Condor Quotes

The ugliest thing in America is greed, the lust for power and domination, the lunatic ideology of perpetual Growth - with a capital G. 'Progress' in our nation has for too long been confused with 'Growth'; I see the two as different, almost incompatible, since progress means, or should mean, change for the better - toward social justice, a livable and open world, equal opportunity and affirmative action for all forms of life. And I mean all forms, not merely the human. The grizzly, the wolf, the rattlesnake, the condor, the coyote, the crocodile, whatever, each and every species has as much right to be here as we do.

We?" "You and me, yes." "The two of us hiking to Condor Peak? Alone?" "I wasn't planning on inviting the bear along, but if you think we need a chaperone..

I think of what wild animals are in our imaginations. And how they are disappearing — not just from the wild, but from people’s everyday lives, replaced by images of themselves in print and on screen. The rarer they get, the fewer meanings animals can have. Eventually rarity is all they are made of. The condor is an icon of extinction. There’s little else to it now but being the last of its kind. And in this lies the diminution of the world. How can you love something, how can you fight to protect it, if all it means is loss?

You're a stubborn, ill-trained horse." she said The horse snorted and walked towards the North Road of his own volition. "Hey!" Karigan pulled back on the reins. "Whoa. Who do you think is in charge here?

Over the souls of men spread the condor wings of colossal monsters and all manner of evil things prey upon the heart and soul and body of Man. Yet it may be in some far day the shadows shall fade and the Prince of Darkness be chained forever in his hell. And till then mankind can but stand up stoutly to the monsters in his own heart and without, and with the aid of God he may yet triumph.

Do you thinking not getting caught in a lie is the same thing as telling the truth?"--Robert Redford from the 1975 movie Three Days of the Condor

Shadrack rose and returned to the cot, where he fell into the first sleep of his new life. A sleep deeper than the hospital drugs; deeper than the pits of plums, steadier than the condor's wing; more tranquil than the curve of eggs.

But as the good-hearted young man discovers, a hero is not merely born, he is honed in the moments when his love and loyalty are the most sorely tested.” ― Jin Yong

Shreiking, slithering, torrential shadows of red viscous madness chasing one another through endless, ensanguinated condors of purple fulgurous sky... formless phantasms and kalaidoscopic mutations of a ghoulish, remembered scene; forests of monstrous over-nourished oaks with serpent roots twisting and sucking unnamable juices from an earth verminous with millions of cannibal devils; mound-like tentacles groping from underground nuclei of polypous perversion... insane lightning over malignant ivied walls and demon arcades choked with fungous vegetation...

The most important thing to remember is that the safe word is for the client; you bring mace.

You thought giving a depressed prostitute a copy of Pretty Woman might help?

I dare you to go to Condor Peak. Let me take you there. I can do it. I know I can. You used to trust me.” “You used to give me reasons to.” “I never stopped. You just quit paying attention.

You're a stubborn, ill-trained horse,

One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this Leviathan? Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor's quill! Give me Vesuvius' crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! For in the mere act of penning my thoughts of this Leviathan, they weary me, and make me faint with their out-reaching comprehensiveness of sweep, as if to include the whole circle of the sciences, and all the generations of whales, and men, and mastodons, past, present, and to come, with all the revolving panoramas of empire on earth, and throughout the whole universe, not excluding its suburbs. Such, and so magnifying, is the virtue of a large and liberal theme! We expand to its bulk. To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who have tried it.

He chuckled. “All I can see is that goddamn necklace. Being seen with you could jeopardize my career. Do you have anything illegal in that bag?” “Never,” I said. “A man can’t travel around on airplanes wearing a Condor Legion neck-piece unless he’s totally clean. I’m not even armed … This whole situation makes me feel nervous and weird and thirsty.” I lifted my sunglasses to look for the bar, but the light was too harsh.

Should we use code names?" Hi popped up from the steps on which he'd been sitting. "Of course we should. Inside, refer to me as Rex Condor." Hi winced in surprise as Shelton smacked the back of his head. "You?" Shelton shrugged. "Had to be done. Ben's too far away." Ben gave Shelton a thumbs-up. My eyes rolled skyward.

He wants rough, hard, violent, dangerous sex. He craves it. We could psychoanalyze this all night, but I doubt it would do any good. Logan can no more justify his attraction to a smack across the face than I can explain how empty life feels without waterproof kohl liner.

A man weighing one hundred jin can eat ten oxen, each weighing ten thousand jin. He just needs time.

Share your blessings and your hardships too will be shared.

The Lurking Fear: Shrieking, slithering, torrential shadows of red viscous madness chasing one another through endless, ensanguined condors of purple fulgurous sky... formless phantasms and kaleidoscopic mutations of a ghoulish, remembered scene; forests of monstrous over-nourished oaks with serpent roots twisting and sucking unnamable juices from an earth verminous with millions of cannibal devils; mound-like tentacles groping from underground nuclei of polypous perversion... insane lightning over malignant ivied walls and demon arcades choked with fungous vegetation... Heaven be thanked for the instinct which led me unconscious to places where men dwell; to the peaceful village that slept under the calm stars of clearing skies.

[...]you learn how much space there is between the way you want to be seen, the way you feel inside, and the way other people see you. How divorced our sense of self often is from who we really are.

I think one of the things that really separates us from the high primates is that we’re tool builders. I read a study that measured the efficiency of locomotion for various species on the planet. The condor used the least energy to move a kilometer. And, humans came in with a rather unimpressive showing, about a third of the way down the list. It was not too proud a showing for the crown of creation. So, that didn’t look so good. But, then somebody at Scientific American had the insight to test the efficiency of locomotion for a man on a bicycle. And, a man on a bicycle, a human on a bicycle, blew the condor away, completely off the top of the charts. And that’s what a computer is to me. What a computer is to me is it’s the most remarkable tool that we’ve ever come up with, and it’s the equivalent of a bicycle for our minds.

It was difficult to anticipate—in these monsters with enormous, fantastic beaks which they opened wide immediately after birth, hissing greedily to show the backs of their throats, in these lizards with frail, naked bodies of hunchbacks—the future peacocks, pheasants, grouse or condors. Placed in cotton wool, in baskets, this dragon brood lifted blind, walleyed heads on thin necks, croaking voicelessly from their dumb throats.

One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this leviathan? Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor’s quill! Give me Vesuvius’ crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms!

To make matters worse, some of the books had actually become migratory. In the nineteenth century Brakebills had appointed a librarian with a highly Romantic imagination who had envisioned a mobile library in which books fluttered from shelf to shelf like birds, reorganizing themselves spontaneously under their own pwer in response to searches. For the first few months the effect was sadi to have been quite dramatic. A painteding the scned survived as a mural behind the circulation desk, with enormaous atlases soaring around the place like condors. But the system turned out to be totally impractical. The wear and tear o the spines alone was too costly, and the books were horribly disobedient. The librarian had imagined he could summon a given book to perch on his hand just by shouting out its call number, but in actuality they were just too willful, and some were actively predatory. The librarian was swiftly dposed, and his successor set about domesticating the books again, but even now there were stragglers, notably in Swiss History and Architecture 300-1399, that stubbornly flapped around near the ceiling. Once in a while an entire sub—sub-category that had long been thought safely dormant would take wing with an indescribably papery susurrus.

The rarer they get, the fewer meanings animals can have. Eventually rarity is all they are made of. The condor is an icon of extinction. There's little else to it now but being the last of its kind. And in this lies the diminution of the world. How can you love something, how can you fight to protect it, if all it means is loss?

Vast skies in the Australian desert waves that don't move we slide surf glide like condors

Yeah, right. I think I’d like to get up there at night, all alone—with a head full of mescaline, just roll around in the sky like a big Condor….

Amid the ruins José spoke passionately about the Incas and their beliefs. He told us they had symbols for time: the serpent for the past, the puma for the present, the condor for the future. On

It’s not very elegant,” Lotus said and shook her head. “If it was elegance you wanted, why did you ask an old beggar? It was also the place where we managed to trick Old Venom into consuming my urine, so what about Eat Piss Island?

This is the lone-American type I admire, the kind I believe in, can get along with, and whom I vote for even though he’s never nominated for office. The democratic man our poets sang of but who, alas, is being rapidly exterminated, along with the buffalo, the moose and the elk, the great bear, the eagle, the condor, the mountain lion. The sort of American that never starts a war, never raises a feud, never draws the color line, never tries to lord it over his fellow-man, never yearns for higher education, never holds a grudge against his neighbor, never treats an artist shabbily and never turns a beggar away. Often untutored and unlettered, he sometimes has more of the poet and the musician in him, philosopher too, than those who are acclaimed as such. His whole way of life is aesthetic. What marks him as different, sometimes ridiculous, is his serenity and originality. That he aspires to be none other than himself, is this not the essence of wisdom?

El Condor Pasa" I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail Yes I would If I could, I surely would I'd rather be a hammer than a nail. Yes I would If I only could, I surely would. Away, I'd rather sail away Like a swan that's here and gone A man gets tied up to the ground He gives the world Its saddest sound, its saddest sound I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes I would If I could, I surely would. I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet Yes I would If I only could, I surely would

Ecology is beginning to slowly shift focus with tentative explorations of what the world would look like if process, rather than matter were the basis for reality What if we defined a species in terms of its life processes? We might seriously doubt whether the California condor or the tall grass prairie can be 'saved' or even 'restored.' Perhaps we can re-create some local conditions that foster a few nests of condors or a few acres of prairie. But the life process of the condor ended with the urbanization of the California foothills and the living ebb and flow of the tall grass prairies died with the plowing of the Great Plains. What if we suggested that a thing is what it does? In this light, the Rocky Mountain locust was a immense aperiodic energy flow that linked life processes on a continental scale. This notion of life-as-process might seem unusual in a society in which material existence is primary. But such a perception informs our deepest understanding of life. Indeed, life-as-process underlies our notion of euthanasia. When loved ones are simply bodies, devoid of the capacity to care, respond, or relate again a away that we can recognize as being "them," we understand that they are gone even before they are dead.

The Conqueror Worm Lo! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly— Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! That motley drama—oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased for evermore, By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot, And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the angels sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out—out are the lights—out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

It’s the Law of Unintended Consequences, Art thinks as he watches the federales. Operation Condor was intended to cut the Sinaloan cancer out of Mexico, but what it did instead was spread it through the entire body. And you have to give the Sinaloans credit—their response to their little diaspora was pure genius. Somewhere along the line they figured out that their real product isn’t drugs, it’s the two-thousand-mile border they share with the United States, and their ability to move contraband across it. Land can be burned, crops can be poisoned, people can be displaced, but that border—that border isn’t going anywhere. A product that might be worth a few cents one inch on their side of the border is worth thousands just one inch on the other side.

Jobs had been referring to computers as a bicycle for the mind; the ability of humans to create a bicycle allowed them to move more efficiently than even a condor, and likewise the ability to create computers would multiply the efficiency of their minds.

You mean how do I know you are who you say you are?” Merle shrugged. “How do you know anybody is who they say they are?” She shook her head. “We lie to ourselves about who we see, we lie to ourselves about who we are. Then we buy our own lies and try to spend them as our lives.

In turn, this brought the famous accolade from Seymour that would for ever be associated with Beresford’s name: ‘Well done, Condor!’  For the rest of his life, when he entered a crowded hall, as often as not, a voice would raise the cry ‘Well done, Condor!’ and cheers would follow.

The birds are us, you and me. We need to balance the eagle and condor that is inside every one of us. Put aside the judgments of the eagle, give opportunity and prosperity to the holism of the condor. Shift the power structures that hold the eagle dominant and the condor marginalized

Kekesfalva had told me: that Condor had a blind wife whom he had been unable to cure, and had married by way of penance, and that this blind woman, instead of being grateful to him, was a continual plague to him. But he put his hand on my arm with a warm, almost affectionate gesture.

Ma Yu, known by his Taoist name Scarlet Sun, was considered his first and best disciple. Then came Eternal Truth Tan Chuduan, Eternal Life Liu Chuxuan, Eternal Spring Qiu Chuji, Jade Sun Wang Chuyi, Infinite Peace Hao Datong, and finally the Sage of Tranquility, Sun Bu’er, who had been married to Ma

He had his eyes closed and rocked himself so much that everyone thought he would soon crash to the ground. And then it happened. He crashed to the ground. Surprised, he lay on the ground on his side, not sure what had happened, looking around. Next he jumped up and listened to Matica’s singing again, starting to rock himself once more. His eyes closed slowly, his beak opened. And then he crashed to the ground a second time. This time he kept lying down, spreading his free wing up into the air and waving it to the tune of the melody. Strange sounds came out of his beak. It was a grunt but more than a grunt, as if he was really enjoying himself, as if he would follow Matica’s words and would sing or hum as well.

I needed a day job that required me mostly to use my mind and hands, because my heart and soul belonged to my dreams.

My voice sounds the exact opposite of what I feel. It thunders while inside I bounce and squeal and want to tackle them and cuddle-fuck in a big pile on the floor.

Revenge is a waste of a dying man's last wish.

yet the search for Tao—the Way—isn’t about fame or fortune, it’s about looking for a path to return to the natural self.

He who aspires shall achieve great deeds.

Wanyan Honglie drew his eyes from the horse up to the rider and was surprised to see a short, beefy man, straddling it as if he were sat astride a lump of meat.

Nothing left but true: “You’re gravity I can’t escape.” His sore heart labored beats in the darkness. “What am I supposed to do with that?” she said. “What you can,” he said. “What you want.

Of course, all animals have different things to learn while traversing the arc that takes them from sexually immature, vulnerable child to reproductively capable, developed adult. In our case, those include advanced language skills and critical thinking. But there’s one feature that defines adolescence in species from condors to capuchin monkeys to college freshmen. It’s a time when they learn by taking risks and sometimes making mistakes.

Have you ever climbed a mountain in full armour? That's what we did, him going first the whole way up a tiny path into the clouds, with drops sheer on both sides into nothing. For hours we crept forward like blind men, the sweat freezing on our faces, lugging skittery leaking horses, and pricked all the time for the ambush that would tip us into death. Each turn of the path it grew colder. The friendly trees of the forest dropped away, and there were only pines. Then they went too, and there just scrubby little bushes standing up in ice. All round us the rocks began to whine the cold. And always above us, or below us, those filthy condor birds, hanging on the air with great tasselled wings....Four days like that; groaning, not speaking; the breath a blade in our lungs. Four days, slowly, like flies on a wall; limping flies, dying flies, up an endless wall of rock. A tiny army lost in the creases of the moon.

He had not thought to protect himself against a child. Their encounter at the foot of the hill had told him the boy was no expert in the martial arts. But it is as they say: the swimmer is the one to drown, the cart always breaks on flat ground.

El Condor Pasa" I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail. Yes I would, If I could, I surely would. I'd rather be a hammer than a nail. Yes I would, If I only could, I surely would. CHORUS Away, I'd rather sail away Like a swan that's here and gone A man gets tied up to the ground He gives the world Its saddest sound, Its saddest sound. I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes I would. If I could, I surely woud. I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet, Yes I would. If I only could, I surely would.

SER POETA Ser poeta é ser mais alto, é ser maior Do que os homens! Morder como quem beija! É ser mendigo e dar como quem seja Rei do Reino de Aquém e de Além Dor! É ter de mil desejos o esplendor E não saber sequer que se deseja! É ter cá dentro um astro que flameja, É ter garras e asas de condor! É ter fome, é ter sede de Infinito! Por elmo, as manhãs de oiro e de cetim... É condensar o mundo num só grito! E é amar-te, assim, perdidamente... É seres alma, e sangue, e vida em mim E dizê-lo cantando a toda a gente!

Here is the voice of my main Character in my Talon book series, I’ll let her introduce herself to you: My name is Matica and I am a special needs child with a growth disability. I am stuck in the body of a two year old, even though I am ten years old when my story begins in the first book of the Talon series, TALON, COME FLY WITH ME. Because of that disability, (I am saying ‘that’ disability, not ‘my’ disability because it’s a thing that happens to me, nothing more and because I am not accepting it as something bad. I can say that now after I learned to cope with it.) I was rejected by the local Indians as they couldn’t understand that that condition is not a sickness and so it can’t be really cured. It’s just a disorder of my body. But I never gave up on life and so I had lots of adventures roaming around the plateau where we live in Peru, South America, with my mother’s blessings. But after I made friends with my condors I named Tamo and Tima, everything changed. It changed for the good. I was finally loved. And I am the hero and I embrace my problem. In better words: I had embraced my problem before I made friends with my condors Tamo and Tima. I held onto it and I felt sorry for myself and cried a lot, wanting to run away or something worse. But did it help me? Did it become better? Did I grow taller? No, nothing of that helped me. I didn’t have those questions when I was still in my sorrow, but all these questions came to me later, after I was loved and was cherished. One day I looked up into the sky and saw the majestic condors flying in the air. Here and now, I made up my mind. I wanted to become friends with them. I believed if I could achieve that, all my sorrow and rejection would be over. And true enough, it was over. I was loved. I even became famous. And so, if you are in a situation, with whatever your problem is, find something you could rely on and stick to it, love that and do with that what you were meant to do. And I never run from conflicts.

The Venom had always been wary of my brother. And he was so stunned by the resurrection that he couldn’t react fast enough to defend himself. Brother managed to negate his Exploding Toad kung fu with ease. Viper Ouyang had put many years of hard work into this ultimate series of moves. But all he could do now was run, with his tail between his legs.

And so began the second phase of my life, which our family referred to as Exile, with a capital “E.” For me it was a period of discovery. I’d spend the next nine years in that semi-uninhabited province in the south, which is now a tourist destination, a landscape of vast cold forests, snowy volcanoes, emerald lakes, and raging rivers, where anyone with a hook and line can fill a basket with trout, salmon, and turbot in under an hour. The wide skies were an ever-changing spectacle, a symphony of colors, clouds pulled quickly along by the wind, bands of wild geese, and sometimes the outline of a condor or eagle in majestic flight. Night there fell suddenly, like a black blanket embroidered with millions of lights, which I learned to identify by both their classical and indigenous names.

Anyone looking back at the log later, trying to piece together a mystery, would find nothing but times and dry entries. It was a lazy Sunday. What made it meaningful were not the facts or details, but the imperceptibles. Inner life. The smell of the beach grass and the feel of sand on a bathroom floor when changing out of a swimsuit. The heat of American summer. Line ten of the log read simply: 10:22 Condor ate second breakfast. It couldn’t capture the perfect toasting of the onion bagel or the saltiness of the fish in contrast with the thickness of cream cheese. It was time lost in a book—a journey of imagination, transportation—which to others simply looks like sitting or lying stomach-down on the rug in front of a summertime fire, legs bent at the knees, up ninety degrees, kicking absently, feet languid in the air.

Under the leadership of Henry Kissinger, first as Richard Nixon’s national security adviser and later as secretary of state, the United States sent an unequivocal signal to the most extreme rightist forces that democracy could be sacrificed in the cause of ideological warfare. Criminal operational tactics, including assassination, were not only acceptable but supported with weapons and money. A CIA internal memo laid it out in unsparing terms:        On September 16, 1970 [CIA] Director [Richard] Helms informed a group of senior agency officers that on September 15, President Nixon had decided that an Allende regime was not acceptable to the United States. The President asked the Agency to prevent Allende from coming to power or to unseat him and authorized up to $10 million for this purpose. . . . A special task force was established to carry out this mandate, and preliminary plans were discussed with Dr. Kissinger on 18 September 1970.

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.

Just then he heard the sweet tinkle of bells followed by the sound of four camels plodding towards him from the main roadway. Two were snowy in complexion and all four were straddled by men also dressed in white. They approached the inn and the riders drew their mounts to a halt. Guo Jing noticed the finely embroidered cushions padding the saddles. Guo Jing was a child of the steppes deserts, but white camels were rare, and he had never seen such fine animals. He could not take his eyes off them. The riders were only a few years older than him, in their early twenties he guessed, each one as delicately handsome as the last. They leaped from the camels and made for the inn. Guo Jing was enraptured by their expensive robes, fringed at the neck by the finest fox fur. One of the young men glanced toward Guo Jing, blushed and lowered his head. Another glared at him and growled, “What are you staring at, little boy?” Flustered, Guo Jing looked away. He heard them laugh. “Congratulations,” one of them mocked in a girlish voice. “He likes you.

The temptation with condors is to wait that one extra day or week to squeeze out even more profit. Almost every trade you exit could possibly do better, perhaps even twice as well, sometimes for just an extra day or two. On the other hand, you might watch profits evaporate into losses and then find yourself scrambling to make defensive adjustments that add weeks to your trade. It is for those few trades that could have really been dangerous that you should be cautious with the rest. There is no point in making a return of 40% if you are going to lose 50% or 100% in a single trade. A good rule of thumb: Don’t try to stare down the market because the market never blinks. What separates the winners from the losers is the exit strategy. The exit strategy that works best is to give back almost all of the credit. If you take in an initial 16% credit and keep only 3%, 4%, or 5%, you’re giving back most of the potential profits. How many trades have you made that can consistently make profits of 3% in a few days regardless of the direction of the market?

Lo! ’tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly — Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! That motley drama! — oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased forever more, By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot, And much of Madness and more of Sin And Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! — it writhes! — with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out — out are the lights — out all! And over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, “Man,” And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

And at this very moment, like a miracle, the rail-bus appeared. We waved our arms frantically, hardly daring to hope that it would stop. It did stop. We scrambled thankfully on board. That is the irony of travel. You spend your boyhood dreaming of a magic, impossibly distant day when you will cross the Equator, when your eyes will behold Quito. And then, in the slow prosaic process of life, that day undramatically dawns—and finds you sleepy, hungry and dull. The Equator is just another valley; you aren’t sure which and you don’t much care. Quito is just another railroad station, with fuss about baggage and taxis and tips. And the only comforting reality, amidst all this picturesque noisy strangeness, is to find a clean pension run by Czech refugees and sit down in a cozy Central European parlor to a lunch of well-cooked Wiener Schnitzel.

I DON'T WANT to talk about me, of course, but it seems as though far too much attention has been lavished on you lately-that your greed and vanities and quest for self-fulfillment have been catered to far too much. You just want and want and want. You believe in yourself excessively. You don't believe in Nature anymore. It's too isolated from you. You've abstracted it. It's so messy and damaged and sad. Your eyes glaze as you travel life's highway past all the crushed animals and the Big Gulp cups. You don't even take pleasure in looking at nature photographs these days. Oh, they can be just as pretty as always, but don't they make you feel increasingly ... anxious? Filled with more trepidation than peace? So what's the point? You see the picture of the baby condor or the panda munching on a bamboo shoot, and your heart just sinks, doesn't it? A picture of a poor old sea turtle with barnacles on her back, all ancient and exhausted, depositing her five gallons of doomed eggs in the sand hardly fills you with joy, because you realize, quite rightly, that just outside the frame falls the shadow of the condo. What's cropped from the shot of ocean waves crashing on a pristine shore is the plastics plant, and just beyond the dunes lies a parking lot. Hidden from immediate view in the butterfly-bright meadow, in the dusky thicket, in the oak and holly wood, are the surveyors' stakes, for someone wants to build a mall exactly there-some gas stations and supermarkets, some pizza and video shops, a health club, maybe a bulimia treatment center. Those lovely pictures of leopards and herons and wild rivers-well, you just know they're going to be accompanied by a text that will serve only to bring you down. You don't want to think about it! It's all so uncool. And you don't want to feel guilty either. Guilt is uncool. Regret maybe you'll consider. Maybe. Regret is a possibility, but don't push me, you say. Nature photographs have become something of a problem, along with almost everything else. Even though they leave the bad stuff out-maybe because you know they're leaving all the bad stuff out-such pictures are making you increasingly aware that you're a little too late for Nature. Do you feel that? Twenty years too late? Maybe only ten? Not way too late, just a little too late? Well, it appears that you are. And since you are, you've decided you're just not going to attend this particular party.

The adventures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, a team generally regarded as seeking justice, can be compared to the adventures of Rex Stout's two most famous characters, Nero Wolf and Archie Goodwin.

Jack Anderson gave a few details in his column, “Operation Condor, an Unholy Alliance” on August 3, 1979:            Assassination teams are centered in Chile. This international consortium is located in Colonia Dignidad, Chile. Founded by Nazis from Hitler’s SS, headed by Franz Pfeiffer Richter, Adolf Hitler’s 1000-year Reich may not have perished. Children are cut up in front of their parents, suspects are asphyxiated in piles of excrement or roasted to death over barbecue pits.

Recurrent invasions racked the city of Theodora in the centuries of its history; no sooner was one enemy routed than another gained strength and threatened the survival of the inhabitants. When the sky was cleared of condors, they had to face the propagation of serpents; the spiders' extermination allowed the flies to multiply into a black swarm; the victory over the termites left the city at the mercy of the woodworms. One by one the species incompatible to the city had to succumb and were extinguished. By dint of ripping away scales and carapaces, tearing off elytra and feathers, the people gave Theodora the exclusive image of human city that still distinguishes it.

It had some sentalmental value, yes, but then again so do your testicles.

Never forget a man who holds a secret holds power. A Chinese proverb says: "If women want to keep a secret, one of them must die." What a splendid prospect, I thought! So far I have not heard one single encouraging word about this job.

Never forget a man who holds a secret holds power. A Chinese proverb says: "If two men want to keep a secret, one of them must die." What a splendid prospect, I thought! So far I have not heard one single encouraging word about this job.

Ask them, then. ...Ask them when there's no heat in their homes and they're cold. Ask them when their engines stop. Ask them, when people who have never known hunger start going hungry. You want to know something? They won't want us to ask them. They'll just want us to get it.

vaccinated every single condor—today there about four hundred

Obviously, successful secret assassinations are not recorded as assassination at all,” notes the CIA’s 1959 “Study of Assassination.

The Central Intelligence Agency, America’s best-known spy shop. In that fearful post-Joe McCarthy era, when assassinated JFK had publicly loved James Bond and secretly been entangled in covert intrigues like assassination plots against Cuba’s Fidel Castro outsourced to the Mafia by our spies, the CIA was a myth-shrouded invisible army. In those pre-Internet days before electronic books, Web sites with varied credibility, and search

Ruprecht can build another pod though, right? I mean it was mostly just tinfoil.’ ‘The problem is that he has no blueprint. From the original design he keeps making changes, but these he does not write down. So it is impossible to replicate exactly.’ Later that day, Ruprecht approaches Skippy. His expression is feverish. ‘I’ve devised a foolproof plan to get my pod back from St Brigid’s,’ he says. ‘I call it, “Operation Falcon”.’ Skippy looks dubious. ‘This is your chance to get in on the ground floor!’ ‘No way, Ruprecht, not after how that last one went.’ ‘That was Operation Condor. This is Operation Falcon. It’s a totally different operation.’ ‘Sorry.

A popular bit of condor lore is that miners in the West and in Mexico used condor quills as containers for gold dust. The light durable quills could each hold as much as ten cubic centimeters of fine dust, worth roughly $105 at 1855 prices. They had a diameter of nearly one-half inch. Each quill was fitted with a wooden stopper and had an attached thong so it could be worn around the neck. A man with a necklace of three or four quills could be carrying a modest fortune. And where else could you find a container so durable, waterproof, and handy in frontier times?

A man gets tied up to the ground, he gives the world its saddest sound.

A man gets tied up to the ground, he gives the world its saddest sound.

The higher we look on the scale of strength and individuality, the more isolated we see that the nature and habits of creatures are. The eagle chooses his eyrie in the bleakest solitude; the condor affects the deserted empyrean; the leopard prowls through the jungle by himself; the lion has a lonely lair. So with men. While savages, like the Hottentots, gibber in their kraals, and, among civilized nations, the dissipated and the frivolous collect in clubs and assemblies, dreading to be left in seclusion, the poet loves his solitary walk, the saint retreats to be closeted with God, and the philosopher wraps himself in immensity.

My girls…” His voice faded away. He searched Elena’s eyes, then reached for her hand. His grip was weak but his words came out strong. “Thank God for my amazing girls!

Structural analysis leads to some surprising conclusions concerning “normal” people, which are nevertheless in accord with competent clinical judgment. In structural terms, a “happy” person is one in whom important aspects of the Parent, the Adult, and the Child are all syntonic with each other….The following anecdote illustrates the structure of the “happy” personality carried to its logical end: A young man came home one day and announced to his mother: “I’m so happy! I’ve just been promoted!” His mother congratulated him, and as she got out the bottle of wine she had been saving for such an occasion, she asked him what his new appointment was. ‘This morning,” said the young man, “I was only a guard at the concentration camp, but tonight I’m the new commandant!” “Very good, my son,” said his mother, “see how well I’ve brought you up!” In this case, Parent, Adult, and Child were all interested in and gratified by his career, so that he met the requirements for “happiness.” He fulfilled his mother’s ambitions for him with patriotic rationality while obtaining gratification of his archaic sadism. In this light, it is not so surprising that in real life many of these people were able to enjoy good music and literature in their leisure hours. This distasteful example raises some serious questions about certain naive attitudes concerning the relationship between happiness, virtue, and usefulness, including the Greek aspect of “good workmanship.” It is also an effective illustration for people who want to know “how to raise children” but cannot specify clearly what they want to raise them to be. It is not enough to want to raise them to be “happy.

the Condor. “I don’t interest myself in why. I think more often in terms of when. Sometimes where. Always how much.

She dropped her hand and pulled Mora back, but Mora shook her head. She wanted to race. Elena glanced at Angelica. The older girl seemed to be enjoying the ride as much as she was. “Okay, Mora,” whispered Elena, leaning over the mare’s neck. “Lets go.” Mora sprung forward with Luna right beside her. The two horses raced toward the distant edge of the meadow, matching stride for stride. Mora’s head and neck reached forward and her body stretched low to the ground. The thud of hoofbeats became a thunder. Tears ran from Elena’s eyes as the wind whipped past her face. She crouched even lower over Mora’s neck and the scent of the mare’s sweat filled her nose, tangy and sharp. Elena glanced down at the ground flying by beneath them. They were going so fast! She felt so free! Father’s never going to keep me away from the mountains ever again, thought Elena. I have never truly lived until this moment!

Martinez: I guarantee you this: not one of us has learned a single thing today. -Condors

I think of my chastened surprise when Mabel played with a paper telescope. She is real. She can resist the meanings humans give her. But the condor? The condor has no resistance to us at all. I stare at the attenuated, drifting image on the gallery screen. It is a shadow, a figure of loss and hope; it is hardly a bird at all.

Les oiseaux ne chantaient plus dans le jardin. Ni la pendule au-dessus du vaisselier, ni rien. Combien de temps resta-t-il prostré ? Les œufs brouillés qu'il avait préparés pour elle étaient froids, stupides dans leur poêle, le soleil comme une offense sur le mur jaune de la cuisine. Edwards se sentait amputé de la meilleur partie de lui-même, la seule en laquelle il croyait.

L'amour n'était pas mort le 11 septembre 1973: il s'était suicidé.

Il ne restait qu'une jeune femme rongée de chagrin, Gabriela, et l'onde funèbre de leurs amours mortes sur une mer de sel.

Third Week of May 2012 …I wasn’t sure if I should contact you after our separation. Long distance communications in the 70’s weren’t as facile as they are now. My daily rowing helped to alleviate my stress during those early years of our breakup. Over time, Mother Nature healed my aching heart. Do you remember Opai, the American Indian shaman we met at Havasu Falls? He came to your aid when you were nauseated and performed a healing ritual over you. He said, “Fly like the condors, swim like the dolphins and slither like the serpents. The creatures of the air, water and earth will guide you back to your rightful place. Release, and let your spirit soar.” My dear Young, I love you and always will. Distance will never keep us apart. I am always with you in spirit. Be well, stay safe, for you and for me. Please send my regards to Walter, whom you claim is a reflection of my “godlike archetype.” Love, Andy.

In a country with few private rooms, where people live on top of each other, lies and half-truths become the only forms of privacy. People lie because they assume everyone else is a liar. Those who don’t lie must be either saints or idiots, or just plain rude. In this shimmering world of big and small deceits, people often have to snoop and spy to hunt down the illusive truth. There is an instructive story of a poor man who won a lottery. He moves his family into a mansion where each of his thirteen children could have his or her own room at last. For the first time, they could think in silence and examine their firm or flabby flesh in a full-length mirror. They could hear the creak and hum if their own brains, feel the drafts from strange doors being opened. Frightful memories ambushed them sporadically. The oldest boy realized he had a flat chest, a beer belly and no muscles. The oldest girl discovered a condor-shaped birthmark spanning her behind. After a month of daydreaming, reading, masturbating and unbearable loneliness bordering on madness, they all decided to sleep in the same room again.

He forced his mind to picture a brick wall, to feel a brick wall, smell a brick wall, become a brick wall. He lost all sense of time, but the bricks stood out. He heard the voices questioning him, but he turned their sounds to bricks for his wall.

If not me, who?” “Who? You’re Condor, not an owl.

The function of the Society and of Department 17 is to keep track of all espionage and related acts recorded in literature. In other words, the Department reads spy thrillers and murder mysteries

BOOKS/AUTHORS ON THE BACKS OF LIBRARY CARDS #1 Miguel Fernandez Incident at Hawk’s Hill by Allan W. Eckert/ No, David! by David Shannon #2 Akimi Hughes One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss/Nine Stories by J. D. Salinger #3 Andrew Peckleman Six Days of the Condor by James Grady/ Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott #4 Bridgette Wadge Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume/ Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J. K. Rowling #5 Sierra Russell The Egypt Game by Zilpha Keatley Snyder/ The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin #6 Yasmeen Smith-Snyder Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne/The Yak Who Yelled Yuck by Carol Pugliano-Martin #7 Sean Keegan Olivia by Ian Falconer/Unreal! by Paul Jennings #8 Haley Daley Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L. Holm/ A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle #9 Rose Vermette All-of-a-Kind Family by Sydney Taylor/ Scat by Carl Hiaasen #10 Kayla Corson Anna to the Infinite Power by Mildred Ames/Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein #11 UNKNOWN/CHARLES CHILTINGTON #12 Kyle Keeley I Love You, Stinky Face by Lisa McCourt/ The Napping House by Audrey

It’s human nature to stand by and do nothing. Any fool can beg. Is that enough to secure help? What can you offer him? Why does he have to help you?

INT. EDORAS, GOLDEN HALL - DAWN CLOSE ON: ARAGORN bursts into the GOLDEN HALL. ARAGORN The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Condor calls for aid! ANGLE ON: THEODEN looks up startled. (CONTINUED) Final Revision - October, 2003 44, CONTINUED: CLOSE ON: EOWYN, EOMER turn to look at their UNCLE ... tension builds. CLOSE ON: THEODEN his head lowered ... Slowly it rises - he looks ARAGORN in the EYE. THEODEN Then Rohan will answer. Muster the Rohirrim! EXT.

FJ moved away then. Rocco and Bubba followed. Myron watched them disappear, his heart flapping in his chest like a caged condor.

On top of all that, here on his bed sat a funny-looking girl wearing a T shirt and a smile.

Nothing blocks purpose, connection, safety, and fulfillment like pain.