer)
Sleeping in a hallway around Bedford Park later that week, I took out my blank transcripts and filled in the grades I wanted, making neat little columns of A’s. If I could picture it—if I could take out these transcripts and look at them—then it was almost as if the A’s had already happened. Day by day, I was just catching up with what was already real. My future A’s, in my heart, had already occurred. Now I just had to get to them.
Liz Murray (Breaking Night: A Memoir of Forgiveness, Survival, and My Journey from Homeless to Harvard)
A rose is still a rose, even hidden under different petals.
Erin Bedford
To remain monolingual reduces the mind to the confines of a tramline.
Sybille Bedford (Quicksands: A Memoir)
Goes to show you can’t judge a fish by the hook in it’s mouth.
Erin Bedford
Did people come here to commit suicide? They were bound to. Cliffs, bridges, tall buildings, they were like an invitation. Just stand there, looking down, was to create an optical illusion of the ground rushing up to meet you.
Martyn Bedford (Flip)
In a shelter meant for battered women, there were only two reasons a person would decide to leave. One, she had decided to launch out on her own and begin a new life. Or two, she had decided to go back to someone who had hurt her.
Deborah Bedford (A Morning Like This)
[Richard Bedford Bennett] was the richest Prime Minister and the only millionaire to hold office before Pierre Trudeau. His money obviously colored his thinking -- colored it true blue -- but he did not consider it a political drawback. No leader, he said, could serve the public properly if he was constantly looking over his shoulder at the shadow of debts. This theory is now widely accepted in the United States where it has become practically impossible for a non-millionaire to run for high office without selling pieces of himself like a prize-fighter. Yet the public still suspects a self-made millionaire like Lyndon Johnson while revering the much-richer John F. Kennedy, who got it all from his father.
Gordon Donaldson (Eighteen Men : The Prime Ministers of Canada)
What I learnt came to me . . . at second and at third hand, in chunks and puzzles, degrees and flashes.
Sybille Bedford (A Legacy)
In New Bedford, fathers, they say, give whales for dowers to their daughters, and portion off their nieces with a few porpoises a-piece.
Herman Melville (Moby Dick: or, the White Whale)
Her soliloquy crystallized itself into little fragmentary phrases emerging suddenly from the turbulence of her thought, particularly when she had to exert herself in any way, either to move, to count money, or to choose a turning. "To know the truth--to accept without bitterness"-- those, perhaps, were the most articulate of her utterances, for no one could have made head or tail of the queer gibberish murmured in front of the statue of Francis, Duke of Bedford...
Virginia Woolf (Night and Day)
he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
William Shakespeare (Henry V)
Dad reckoned there was a rational explanation for everything, even things that made no sense at all. UFOs, ghosts, God - they're just the names people came up with for stuff they haven't worked out yet.
Martyn Bedford (Flip)
By afternoon, a dense crowd had gathered around the Bedford as word spread that an enormous infidel in brown pajamas was loading a truck full of supplies for Muslim schoolchildren. ...Mortenson's size-fourteen feet drew a steady stream of bouncing eyebrows and bawdy jokes from onlookers. Spectators shouted guesses at Mortenson's nationality as he worked. Bosnia and Chechnya were deemd the most likely source of this large mangy-looking man. When Mortenson, with his rapidly improving Urdu, interrupted the speculation to tell them he was American, the crowd looked at his sweat-soaked and dirt-grimed shalwar, at his smudged and oily skin, and several men told him they didn't think so.
Greg Mortenson (Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace ... One School at a Time)
She was also incapacitated by much of daily life and had 'no aptitude whatsoever' for domesticity.
Sybille Bedford
A biographer is an artist under oath.
Sybille Bedford (Jigsaw: An Unsentimental Education)
When one’s young, everything is a rehearsal. To be repeated ad lib, to be put right when the curtain goes up in earnest. One day you know that the curtain was up all the time. That was the performance.
Sybille Bedford (A Compass Error)
In about four months after I went to New Bedford, there came a young man to me, and inquired if I did not wish to take the "Liberator." I told him I did; but, just having made my escape from slavery, I remarked that I was unable to pay for it then. I, however, finally became a subscriber to it. The paper came, and I read it from week to week with such feelings as it would be quite idle for me to attempt to describe. The paper became my meat and my drink. My soul was set all on fire. Its sympathy for my brethren in bonds—its scathing denunciations of slaveholders—its faithful exposures of slavery—and its powerful attacks upon the upholders of the institution—sent a thrill of joy through my soul, such as I had never felt before!
Frederick Douglass (Narrative Of The Life Of Frederick Douglass: By Frederick Douglass & Illustrated)
The top landing of any Bedford Park building’s stairwell felt so much safer. Lying there, flat on a bed of marble, using my backpack for a pillow, whole lives played out beneath me: the smell of food cooking; lovers’ arguments; dishes clanking; TVs blasting at top volume; my old shows, The Simpsons and Jeopardy!; rap music—all carrying me back to University Avenue. Mostly, though, I heard families: children calling out for mothers, husbands speaking their wives’ names, sending me reminders of the way love stretched between a handful of people fills a space, transforms it into a home.
Liz Murray (Breaking Night)
Guillermo was lonely and serviceable and always rushed in to do the things one wanted in a way one did not want them done.
Sybille Bedford (A Visit to Don Otavio)
Be mindful of how you approach time. Watching the clock is not the same as watching the sun rise.
Sophia Bedford-Pierce
People naturally despise a dependant.
William Dean Howells (A Traveler from Altruria (Bedford Series in History and Culture))
As for my feet, the little feet You used to call so pretty, There's one, I know, in Bedford Row, The t'other's in the City.
Thomas Hood
He wanted to go out with Nick Bedford (and in and out and in and out…),
Anonymous
New York is an exploited colony called Brownsville Bedford Stuyvesant or Harlem Where tiny fat Jews are holding the fiery hoop Watching you burn your ass jumping through it
Abiodun Oyewole
In New Bedford, fathers, they say, give whales for dowers to their daughters,
Herman Melville (Herman Melville: The Complete Collection)
Sag Harbor, Cold Spring Harbor, Mystic, New Bedford, Nantucket, Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard.
Jed McKenna (Spiritually Incorrect Enlightenment (The Enlightenment Trilogy Book 2))
And the women of New Bedford, they bloom like their own red roses. But roses only bloom in summer; whereas the fine carnations of their cheeks is perennial as sunlight in the seventh heavens.
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick or, The Whale)
The shoes had come to define him as he proceeded to break every sprinting record at New Bedford High School and other high schools across the Commonwealth, earning himself the nickname Fast Eddie.
Elin Hilderbrand (The Rumor)
Can age itself forget that you are now in the last act of life? Can grey hairs make folly venerable, and is there no period to be reserved for meditation or retirement.” — Junius, To the Duke of Bedford, 19th Sept. 1769.]
François de la Rochefoucauld (Reflections: Or, Sentences and Moral Maxims)
«Uman…» ho cominciato. E in quel momento, lui si è girato verso di me e mi ha detto: «Perché sei ancora qui?» «Voleva che tu te ne andassi?» mi chiede l’ispettore Ryan. Scuoto la testa. «No. Non capiva perché non lo avessi lasciato»
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
Hoisting sail, it glided down the Acushenet River.. On one side, New Bedford rose in terraces of streets, their ice-covered trees all glittering in the clean, cold air. Huge Hills and mountains of casks on casks were piled upon her wharves , and side by side the world-wandering whale-ships lay silent and safely moored at last; while from others came a sound of carpenters and coopers, with blended noises of fires and forges to melt the pitch, all betokening that new cruises were on the start; that one most perilous and long voyage ended, only begins a second, and a second ended, only begins a third, and so on, for ever and aye. Such is th endlessness,yea, the intolerableness of all earthly effort.
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick or, The Whale)
Hanno avuto troppa paura di avermi persa per sempre. E poi sono tornata. E' un miracolo. Io sono un miracolo. E loro non riescono a credere che non sparirò un'altra volta. E' buffo, io non mi sono mai considerata scomparsa. Come si sparisce da se stessi?
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
Ebbets Field was a narrow cockpit, built of brick and iron and concrete, alongside a steep cobblestone slope of Bedford Avenue. Two tiers of grandstand pressed the playing area from three sides, and in thousands of seats fans could hear a ball player’s chatter, notice details of a ball player’s gait and, at a time when television had not yet assaulted illusion with the Zoomar lens, you could see, you could actually see, the actual expression on the actual face of an actual major leaguer as he played. You could know what he was like!
Roger Kahn (The Boys of Summer (Harperperennial Modern Classics))
Buttercups" When we were children our papas were stout And colorless as seaweed or the floats At anchor off New Bedford. We were shut In gardens where our brassy sailor coats Made us like black-eyed susans bending out Into the ocean, Then my teeth were cut: A levelled broom-pole butt Was pushed into my thin And up-turned chin-- There were shod hoofs behind the horseplay. But I played Napoleon in my attic cell Until my shouldered broom Bobbed down the room With horse and neighing shell. Recall the shadows the doll-curtains veined On ancrem Winslow's ponderous plate from blue China, the breaking of time's haggard tide On the huge cobwebbed print of Waterloo, With a cracked smile across the glass. I cried To see the Emperor's sabered eagle slide From the clutching grenadier Staff-officer With the gold leaf cascading down his side-- A red dragoon, his plough-horse rearing, swayed Back on his reins to crop The buttercup Bursting upon the braid
Robert Lowell
But God did not utterly leave me, but followed me still, not now with convictions, but judgments; yet such as were mixed with mercy.  For once I fell into a creek of the sea, and hardly escaped drowning.  Another time I fell out of a boat into Bedford river, but, mercy yet preserved me alive: besides, another time, being in a field, with one of my companions, it chanced that an adder passed over the highway, so I having a stick in my hand, struck her over the back; and having stunned her, I forced open her mouth with my stick, and plucked her sting out with my fingers; by which act had not God been merciful unto me, I might by my desperateness, have brought myself to my end.
John Bunyan (Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners)
As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has of late been gradually monopolizing the business of whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original— the Tyre of this Carthage;—the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones—so goes the story— to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick)
You can never know the odds. If you don't play, you'll never win
Richard Bedford
My interest in how people lived was nourished quite literally by the food I shared with them.
Sybille Bedford (Jigsaw: An Unsentimental Education)
In Europe where human relations like clothes are supposed to last, one’s got to be wearable. In France one has to be interesting, in Italy pleasant, in England one has to fit.
Sybille Bedford (A Visit to Don Otavio)
I have not the slightest desire to see the wonders of nature', said E. 'Of course not my dear. But what else can we do?
Sybille Bedford (A Visit to Don Otavio)
Every one is expected to look out for himself here. I fancy that there would be very little rising if men were expected to rise for the sake of others, in America.
William Dean Howells (A Traveler from Altruria (Bedford Series in History and Culture))
Per un attimo penso di non risponderle. Alla fine però lo faccio. Magari non sembrerà granché coerente, ma cerco di spiegare che invidiavo Uman perché sapeva spezzare i vincoli che la vita ci impone. Perché sapeva essere quello che voleva e se ne fregava di cosa gli altri pensavano di lui. Che conoscere Uman mi aveva fatto capire quanto ero diventata prevedibile.
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
Ci eravamo detti «ti amo» un mucchio di volte dalla dichiarazione di Uman al bancomat di Bristol. Come se avessimo scoperto un nuovo, fantastico gusto di gelato e non potessimo resistere a mandarne giù un’altra cucchiaiata ogni volta che ne avevamo voglia. Non mi ero mai innamorata prima, e nemmeno ero mai stata amata. Ma sapevo già più cose dell’essere innamorati di chiunque altro
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
«Mi dispiace davvero tanto. Ti ho rovinato il tuo posto felice.» «Uman, non hai niente di cui scusarti. In quel momento era un’ottima idea, quella di venire qui, ma poi non lo è stata più. Tutto qui.» Ho intrecciato il mignolo al suo. «E comunque, non sono i posti a essere felici. Sei tu che devi portarti dietro la felicità, oppure crearne una scorta nuova ovunque ti capiti di trovarti.»
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
Mentally subtract positive events. To take the hurt out of a regret, try a mental trick made famous in the 1946 movie It’s a Wonderful Life. On Christmas Eve, George Bailey stands on the brink of suicide when he’s visited by Clarence, an angel who shows George what life in Bedford Falls would be like had he never been born. Clarence’s technique is called “mentally subtracting positive events.
Daniel H. Pink (The Power of Regret: How Looking Backward Moves Us Forward)
George meanwhile, with his hat on one side, his elbows squared, and his swaggering martial air, made for Bedford Row, and stalked into the attorney’s offices as if he was lord of every pale-faced clerk who was scribbling there. He ordered somebody to inform Mr. Higgs that Captain Osborne was waiting, in a fierce and patronizing way, as if the pekin of an attorney, who had thrice his brains, fifty times his money, and a thousand times his experience, was a wretched underling who should instantly leave all his business in life to attend on the Captain’s pleasure. He did not see the sneer of contempt which passed all round the room, from the first clerk to the articled gents, from the articled gents to the ragged writers and white-faced runners, in clothes too tight for them, as he sate there tapping his boot with his cane, and thinking what a parcel of miserable poor devils these were. The miserable poor devils knew all about his affairs. They talked about them over their pints of beer at their public-house clubs to other clerks of a night. Ye gods, what do not attorneys and attorneys’ clerks know in London! Nothing is hidden from their inquisition, and their families mutely rule our city.
William Makepeace Thackeray (Vanity Fair)
It is successful charter schools that are the real threat to the traditional unionized public schools. No charter school network examined here has been more successful educationally than the Success Academy charter schools in Harlem, Bedford-Stuyvesant, the South Bronx and other low-income minority neighborhoods in New York City—and none has been more often or more bitterly attacked in words and deeds.
Thomas Sowell (Charter Schools and Their Enemies)
I was quite disappointed at the general appearance of things in New Bedford. The impression which I had received respecting the character and condition of the people of the north, I found to be singularly erroneous. I had very strangely supposed, while in slavery, that few of the comforts, and scarcely any of the luxuries, of life were enjoyed at the north, compared with what were enjoyed by the slaveholders of the south. I probably came to this conclusion from the fact that northern people owned no slaves. I supposed that they were about upon a level with the non-slaveholding population of the south. I knew they were exceedingly poor, and I had been accustomed to regard their poverty as the necessary consequence of their being non-slaveholders. I had somehow imbibed the opinion that, in the absence of slaves, there could be no wealth, and very little refinement. And upon coming to the north, I expected to meet with a rough, hard-handed, and uncultivated population, living in the most Spartan-like simplicity, knowing nothing of the ease, luxury, pomp, and grandeur of southern slaveholders. Such being my conjectures, any one acquainted with the appearance of New Bedford may very readily infer how palpably I must have seen my mistake.
Frederick Douglass (Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass)
«Mi piace. Quando parlo con te mi sembra di essere più intelligente. Mi costringi a pensare.» «Pensare è una bella cosa» ha osservato Uman. «Pensare ci piace.» Quello che avevo detto era vero. Tutte le volte che ero con lui mi sentivo più intelligente, più acuta, più spiritosa. Mi sentivo tirata al limite. Le nostre conversazioni erano casuali, ma sotto la superficie ribolliva sempre qualcosa. Un «sottotesto», lo avrebbe probabilmente definito Uman.
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
Selma became a major slave-trading port. The city passed twenty-seven ordinances regulating the behavior of slaves, stipulating, for example, that “any Negro found upon the streets of the city smoking a cigar or pipe or carrying a walking cane must be on conviction punished with 39 lashes.” During the Civil War, Selma manufactured weapons for the Confederacy and was commanded by Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest, the first Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan.
Ari Berman (Give Us the Ballot: The Modern Struggle for Voting Rights in America)
Ed è allora che noto una cartolina, seminascosta fra due cose da buttare. La tiro fuori. La fotografia sul davanti mostra una gola dalle pareti a picco con un sentiero angusto che si snoda sul versante roccioso e molto, molto più in basso, il nastro bianco di un fiume. Nella striscia di cielo azzurro e terso sopra la foto la didascalia recita: El Caminito del Rey, Andalusia. La mano mi trema talmente che quando giro la cartolina rischio di farla cadere. Ho visto la sua scrittura una volta soltanto, sui foglietti dei «posti felici» che mi aveva mostrato dopo che avevamo estratto «Bryher», ma la riconoscerei ovunque. Tre parole. Una sottolineatura. E un punto di domanda. Vorresti essere qui?
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
He had been the one to set the course of their lives by migrating to New York before they were born. The parts of the city that black migrants could afford—Harlem, Bedford-Stuyvesant, the Bronx—had been hard and forbidding places to raise children, especially for some of the trusting and untutored people from the small-town South. The migrants had been so relieved to have escaped Jim Crow that many underestimated or dared not think about the dangers in the big cities they were running to—the gangs, the guns, the drugs, the prostitution. They could not have fully anticipated the effects of all these things on children left unsupervised, parents off at work, no village of extended family to watch over them as might have been the case back in the South. Many migrants did not recognize the signs of trouble when they surfaced and so could not inoculate their children against them or intercede effectively when the outside world seeped into their lives.
Isabel Wilkerson (The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America's Great Migration)
Nevertheless, out of the 580-man garrison, 66 percent of the blacks and 35 percent of the whites were killed. Most of these casualties seem to have occurred during the melee immediately after the Confederates entered the walls, but not all. One
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
Even after the Union colors were struck, the horror continued. Surviving Federals claimed the killing went on sporadically into the next day as Confederates burned the place and supervised the burying of dead. Some men were buried alive, Federals
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
Se Uman non aveva preso la tenda, non poteva avere davvero lasciato l’isola senza di me. O averla lasciata e basta. Un’altra delle bugie che mi sono detta. Ha abbandonato la tenda perché non avrebbe potuto prenderla senza svegliarmi, senza dirmi quello che stava facendo. Aveva abbandonato la tenda proprio perché voleva partire senza di me. Come deve essere sgusciato via silenziosamente, cautamente, per non disturbarmi. Per evitare di dovermi chiedere: «Vieni con me?» Per evitare di dovermi dire addio
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
«Stavamo parlando di te» mi ha detto. «Com’è che siamo tornati a parlare di me?» «Perché tu sei uno con il tetto a strisce mentre il mio è di un banalissimo grigio.» «No, non dentro di te. Dentro di te, Gloria, tu sei un caleidoscopio di rosa e viola. Davvero, però, che motivo ho di essere stufa?» «L’infelicità non è una scelta razionale» ha detto Uman. «Neppure la felicità. Non si può decidere di non essere infelici come non si può decidere di non essere stanchi dopo avere dormito male per tutta la notte.» Era vero? Sembrava che dovesse esserlo....
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
Anche se Uman mi aveva già dimostrato la sua capacità di essere giù di morale, non era mai stato così depresso o così a lungo. Non con me. Ho ripensato a tutti quei giorni in cui non si era presentato a scuola e mi sono chiesta se anche allora fosse stato così. Ti prego, torna te stesso, mi sono sorpresa a sperare. Ma ovviamente, lui era se stesso. Anche quella era una parte di Uman. Se ami qualcuno – e io lo amavo, lo amo – devi amare tutto di quella persona, le cose brutte oltre a quelle belle. Ma è difficile, se quella persona si chiude in se stessa e ti esclude
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
A devastating, a traumatic defeat, [to Germany] and the Danes might well have fallen into a Treaty of Versailles mentality. Mysteriously, they did not. Instead they redirected their aims and will; they did turn inward. They changed their agriculture from grain to dairy products, they set up cooperatives, gave their attention to social and economic advancement, chose a neutral policy, developed an altogether new kind of adult schooling. It was a chain reaction, but the links gradually forged themselves into a virtuous circuit. It has turned out well. [from "Portrait Sketch of a Country: Denmark 1962"]
Sybille Bedford (Pleasures and Landscapes)
Even if Clark’s assertion stemmed from a false assumption and Forrest ordered no massacre, he probably didn’t have to; there was enough rancor between his men and the armed former slaves, as well as the Tennessee Unionists, that about all he had to do to produce a massacre was issue no order against one. This
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
The New York Times proclaimed that if the votes in South Carolina, Florida, and Louisiana were certified in favor of Tilden, thus electing him over Hayes, the North—twelve years following Appomattox—would have lost the Civil War to the South: “it will be the sign of the subjugation of the nation by the rebels.” The
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
Angered by the taunts of the black soldiers and especially by the Union refusal to surrender, necessitating the paying of more precious Confederate lives for this victory he had to have, he may have ragingly ordered a massacre and even intended to carry it out—until he rode inside the fort and viewed the horrifying result. Then,
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
War and the threat of war begin when all is not well at home. Countries that solve their own problems are no problem to others. How did it all come about; how did the Danes get that way? Why are they what they are? Was the country particularly favored? Did they try to keep the peace in the past? Did they practice religious tolerance? The answers are no. Is it then all hit or miss? As People holding a territory poor rather than rich, with a history as long, mixed, and disturbed as the next country's–are these facts that must be fed into the computer, and what might the computer's answer be? Portugal? Switzerland? Prussia? – "Portrait Sketch of a Country" (Denmark 1962)
Sybille Bedford (Pleasures and Landscapes)
But as to our country and our race, as long as the well compacted structure of our church and state, the sanctuary, the holy of holies of that ancient law, defended by reverence, defended by power, a fortress at once and a temple, shall stand inviolate on the brow of the British Sion—as long as the British Monarchy, not more limited than fenced by the orders of the State, shall, like the proud Keep of Windsor, rising in the majesty of proportion, and girt with the double belt of it’s kindred and coeval towers, as long as this awful structure shall oversee and guard the subjected land—so long the mounds and dykes of the low, fat, Bedford level will have nothing to fear from all the pickaxes of all the levellers of France. As long as our Sovereign Lord the King, and his faithful subjects, the Lords and Commons of this realm, the triple cord, which no man can break; the solemn, sworn, constitutional frank-pledge of this nation; the firm guarantees of each others being, and each others rights; the joint and several securities, each in it’s place and order, for every kind and every quality, of property and of dignity—As long as these endure, so long the Duke of Bedford is safe: and we are all safe together—the high from the blights of envy and the spoliations of rapacity; the low from the iron hand of oppression and the insolent spurn of contempt.
Edmund Burke (A Letter To A Noble Lord)
Era come se stare su quel promontorio – sferzato dal vento, levigato dalla schiuma del mare – avesse portato via tutti i residui dei giorni precedenti per lasciarci freschi e vivi e dinamici. Non sono mai stata più piena di vita di quando ero lassù, con Uman, e quella sensazione mi ha pervasa per il resto della giornata e per buona parte di quella successiva. Le nostre ultime ore sull’isola. Lo stesso valeva per lui. Gliel’ho visto negli occhi. Lo stesso valeva per noi. Come se fossimo stati fatti a pezzi e poi rimessi insieme. È stata la nostra ultima mattina, anche se noi non lo sapevamo. Perlomeno io. Se Uman lo sapeva già, lo ha nascosto bene. O forse sono io che non ho voluto notare la differenza in lui.
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
The campaign’s most chilling feature was the huge wave of murder and arson orchestrated by the Ku Klux Klan against black and white Republicans in the South. As state conventions drafted new constitutions that endowed blacks with the franchise, the white South acted to stamp out that voting power through brute force. Nathan Bedford Forrest boasted that the Klan had recruited forty thousand men in Tennessee alone, half a million across the South. This bloodthirsty backlash grew out of simple arithmetic: in South Carolina and Mississippi, blacks made up a majority of the electorate, while in other southern states, the substantial black populace, joined with white Republicans, appeared set to prevail during Reconstruction.
Ron Chernow (Grant)
It had been just twenty minutes from the sounding of the charge until a Confederate pulled down the fort’s Union flag and Forrest ordered a cease-fire; Confederate partisans later would make much of that, saying the butchery was so great because the fort hadn’t been surrendered, but Federals running for their lives had little time to concern themselves with a flag. Soon
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
Noi siamo la somma delle nostre scelte. A vederla così, è possibile essere chiunque si voglia essere, vivere qualsiasi vita si voglia vivere. Più o meno. Quell’ultima sera, a Bryher, ho avuto la possibilità di scegliere, quando Uman ha parlato di rubare una barca. Tutto quello che dovevo fare era dire la parola che lui sperava di sentire. Sì. Ho avuto la possibilità di scegliere – più tardi, quella notte – quando ero sulla spiaggia, ad ascoltare il rumore del motore e a guardare nel buio per cercare di scorgerlo un’ultima volta. Non dovevo fare altro che sollevare la torcia. Puntarla sull’acqua. Fargli un segnale prima che fosse troppo tardi. Torna a prendermi. Portami con te. Queste scelte non ci sono più. Ma ce ne saranno altre. Migliaia e migliaia di scelte
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
We were scarecrows in blue uniforms. After a grand total of five days of blackboard instruction and fifty rounds at the NYPD firing range, my new police academy classmates and I were standing out on the sidewalks of central Brooklyn pretending to be police officers. They gave us badges. They gave us handcuffs. They gave us guns—standard police-issue Smith & Wesson .38 Specials. They told us, “Good luck.” In early July 1966, riots had broken out in East New York, Bedford-Stuyvesant, and Brownsville, Brooklyn. Hundreds of angry young men were roaming the streets and throwing bottles and rocks. Already they had injured police officers and attempted to flip over a radio car. On one corner, police found eighteen Molotov cocktails. The borough commander was calling for reinforcements—and fast.
Ray Kelly (Vigilance: My Life Serving America and Protecting Its Empire City)
George Bailey: [on Mary being caught naked in the bushes after her robe slips off] This is a very interesting situation! Mary: Please give me my robe. George Bailey: A man doesn't get in a situation like this every day. Mary: I'd like to have my robe. George Bailey: Not in Bedford Falls anyway. Mary: [after the bushes' thorns starting hurting her] Ouch! Oh! George Bailey: Gezundheit. Mary: George Bailey! George Bailey: Inspires a little thought! Mary: Give me my robe. George Bailey: I've read about things like this. Mary: Shame on you! I'm going to tell your mother on you. George Bailey: Well, my mother is way up on the corner. Mary: I'll call the police! George Bailey: Well, they're all the way downtown. They'd be on my side. Mary: Then I'll scream! George Bailey: Maybe I can sell tickets.
It's a Wonderful Life
Dominion over his environment was supposed to be a hallmark of man. Now, that dominion is almost wholly vicarious, derived from the past ingenuity of others. In urban and industrial communities it is never direct, physical or spontaneous. Our implements are at twelve removes and we may all live to live inside so many Thermos flasks. It may be well to remember how to use a pair of sticks and a stone.
Sybille Bedford (A Visit to Don Otavio)
Che senso ha tutto questo? Giorno dopo giorno, anno dopo anno, vai a scuola per studiare cose per passare gli esami, e ti danno un foglio di carta che dice che hai imparato tutte quelle cose (la maggior parte delle quali finirai per dimenticare o non ti servirà conoscere), e poi quel pezzo di carta ti farà entrare al college o all’università in modo che tu possa imparare altra roba, per avere altri fogli di carta, in modo da poter usare quei fogli di carta per trovare un lavoro che non vuoi fare e che non ti piace, per lavorare giorno dopo giorno, anno dopo anno, per guadagnare quanto ti serve per mantenere una casa che non ti piace (oppure che ti piace ma che non ti potresti permettere), che assomiglia a tutte le altre case, in una città piena di gente come te, che vive una vita come la tua, dove vivi con un compagno e hai 2,0 figli in modo da poterli allevare perché facciano ESATTAMENTE LE STESSE COSE mentre tu diventi sempre più vecchio e alla fine muori. E con l’ultimo respiro, bisbigli: Tutto qui? È per questo che siamo qui? Non è stato Uman a farmi pensare in quel modo. Mi ha solo fatto capire che pensavo già così. Non è stato Uman a farmi fare quello che facevo. Mi ha solo fatto capire che era quello che volevo fare.
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
Architecture without pain, art looked at in undiluted pleasure, enjoyment without anxiety, compunction, heartache: there is no beggar woman in the church door, no ragged child or sore animal in the square. The water is safe and the wallet is inside the pocket. There will be no missed plane connection. We are in a country where the curable ills are taken care of. We are in a country where the mechanics of living from transport to domestic heating (alack, poor Britain!) function imaginatively and well; where it goes without saying that the sick are looked after and secure and the young well educated and well trained; where ingenuity is used to heal delinquents and to mitigate at least the physical dependence of old age; where there is work for all and some individual seizure, and men and women have not been entirely alienated yet from their natural environment; where there is care for freedom and where the country as a whole has rounded the drive to power and prestige beyond its borders and where the will to peace is not eroded by doctrine, national self-love, and unmanageable fears; where people are kindly, honest, helpful, sane, reliable, resourceful, and cool-headed; where stranger–shyly–smiles to stranger. "Portrait Sketch of a Country: Denmark 1962
Sybille Bedford (Pleasures and Landscapes)
Quando ti piace uno, diventi un po’ come lui. È proprio vero: mi piaceva Uman ed ero diventata un po’ come lui. Però ero diventata anche un po’ come me stessa, o comunque come lo spirito libero che ero da piccola. Con Uman avevo riscoperto quella prima versione di me. Avevo dimenticato quanto mi piaceva quella «me». Ma non puoi continuare ad avere sette, otto, nove, dieci anni per tutta la vita, giusto? E non puoi neppure scappare. Non per sempre, neppure per tanto tempo. Non quando hai quindici anni. Forse mai. Il mondo che Uman mi aveva mostrato era un mondo falso, adesso lo capisco. False speranze. False promesse. Non potevo traboccare di vita come lui, non potevo essere così intensa, così trasgressiva, così indifferente alla vita e alla morte. D’accordo, per un po’ siamo stati felici insieme, ma quella felicità non portava da nessuna parte.
Martyn Bedford (Twenty Questions for Gloria)
Nevertheless, one black soldier at Fort Pillow, Private Ellis Falls, soon would attest that Forrest ordered the Confederates to “stop fighting,” and another Fort Pillow Federal, a Private Major Williams, would remember hearing a Confederate officer shout that the blacks should be killed and hearing another Confederate officer contradict him, saying Forrest had said the blacks should be captured and “returned to their masters.” Forrest,
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
Often, when I went out for breakfast on Sunday morning, at the Mediterranean place around the corner, I was seated by a dancer who’d been a year ahead of me at school and waited on by a painter who’d been two years ahead. At night, Don and I could meet Lauren for Thai food, or Leigh and Allison for gin and tonics at the Rat Pack–era bar on Bedford and watch an alternative circus, which involved one college friend of mine eating fire, another clowning in the style of Jacques Lecoq, another riding a unicycle and playing trombone. For me, this was heaven, heaven that could only be improved by Jenny moving in down the street. For Jenny, though, it turned out this was hell. She had cast off such childish things. Heaven was, she told me, eyes shining, driving to a large supermarket and unloading a week’s worth of groceries directly into her apartment from her designated parking spot.
Joanna Rakoff (My Salinger Year: A Memoir)
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian:40 He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age,44 Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’ Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say, ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’ Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,49 But he’ll remember with advantages What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words,52 Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d. This story shall the good man teach his son;56 And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;60
William Shakespeare (The Complete Works of William Shakespeare)
This time he was underwater, running, feet sinking deeper and deeper into the seabed. The surface was within reach if he raised his arms, but he couldn’t get his head out of the water. He had to breathe. The compulsion to inhale was huge. But he couldn’t, musn’t. Still he ran, getting nowhere, each frantic step burying his feet in the wet sand until he was no longer able to lift them. Finally, with one great gulp, he opened his mouth, his lungs to the flood of seawater.
Martyn Bedford
So Anna did not blame the women of her time for what they had created; it was different only in kind from what she had made herself. And if the old soldiers wanted only to forgive, Anna understood that, too, though in her own memory she could no longer find anything that needed forgiving. In the sunlight by her cousin’s grave, she would touch the black ostrich plume in her hat—the plume that, like herself, grew a little older and little more frayed every year—and think about what all of it meant to her. Down the hill slept the soldiers, and she would visit certain of them in a little while, and the thought of them—their faces, their voices, their particular ways—always made her smile. General Nathan Bedford Forrest himself told her once that she had seen the last of a great army, but he was wrong in that, for they still moved out there in the sunlight, all of them. He was right about one thing though: there was no shame in it, not ever.
Howard Bahr (The Black Flower: A Novel of the Civil War)
Beauty anyhow. Not the crude beauty of the eye. It was not beauty pure and simple--Bedford Place leading into Russell Square. It was straightness and emptiness of course. the symmetry of a corridor; but it was also windows lit up, a piano, a ramophone sounding; a sense of pleasure-making hidden, but now and again emerging when, through the uncurtained window, the window left open, one saw parties sitting over tables, young people slowly circling, conversations between men and women, maids idly looking out (a strange comment theirs, when work was done), stockings drying on top ledges, a parrot, a few plants. Absorbing, mysterious, of infinite richness, this life. And in the large square where the cabs shot and swerved so quick, there were loitering couples, dallying, embracing, shrunk up under the shower of a tree that was moving; so silent, so absorbed, that one passed, discreetly, timidly, as if in the presence of some sacred ceremony to interrupt which would have been impious. That was interesting. And so on into the flare and glare.
Virginia Woolf (Mrs. Dalloway)
The Stevens brothers had shared everything except women since they could remember: poker winnings, uniform, Red Cross parcels, news from home, and their most intimate fears and hopes. But in a few hours' time, after years of being inseparable, they would not share the same landing craft bound for the beaches of northern France. For the first time since they had joined the National Guard, a week apart in 1938, they would not be side by side. They would not face their greatest test together. They would arrive on Omaha Beach in different boats.
Alex Kershaw (The Bedford Boys: One American Town's Ultimate D-Day Sacrifice)
All the buildings around the fort and the tents and huts in the fort had been burned by the rebels and among the embers the charred remains of numbers of our soldiers … could be seen.… Bodies with gaping wounds, some bayoneted through the eyes, some with skulls beaten through, others with hideous wounds as if their bowels had been ripped open with bowie-knives, plainly told that but little quarter was shown to our troops. Strewn from the fort to the river bank, in the ravines and hollows, behind logs and under the brush where they had crept for protection from the assassins who pursued them, we found bodies bayoneted, beaten, and shot to death, showing how cold-blooded and persistent was the slaughter.…46
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
Lagos, typically for a nonbusinessman, had a fatal flaw: he thought too small. He figured that with a little venture capital, this neurolinguistic hacking could be developed as a new technology that would enable Rife to maintain possession of information that had passed into the brains of his programmers. Which, moral considerations aside, wasn't a bad idea. "Rife likes to think big. He immediately saw that this idea could be much more powerful. He took Lagos's idea and told Lagos himself to buzz off. Then he started dumping a lot of money into Pentecostal churches. He took a small church in Bayview, Texas, and built it up into a university. He took a smalltime preacher, the Reverend Wayne Bedford, and made him more important than the Pope. He constructed a string of self-supporting religious franchises all over the world, and used his university, and its Metaverse campus, to crank out tens of thousands of missionaries, who fanned out all over the Third World and began converting people by the hundreds of thousands, just like St. Louis Bertrand. L. Bob Rife's glossolalia cult is the most successful religion since the creation of Islam. They do a lot of talking about Jesus, but like many selfdescribed Christian churches, it has nothing to do with Christianity except that they use his name. It's a postrational religion. "He also wanted to spread the biological virus as a promoter or enhancer of the cult, but he couldn't really get away with doing that through the use of cult prostitution because it is flagrantly anti-Christian. But one of the major functions of his Third World missionaries was to go out into the hinterlands and vaccinate people -- and there was more than just vaccine in those needles. "Here in the First World, everyone has already been vaccinated, and we don't let religious fanatics come up and poke needles into us. But we do take a lot of drugs. So for us, he devised a means for extracting the virus from human blood serum and packaged it as a drug known as Snow Crash.
Neal Stephenson (Snow Crash)
Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn. When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years’ dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that’s kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship’s direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights ‘gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea’s landlessness again; for refuge’s sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe! Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore? But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God- so better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing- straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick or, The Whale)
How do you build peaks? You create a positive moment with elements of elevation, insight, pride, and/ or connection. We’ll explore those final three elements later, but for now, let’s focus on elevation. To elevate a moment, do three things: First, boost sensory appeal. Second, raise the stakes. Third, break the script. (Breaking the script means to violate expectations about an experience—the next chapter is devoted to the concept.) Moments of elevation need not have all three elements but most have at least two. Boosting sensory appeal is about “turning up the volume” on reality. Things look better or taste better or sound better or feel better than they usually do. Weddings have flowers and food and music and dancing. (And they need not be superexpensive—see the footnote for more.IV) The Popsicle Hotline offers sweet treats delivered on silver trays by white-gloved waiters. The Trial of Human Nature is conducted in a real courtroom. It’s amazing how many times people actually wear different clothes to peak events: graduation robes and wedding dresses and home-team colors. At Hillsdale High, the lawyers wore suits and the witnesses came in costume. A peak means something special is happening; it should look different. To raise the stakes is to add an element of productive pressure: a competition, a game, a performance, a deadline, a public commitment. Consider the pregame jitters at a basketball game, or the sweaty-hands thrill of taking the stage at Signing Day, or the pressure of the oral defense at Hillsdale High’s Senior Exhibition. Remember how the teacher Susan Bedford said that, in designing the Trial, she and Greg Jouriles were deliberately trying to “up the ante” for their students. They made their students conduct the Trial in front of a jury that included the principal and varsity quarterback. That’s pressure. One simple diagnostic to gauge whether you’ve transcended the ordinary is if people feel the need to pull out their cameras. If they take pictures, it must be a special occasion. (Not counting the selfie addict, who thinks his face is a special occasion.) Our instinct to capture a moment says: I want to remember this. That’s a moment of elevation.
Chip Heath (The Power of Moments: Why Certain Moments Have Extraordinary Impact)
Around this time, if not before, Forrest instructed Morgan to drop the lawsuits he had instituted, saying he did not wish to leave Willie a legacy of legal warfare. He described himself as “broken in health and spirit,” having “not long to live.” His life, he reflected, had “been a battle from the start … a fight to achieve a livelihood for those dependent upon me in my younger days, and an independence for myself when I grew up to manhood, as well as in the terrible turmoil of the Civil War. I have seen too much of violence, and I want to close my days at peace with all the world, as I am now at peace with my Maker.” Probably on this same trip to Middle Tennessee, he visited a onetime Confederate colonel Sevier who now was a professor at the University of the South at Sewanee. Sevier’s son, then aged seven, remembered long afterward that the talk among his elders centered on the war and that Forrest appeared bored by the discussion. To escape it, he repeatedly went outside and spoke with the children. Informed that the seven-year-old had yet to learn to ride a horse, he called for one, along with a bridle and saddle, and several times, with great patience, reviewed the correct way to approach, bridle, saddle, mount, and sit the animal.
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
The Hayes-Tilden deadlock and the fate of Radical Republican administrations in South Carolina, Florida, and Louisiana eventually were resolved in Washington with Senator John B. Gordon playing a large role. Gordon apparently helped forge a “bargain” under which the South agreed to certification of the election of Hayes on an understanding that the new President would evacuate the last Federal occupation troops from South Carolina, Florida, and Louisiana. This would remove Federal protection from those states’ Reconstruction administrations, giving Gordon’s friend Hampton the disputed South Carolina governorship and another Democrat, F. T. Nicholls, the governorship of Louisiana. This compromise completed the so-called “shotgun” political enterprise for which the Ku Klux Klan had been organized a decade before. The extended campaign of terror, led first by the Klan and then by myriad imitations or offshoots, swept the last troops of Federal occupation from the South, leaving the Southern Democratic power structure free to impose upon the region the white-supremacist program it desired. The New York Times had been proved essentially correct; even though Tilden had not been declared victorious over Hayes, the white South had nevertheless won its long struggle to begin the return of blacks to a status tantamount to their antebellum chains. In an economic sense, their new “freedom” would become worse than slavery, for with all Federal interference removed they soon would be allowed to vote only Democratic if at all—and this time there was no master charged with responsibility for providing them at least rudimentary shelter, food, and clothing.
Jack Hurst (Nathan Bedford Forrest: A Biography)
Descriptive research may have first been used to document need for change by John Howard, who began to fret in 1773 over the inhumane conditions of the prisons in Bedford, England. In order to prove what he was saying, he traveled all over England, visiting jails and noting the exact number of prisoners, what crimes they had committed, the conditions under which they were held, and other matters concerning the prison system. After completing his descriptive study, he stood before the House of Commons and gave a detailed and precise report that became the basis for important prison reforms. Howard later compared English prisons with jails in other European countries. His book The State of Prisons (1777) was one of the first comparative-descriptive studies. After studying the prisons of the land, he went on to investigate the conditions in hospitals. In one of these places he contracted
Nancy Jean Vyhmeister (Quality Research Papers: For Students of Religion and Theology)
According to Wallace, the expectation that art amuses is a 'poisonous lesson for a would-be artist to grow up with,' since it places all of the power with the audience, sometimes breeding resentment on the part of the author. 'I can see it in myself and in other young writers,' he told McCaffery: 'this desperate desire to please coupled with a kind of hostility to the reader.' Wallace expressed his 'hostility' by writing unwieldy sentences, refusing to fulfill readers' expectations, and 'bludgeoning the reader with data'--all strategies he used to wrestle back some of the power held by modern audiences.
Dorothy M. Kennedy (The Brief Bedford Reader)
There was a strong odor of electricity, grease and existential bitterness.
K.A. Bedford (Time Machines Repaired While-U-Wait (Spider Webb, #1))
The weed that wasn't Editorial Board | 488 words THE NEWS is full of instances in which deficits in common sense produce bad outcomes. But rarely is the deficit so clear, or the outcome so wretched, as in the case of a sixth-grade boy in Bedford County,
Anonymous
THE CATER STREET HANGMAN CALLANDER SQUARE PARAGON WALK RESURRECTION ROW BLUEGATE FIELDS RUTLAND PLACE DEATH IN THE DEVIL’S ACRE CARDINGTON CRESCENT SILENCE IN HANOVER CLOSE BETHLEHEM ROAD HIGHGATE RISE BELGRAVE SQUARE FARRIERS’ LANE THE HYDE PARK HEADSMAN TRAITORS GATE PENTECOST ALLEY ASHWORTH HALL BRUNSWICK GARDENS BEDFORD SQUARE HALF MOON STREET THE WHITECHAPEL CONSPIRACY SOUTHAMPTON ROW SEVEN DIALS LONG SPOON LANE BUCKINGHAM PALACE GARDENS
Anne Perry (Farriers' Lane (Charlotte & Thomas Pitt, #13))
In the Song of the White Horse by David Bedford, the lead soprano is required to breathe in helium to reach the extremely high top note.
New Scientist (Why Don't Penguins' Feet Freeze?: And 114 Other Questions)
For the charge of murder, I hereby sentence you to life in prison with no parole at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility. For the charge of conspiracy to commit murder, I hereby charge you to life in prison with no parole at Bedford…”               As
Porscha Sterling (Us Against the World 2: Our Love is Forever)
Threats of retaliation had existed from early in the war. Historian Lonnie Speer notes that the Civil War devolved rapidly: “Within months of its beginning this conflict was anything but ‘civil’ and conducted by anyone but ‘gentlemen.’” Regarding this “war of vengeance,” he maintains, “There is ample documentation to suggest that both sides quite commonly practiced retaliatory measures against each other for real or imagined wrongs.
Brian Steel Wills (The River Was Dyed with Blood: Nathan Bedford Forrest and Fort Pillow)
Finlander: Fire Control. Ralston: Sir. Finlander: Arm number one ASROC. Ralston: Aye aye, sir. Number one ASROC armed and ready sir. Schrepke: Captain you are a fool! Munceford: Finlander, leave it alone. Finlander: Take it easy Ralston. Ralston: All systems in automatic control, sir. Weapons armed and ready. Finlander: Take it easy. Ralston: Fire Control a-ok sir. All systems armed and ready. Schrepke: This is insane! Finlander: Now don't worry Commodore. The Bedford will never fire first. But if he fires one I'll fire one. Ralston: Fire one!
Mark Rascovitch