Bypass Road Quotes

The dealing with grief cannot be bypassed. It is a road you must walk, a race you must finish and no one else can do it for you. If you try to sneak through it without it seeing you, it will seep into your life when you least expect it. Grief will not let you go until you satisfy what it came to teach you.

When I was a child growing up in Salinas we called San Francisco “the City”. Of course it was the only city we knew, but I still think of it as the City, and so does everyone else who has ever associated with it. A strange and exclusive work is “city”. Besides San Francisco, only small sections of London and Rome stay in the mind as the City. New Yorkers say they are going to town. Paris has no title but Paris. Mexico City is the Capital. Once I knew the City very well, spent my attic days there, while others were being a lost generation in Paris. I fledged in San Francisco, climbed its hills, slept in its parks, worked on its docks, marched and shouted in its revolts. In a way I felt I owned the City as much as it owned me. San Francisco put on a show for me. I saw her across the bay, from the great road that bypasses Sausalito and enters the Golden Gate Bridge. The afternoon sun painted her white and gold---rising on her hills like a noble city in a happy dream. A city on hills has it over flat-land places. New York makes its own hills with craning buildings, but this gold and white acropolis rising wave on wave against the blue of the Pacific sky was a stunning thing, a painted thing like a picture of a medieval Italian city which can never have existed. I stopped in a parking place to look at her and the necklace bridge over the entrance from the sea that led to her. Over the green higher hills to the south, the evening fog rolled like herds of sheep coming to cote in the golden city. I’ve never seen her more lovely. When I was a child and we were going to the City, I couldn’t sleep for several nights before, out of busting excitement. She leaves a mark.

[Free trade agreements] are trade agreements that don't stick to trade…they colonize environmental labor, and consumer issues of grave concern (in terms of health safety, and livelihoods too) to many, many hundreds of millions of people - and they do that by subordinating consumer, environmental, and labor issues to the imperatives and the supremacy of international commerce. That is exactly the reverse of how democratic societies have progressed, because over the decades they've progressed by subordinating the profiteering priorities of companies to, say, higher environmental health standards; abolition of child labor; the right of workers to have fair worker standards…and it's this subordination of these three major categories that affect people's lives, labor, environment, the consumer, to the supremacy and domination of trade; where instead of trade getting on its knees and showing that it doesn't harm consumers - it doesn't deprive the important pharmaceuticals because of drug company monopolies, it doesn't damage the air and water and soil and food (environmentally), and it doesn't lacerate the rights of workers - no, it's just the opposite: it's workers and consumers and environments that have to kneel before this giant pedestal of commercial trade and prove that they are not, in a whole variety of ways, impeding international commerce…so this is the road to dictatorial devolution of democratic societies: because these trade agreements have the force of law, they've got enforcement teeth, and they bypass national courts, national regulatory agencies, in ways that really reflect a massive, silent, mega-corporate coup d'etat…that was pulled off in the mid-1990's.

I stand beside Tom's barn and ponder the benign heedlessness of the people in the speeding cars, and here I am in the speeding car. In my heart I wish the bypass had never been built; in my car I never take the old way.

It is now time for us to ask the personal question put to Jesus Christ by Saul of Tarsus on the Damascus road, ‘What shall I do Lord?’ or the similar question asked by the Philippian jailer, ’What must I do to be saved?’ Clearly we must do something. Christianity is no mere passive acquiescence in a series of propositions, however true. We may believe in the deity and the salvation of Christ, and acknowledge ourselves to be sinners in need of his salvation, but this does not make us Christians. We have to make a personal response to Jesus Christ, committing ourselves unreservedly to him as our Savior and Lord … At its simplest Christ’s call was “Follow me.” He asked men and women for their personal allegiance. He invited them to learn from him, to obey his words and to identify themselves with his cause … Now there can be no following without a previous forsaking. To follow Christ is to renounce all lesser loyalties … let me be more explicit about the forsaking which cannot be separated from the following of Jesus Christ. First, there must be a renunciation of sin. This, in a word, is repentance. It is the first part of Christian conversion. It can in no circumstances be bypassed. Repentance and faith belong together. We cannot follow Christ without forsaking sin … Repentance is a definite turn from every thought, word, deed, and habit which is known to be wrong … There can be no compromise here. There may be sins in our lives which we do not think we could ever renounce, but we must be willing to let them go as we cry to God for deliverance from them. If you are in doubt regarding what is right and what is wrong, do not be too greatly influenced by the customs and conventions of Christians you may know. Go by the clear teaching of the Bible and by the prompting of your conscience, and Christ will gradually lead you further along the path of righteousness. When he puts his finger on anything, give it up. It may be some association or recreation, some literature we read, or some attitude of pride, jealousy or resentment, or an unforgiving spirit. Jesus told his followers to pluck out their eye and cut off their hand or foot if it caused them to sin. We are not to obey this with dead literalism, of course, and mutilate our bodies. It is a figure of speech for dealing ruthlessly with the avenues along which temptation comes to us.

Remember this study when you are in a negotiation—make your initial request far too high. You have to start somewhere, and your initial decision or calculation greatly influences all the choices that follow, cascading out, each tethered to the anchors set before. Many of the choices you make every day are reruns of past decisions; as if traveling channels dug into a dirt road by a wagon train of selections, you follow the path created by your former self. External anchors, like prices before a sale or ridiculous requests, are obvious and can be avoided. Internal, self-generated anchors, are not so easy to bypass. You visit the same circuit of Web sites every day, eat basically the same few breakfasts. When it comes time to buy new cat food or take your car in for repairs, you have old favorites. Come election time, you pretty much already know who will and will not get your vote. These choices, so predictable—ask yourself what drives them. Are old anchors controlling your current decisions?

she hated that the dress would give the network an opportunity to deduct more IQ points, though why people seemed to think large breasts destroyed gray matter, she didn’t know. Especially when it was clear that men often thought with their penises and bypassed their brains altogether.

On the barns were peeling painted signs for RC Cola and Chesterfields and Jergen's Furniture and Holmes Appliances. We went around the towns where these stores were. The places practically begged you to take the detours--they put up so many signs for a bypass or a loop road, you would think they were ashamed of anyone actually driving through, seeing them. Our part of the world, I felt, was unpopular to people, and I was already sorry about this.

I am not a fan of asking folks to turn the other cheek in situations where they shouldn’t feel obligated to do so. On certain occasions, the insistence on taking the high road is actually harming us more than it’s helping. Putting harmony over justice and civility over amends is a harmful practice if we are telling people to constantly bypass defending themselves or standing against what is awry. I’m not for the kumbaya of it all. People read that Jesus told us to turn the other cheek and love our neighbors, but that is the SAME person who also flipped tables in a temple when folks did too much.

Right on cue, the ground came whipping up beneath them. No longer simply held aloft by anti-gravity units, the vehicle’s futuristic replacements for wheels could be put to work. Bigger, beefier versions of the same things that made his delivery bike work, the repulsors used the interplay between two tangible energy fields to create a synchronized wave pattern capable of instituting temporary charge differences between the vehicle and road surface for the purposes of facilitating the attraction and repulsion necessary to maintain an approximately constant distance. In other words, he had traction now.

EAGLE The East direction is represented by eagle and condor, who bring vision, clarity, and foresight. Eagle perceives the entire panorama of life without becoming bogged down in its details. The energies of eagle assist us in finding the guiding vision of our lives. The eyes of condor see into the past and the future, helping to know where we come from, and who we are becoming. When I work with a client who is stuck in the traumas of the past, I help her to connect with the spirit of eagle or condor. As this energy infuses the healing space, my client is often able to attain new clarity and insight into her life. This is not an intellectual insight, but rather a call, faint at first, hardly consciously heard. Her possibilities beckon to her and propel her out of her grief and into her destiny. I believe that while everyone has a future, only certain people have a destiny. Having a destiny means living to your fullest human potential. You don’t need to become a famous politician or poet, but your destiny has to be endowed with meaning and purpose. You could be a street sweeper and be living a destiny. You could be the president of a large corporation and be living a life bereft of meaning. One can make oneself available to destiny, but it requires a great deal of courage to do so. Otherwise our destiny bypasses us, leaving us deprived of a fulfillment known by those who choose to take the road less traveled. Eagle allows us to rise above the mundane battles that occupy our lives and consume our energy and attention. Eagle gives us wings to soar above trivial day-to-day struggles into the high peaks close to Heaven. Eagle and condor represent the self-transcending principle in nature. Biologists have identified the self-transcending principle as one of the prime agendas of evolution. Living molecules seek to transcend their selfhood to become cells, then simple organisms, which then form tissues, then organs, and then evolve into complex beings such as humans and whales. Every transcending jump is inclusive of all of the levels beneath it. Cells are inclusive of molecules, yet transcend them; organs are inclusive of cells, yet go far beyond them; whales are inclusive of organs yet cannot be described by them, as the whole transcends the sum of its parts. The transcending principle represented by eagle states that problems at a certain level are best solved by going up one step. The problems of cells are best resolved by organs, while the needs of organs are best addressed by an organism such as a butterfly or a human. The same principle operates in our lives. Think of nested Russian dolls. Material needs are the tiny doll in the center. The larger emotional doll encompasses them, and both are contained within the outermost spiritual doll. In this way, we cannot satisfy emotional needs with material things, but we can satisfy them spiritually. When we go one step up, our emotional needs are addressed in the solution. We rise above our life dilemmas on the wings of eagle and see our lives in perspective.

A reply dated 13 May finally arrived from the town clerk. Mr Mottershead could open the zoo subject to: 1) the type of animals being limited to those already described in previous correspondence; 2) the estate should not be used as an amusement park, racing track or public dance hall; and 3) no animals were to be kept within a distance of a hundred feet from the existing road. This necessitated the purchase of an additional strip of land between the road and the estate, which would have to be securely enclosed, but which couldn't be used for animals. (First it was used as a children's playground and later became a self-service cafe.) Somehow my dad managed to get a further mortgage of £350 to pay for the land and fencing. Of all the conditions, the most damaging in the long term was the last: the zoo was allowed 'no advertisement, sign or noticeboard which can be seen from the road above-mentioned'. Only a small sign at the entrance to the estate would be permitted, which meant the lodge, which was a good twenty-five yards from the road was completely invisible to any passing car. This would remain a problem for a very long time. For many years, the night before bank holidays, Dad and his friends would have to go out and hang temporary posters under the official road signs on the Chester bypass. The police turned a blind eye as long as they were taken down shortly afterwards.

In my own mind I find that I can also classify highways advantageously as dominating, equal, or dominated. A dominating highway is one from which, as you drive along it, you are more conscious of the highway than of the country through which you are passing. Six-lane highways, and four-lane highways, particularly in flat country, give this impression. You see the highway itself, the traffic upon it, and the life that has grown up along it and is dependent upon it—all the world of service-stations and garages and restaurants and motor-courts. To many people, of whom I am one, parkways produce the same effect. Although esthetically beautiful, the artificial landscape on both sides of the parkway becomes part of the road itself, and is divorced from the countryside and from reality. The parkway by-passes towns, and therefore the motorist has no sense of actuality. A parkway is excellent at providing unimpeded transportation, and for allowing the city-dweller his escape, but when you drive along the parkway, you are not seeing the real United States of America. The dominated highway, on the contrary, is one which seems to be oppressed and to lose its own identity because of the surroundings through which it is passing. Highways are dominated when they pass along city streets. There is too much close by on either hand. There is too much local traffic that has not the slightest concern with the farther reaches of the highway. On the other hand, highways may be dominated when they are comparatively small roads passing through high mountains or vast plains. Again the highway becomes insignificant, and one's interest is pulled outward, away from it. In between, lies the equal highway, that one which seems to be an intimate and integral part of the countryside through which it is passing. On such a road there is a division of interest between one's focus upon the highway and its margin and upon the country back from the highway. . . .

She heaved her bags along the platform and bypassed the ticket office, taking the side gate towards the main road.

Fuck heightened consciousness—we aren’t birds. Fuck transcendence-addiction masquerading as evolution. Fuck ‘non-duality’ that conveniently removes everything uncomfortable from the unified field. Fuck ‘enlightenment’ without integrity. Fuck patriarchal detachment models presented as ‘the’ royal road to the ‘Kingdom’ of God—what about the Queendom— our only hope. Fuck “The New Earth” as described by dissociative and disembodied pain bypassers. Fuck the yoga ‘industry’ that feigns awareness it does not hold. Fuck vertical spirituality that ignores what is happening before our very eyes. Fuck the bullshit soulebrities who don’t give a shit about humanity. Fuck the guru who imagines himself realized. Fuck the New Cage movement and its trail of lies. Fuck any version of spirituality that doesn’t SERVE humanity. Fuck the story bashers. Fuck the victim bashers. Fuck the bloodied spiritual lie. Embrace enrealment—before it’s too fucking late.

She had begun to suspect that affection, love, were things about which there was nothing to be done. People might love each other dearly, sleep together, live harmoniously or tempestuously together for years, but still, in a way, there was nothing to be done about it. She felt herself to have emerged at a point on the road she was in nature bound to have reached even at the end of decades of joyful living. It was a pity, perhaps, to have bypassed innocent happiness on the way...

I had only one hard-and-fast rule: avoid interstates. They are predictable and boring, and their uniformity somehow erases changes in landscape; you can drive six hundred miles, from forests into desert, and feel that you haven’t gone anywhere. In a sense, you haven’t. You have no idea about the lives of the people in the towns and cities you’ve bypassed at seventy miles an hour. *

As might be expected, the overall effectiveness of air attacks along the roads turned on the configuration of the ground. The 9th Bombardment Division put 136 tons of high explosive on St. Vith, which stood in the open with a wealth of bypass routes around it on relatively level ground, and stopped the German traffic not at all. Even when the RAF dropped 1,140 tons in a carpet bombing attack at St. Vith, the road center was out of commission for only a day. Yet a mere 150 tons put on La Roche over a period of two days stopped all major movement in this sector of the Ardennes road net. La Roche, be it noted, lay at the bottom of a gorge with access only through deep defiles.

How do you think it will happen?' 'Well, thermonuclear extinction has always been very popular. Although the big boys are being quite polite to each other at the moment.' 'Asteroid strike?' said Aziraphale. 'Quite the fashion these days, I understand. Strike into the Indian Ocean, great big cloud of dust and vapour, goodbye all higher life forms.' 'Wow,' said Crowley. taking care to exceed the speed limit. Every little helped. 'Doesn't bear thinking about it, does, it,' said Aziraphale gloomily. 'All the higher life forms scythed away, just like that.' 'Terrible.' 'Nothin but dust and fundamentalists.' 'That was nasty.' 'Sorry, couldn't resist it.' They stared at the road. 'Maybe some terrorist-?' Aziraphale began. 'Not one of ours,' said Crowley. 'Or ours,' said Aziraphale. 'Although ours are freedom fighters, of course.' 'I'll tell you what,' said Crowley, scorching rubber on the Tadfield bypass. 'Cards on the table time. I'll tell you ours if you tell me yours.' 'All right. You first.' 'Oh, no. You first.' 'But you're a demon.' 'Yes, but a demon of my word, I should hope.' Aziraphale named five political leaders. Crowley named six. Three names were on both lists.

The government wants to know why you’re not preventing people from bypassing the TSA checkpoints. That’s illegal you know,” “I want to know why DHS thinks they can come on a sovereign nation’s land and demand such things,” “Because I gave them permission, Sheriff. Now please answer his question,” stated the Tribal Chairman, Pete Yazzie, as he appeared from Jonathon’s office. “I figure nobody ever ordered me not to stop people from bypassing the interstates, so why should I stop them? Besides, there are too many roads and not enough of my people to stop everyone,” “You could’ve called on Homeland Security. We would’ve sent agents to help out,” “And have the federal government oppress the Diné some more? No thanks, we’ve already tried that,” “I don’t like your attitude, Sheriff. Things are changing, and you better get behind the change, otherwise, you’ll find yourself somewhere you don’t want to be,” “Is that a threat?” “No, just a warning. Now, I have some questions about some people

20 March - All the Leeds trains have been cancelled and I am wandering the station not knowing what to do when Rupert discovers me, having managed to get on to a Scottish train and change at Doncaster. Greatly elated by this we have a supper at La Grilla (halibut and chips) and then drive homeward in good spirits. Except that just after the Addingham bypass R. cries out and I see a grey shape in the headlights and he hits a badger - a young one, I would have thought and which, with its striped nose now lies senseless by the kerb. We drive back round the roundabout and then up the road again - and for one exultant moment it seems to have picked itself up and gone, but there it is, lying like an old rug by the roadside. We discuss running it over again to make sure it is dead - but neither of us can face it. R. is devastated; it's like Vronsky breaking his horse's back - a moment he can never call back - and feeling himself guilty and polluted by everything he hates - heedless cars, thoughtless motorists with him now one of their number. What particularly upsets him is that I have never seen a live badger - all the badgers I have seen like this one is now, a dirty corpse by the roadside. We drive on in sadness and silence.

Spiritual bypassing often adopts a rationale based on using absolute truth to deny or disparage relative truth.

is a marker on the road to greener pastures, a path chiseled against the steep sides of the mount of God. We dare not try to by-pass it if we would follow on in this holy pursuit. We must ascend a step at a time. If we refuse one step we bring our progress to an end.

Yet, we can’t bypass these emotions. The strategic question is how to selectively provoke resentment, bring it to consciousness, or rather bring shame to conscious and transform it into resentment, and educate it in the direction of a more sober, slow-burning, impersonal class hate, one that is patient, rigorous, humane, pluralist, anti-Manichaean and constructive. I think of how Bernie Sanders campaigns in the United States, linking resentment toward billionaires and the rich with demands like a $15 minimum wage, and contrast it ruefully with the priestly pieties of “the politics of kindness” and “they go low, we go high”. Not that kindness and the high road are undesirable, and not that we could or should imitate the Right’s relentless nihilistic war on decency and truth. But we must start with the dark materials, the labour of the negative, if we are to get there.

During the team’s flight back home to New York, Scott—who played ten scoreless minutes and was shooting 30 percent and averaging 2.9 points through his first fifteen games—sought to lighten the mood, cracking jokes on the plane. In a way, this was who Scott had always been: a lighthearted person who often looked for ways to laugh in overly tense situations. By contrast, that was not who Van Gundy was. The coach, often miserable in normal circumstances, was far more miserable after losses. Following home defeats, those who traversed the Garden’s hallways knew they might hear Van Gundy shouting, tipping over his desk, or punching a wall in his office. And whenever the Knicks played on the road—win or lose—Van Gundy usually had limited patience for outbursts on the team plane. “We were on a flight coming back from a preseason [win], and I got in trouble for yelling, ‘Yes! Let’s go Mets!’ after they clinched a spot in the World Series [in 2000],” says Hamdan, the club’s assistant trainer. “The next day, he calls me into his office and says I need to have more respect for the sanctity of winning and losing. And I told him: ‘Jeff, the sanctity of winning and losing is why I yelled “Let’s go Mets!” They just made the World Series!’ And he just looks at me and says, ‘Get the fuck outta my office.’ ” Van Gundy let Hamdan slide with a warning. But Scott wouldn’t enjoy that same grace. Seeking to send a message, the coach made a bold, unilateral choice to bypass Grunfeld and cut Scott from the team the morning after the flight.

For the more adventurous fisherman, Yellowstone offers waters far from well-traveled roads. It takes more time to reach these waters, and the best fishing is later in the day due to higher elevations. But the extra effort pays off with bigger rewards. Fall River Basin boasts some of the best fly-fishing waters anywhere, let alone the Park. It’s only 75 miles from Idaho Falls, yet fly-fishers bypass it to take part in crowd-forming events on the Henry’s Fork and Madison River to the north and the South Fork to the south. Yes, a four-mile walk is required to access Bechler River and Boundary Creek in the meadows. A 2 to 3 mile walk reaches Fall River, Mountain Ash Creek and Beula and Hering Lakes. Each stream hosts large cutthroat-rainbow hybrid trout, which can rival those of the Henry’s Fork and the Madison River in size and pickiness.

Heading to Pangasinan to visit the Manaoag Church and the Hundred Islands of Alaminos? The 7.17-kilometer Urdaneta City Bypass Road traverses eight barangays namely Nancayasan, Sto. Domingo, Sta. Lucia, Nancamaliran East, Mabanogbog, San Vicente, Camantiles, and Anonas. It serves as an alternate route to the existing Manila North Road, Urdaneta Dagupan Road, Urdaneta-Manaoag Road, and the Tarlac-Pangasinan- La Union Expressway. Now, travel time from Villasis to Binalonan has been reduced from one hour to only 30 minutes.

Sheldon Kopp titled his book If You Meet The Buddha On The Road, Kill Him to encourage us to bypass this detour and save ourselves from the unnecessary self-sabotage of emotional perfectionism.

Once again thanks to the ill-fated Oslo Accords, the West Bank is divided into three noncontiguous areas: A, B, and C. Area A, which today constitutes 18 percent of the West Bank, falls under the control of the Palestinian Authority. That means the PA is in charge of education, health, the economy, and policing there. In Area B, which constitutes 22 percent of the West Bank, the PA is similarly in charge of civil affairs, but its police presence exists only in coordination with the Israeli army. In both Areas A and B, the Israeli army can enter whenever it wants to carry out raids and arrests, and it does so frequently. Finally, there’s Area C, which makes up an overwhelming 60 percent of the West Bank and is fully under Israel’s civil and security control. This includes all matters related to land allocation, planning and construction, and infrastructure. Area C is where all of Israel’s illegal settlements are located, in addition to the accompanying bypass roads built exclusively for the settlers to use. Area C is also richly endowed with natural resources, like the main water aquifer for the entire country, which Israel controls.

His Information presets had very little to tell him during his rural detour, except the occasional comment about the type of tree sliding by or when the road was constructed, and the rush of exposition in the airport comes as a shock, especially on such little sleep. Ken quickly learns, and completely fails to absorb, a great deal about the politicking involved in the airport’s initial construction and the decision on its location, as well as which airlines serve it and since when and to which connections, and its place in various ranking schemes (official associations, user-generated, statistically based), while bypassing reams on the sourcing of materials, the architecture firm, and the history of the land below it. Along the way, ads—flat and projected, still and animated—crowd his vision, all of them translated and most of them annotated by his Information: he learns that the company trying to sell him whiskey is a subsidiary of Coca-Cola (not surprising, since they are part of the corporate government that owns this airport) and sees the annual statement summary for a firm offering wealth management. Not having any wealth to speak of, he ignores both the ad and the background Information discrediting it.

Of those involved in the months-long Oso Disaster Search, I often think of the many that we did not see. We didn’t see the civilian volunteers who built the urgently needed bypass road on the south side of the slide. We didn’t see the FEMA staff who set up tents and provided incident command logistics. We didn’t see the community members who cooked and emptied their shelves to deliver shovels, gloves, and flashlights to the Darrington and Oso fire stations. We didn’t see the medical examiner’s staff who worked so hard to identify victims. We didn’t see the helicopter support crews who provided gas, service, and maintenance to keep them flying. We didn’t see the girl scout troop who prepared and delivered baskets of treats and toys for the dogs.

We loaded them onto a big truck, which I drove over to Bentonville from Newport. We had to get on an old dirt road to bypass a weigh station over at Rogers because I knew our load was illegal several different ways. Bouncing on that old road tore up half the fixtures.

We are constantly asked to choose between family and function, and fear that if we let up for even a little while our race will be lost. Women choose between time with their children—or having children—and keeping their job. Men choose between life on the road and being bypassed. Children get used to seeing one parent routinely, or maybe no parent at all.

Catawamteak,” meaning “the great landing,” is what the Abenaki Indians called the early settlement that became Rockland, Maine. Thomaston and Rockland can be bypassed by Route 90, an eight-mile shortcut which I frequently used as a midshipman, but our bus stayed on the main road and stopped to let passengers on and off in both places. At one time Rockland was part of Thomaston, called East Thomaston, but the two towns have long since separated, having very little in common. In the beginning, Rockland developed quickly because of shipbuilding and limestone production. It was, and still is, an important fishing port. Lobsters are the main export and the five-day Maine Lobster Festival is celebrated here annually. The red, three-story brick buildings lining the main street of Rockland, give it the image of an old working town. I have always been impressed by the appearance of these small towns, because to me this is what I had expected Maine to look like. When I first went through the center of Rockland on the bus, I was impressed by the obvious ties the community had with the sea. The fishing and lobster industry was evident by the number of commercial fishing and lobster boats. Rockland was, and still is, the commercial hub of the mid-coastal region of the state. The local radio station WRKD was an important source of local news and weather reports. This was also the radio station that opened each day’s broadcasting with Hal Lone Pine’s song, recorded on Toronto's Arc Records label: “There’s a winding lane on the Coast of Maine that is wound around my heart....” The United States Coast Guard still maintains a base in Rockland, which is reassuring to the families of those who go fishing out on the open waters of Penobscot Bay and the Gulf of Maine. Rockland remains the home of the Farnsworth Art Museum, which has an art gallery displaying paintings by Andrew Wyeth, as well as other New England artists. The Bay Point Hotel that was founded in 1889 had a compelling view of the breakwater and Penobscot Bay. The Victorian style hotel, later known as the Samoset Hotel, had seen better days by 1952 and was closed in 1969. On October 13, 1972, the four-story hotel caught fire in the dining area due to an undetermined cause. Fanned by 20-mile-an-hour north winds, the structure burned to the ground within an hour. However, five years later a new Samoset Resort was founded.