Cross Junction Quotes

It only remained," he said, "that the noble Chiefs assembled, laying aside every lesser consideration, should unite, heart and hand, in the common cause; send the fiery cross through their clans, in order to collect their utmost force, and form their junction with such celerity as to leave the enemy no time, either for preparation, or recovery from the panic which would spread at the first sound of their pibroch.

There was a time when wen we did not form all our words as we do now, in writing on a page. There was a time when the word "&" was written with several distinct & separate letters. It seems madness now. But there it is, & there is nothing we can do about it. Humanity learned to ride the rails, & that motion made us what we are, a ferromaritime people. The lines of the railsea go everywhere but from one place straight to another. It is always switchback, junction, coils around & over our own train-trails. What word better could there be to symbolize the railsea that connects & separates all lands, than “&” itself? Where else does the railsea take us, but to one place & that one & that one & that one, & so on? & what better embodies, in the sweep of the pen, the recurved motion of trains, than “&”? An efficient route from where we start to where we end would make the word the tiniest line. But it takes a veering route, up & backwards, overshooting & correcting, back down again south & west, crossing its own earlier path, changing direction, another overlap, to stop, finally, a few hairs’ width from where we began. & tacks & yaws, switches on its way to where it’s going, as we all must do.

I wanted someone to hold me close so I slide across and snuggled in tight and said, 'Hold me.' He did, and it was tender and truly sweet, but without a trace of that wild carnal edge you would have to cross if you want to get so close together you can't tell each other apart. I pushed it. I said, 'I want to get closer. I want you to love who I am.' Love doesn't do much for the powers of explanation, but since Love has never asked for one itself, that seems fair enough.

It is very simple,” said the Indian. “A direct line takes us from the Delhi railroad to that of Bombay. The junction is at Allahabad. Between Etawah and the frontier of Bundelkund, there is but one important river to cross, the Jumna; between that and the Vindhyas mountains there is another, the Bettwa.

Maybe our paths will cross when this universe folds in and makes another. Maybe, at the point when all that is, and all that’s ever been, collapses into everything else and is remade, our paths will cross, however briefly, and our terminus become a junction. It may be a long shot. I will take it and hope and trust our paths will cross again.

Just as I was about to reach the junction where I cross to catch the bus, I stopped dead, my eye drawn to a sly movement, a measured dash of brownish red. I breathed in, the morning air cold in my lungs. Under the orange glow of a streetlight, a fox was drinking a cup of coffee. He wasn’t holding it in his paws—as has been clearly established, I’m not insane—but, rather, had dipped his head to the ground and was lapping from a Starbucks cup. The fox sensed me watching, looked up and stared assertively into my eyes. “What of it?” he seemed to be saying. “A morning cup of coffee, big deal!” He went back to his beverage. Perhaps he’d had a particularly late night out by the bins, was finding it hard to get going on this cold, dark morning. I laughed out loud and walked on.

One of Sherrington's greatest pupils, Sir John Eccles, held similar views. Eccles won a Nobel Prize for his seminal contributions to our understanding of how nerve cells communicate across synapses, or nerve junctions. In his later years, he worked toward a deeper understanding of the mechanisms mediating the interaction of mind and brain-including the elusive notion of free will. Standard neurobiology tells us that tiny vesicles in the nerve endings contain chemicals called neurotransmitters; in response to an electrical impulse, some of the vesicles release their contents, which cross the synapse and transmit the impulse to the adjoining neuron. In 1986 Eccles proposed that the probability of neurotransmitter release depended on quantum mechanical processes, which can be influenced by the intervention of the mind. This, Eccles said, provided a basis for the action of a free will.

He had brought her to this house, “and,” continued the priest, while genuine tears rose to his eyes, “here, too, he shelters me, his old tutor, and Agnes, a superannuated servant of his father’s family. To our sustenance, and to other charities, I know he devotes three-parts of his income, keeping only the fourth to provide himself with bread and the most modest accommodations. By this arrangement he has rendered it impossible to himself ever to marry: he has given himself to God and to his angel-bride as much as if he were a priest, like me.” The father had wiped away his tears before he uttered these last words, and in pronouncing them, he for one instant raised his eyes to mine. I caught this glance, despite its veiled character; the momentary gleam shot a meaning which struck me. These Romanists are strange beings. Such a one among them—whom you know no more than the last Inca of Peru, or the first Emperor of China—knows you and all your concerns; and has his reasons for saying to you so and so, when you simply thought the communication sprang impromptu from the instant’s impulse: his plan in bringing it about that you shall come on such a day, to such a place, under such and such circumstances, when the whole arrangement seems to your crude apprehension the ordinance of chance, or the sequel of exigency. Madame Beck’s suddenly-recollected message and present, my artless embassy to the Place of the Magi, the old priest accidentally descending the steps and crossing the square, his interposition on my behalf with the bonne who would have sent me away, his reappearance on the staircase, my introduction to this room, the portrait, the narrative so affably volunteered—all these little incidents, taken as they fell out, seemed each independent of its successor; a handful of loose beads: but threaded through by that quick-shot and crafty glance of a Jesuit-eye, they dropped pendent in a long string, like that rosary on the prie-dieu. Where lay the link of junction, where the little clasp of this monastic necklace? I saw or felt union, but could not yet find the spot, or detect the means of connection.

Before it was designated “Checkpoint Charlie,” the crossing was one of many created and agreed upon by the military planners ruling over a defeated city in 1947. It was located at the junction of Friedrichstraße with Zimmerstraße and Mauerstraße (whose historical name ironically means “Wall Street”). Almost two weeks after the East Germans had erected the barrier, on August 23, 1961, their Ministry of the Interior announced that among a group of border crossings, this checkpoint would be the only one where the Allied military would be allowed entry into their sector of the city.

Time traveller He calls himself a time traveller, He travels anywhere and anytime, He is a very adept traveller, Who knows how to bypass time, We once met suddenly, When the traveller was travelling the highway of life, He was pacing very efficiently, And that day I happened to be on the same highway of life, As I was about to cross a junction, He stopped there too, And enquired if I knew how this highway of life did function? “I may not know that better than you,” Was my polite and slow answer, “Ah haa, you appear to be a stranger on this highway, Come let me introduce you to few tricks old and quite a few newer, So, come let us go this way.” Said the traveller as we both stepped on the highway, And paced towards a destination of his choosing, It was a beautiful experience anyway, Though his few ways were very amusing, Then we stopped at a far away corner, And he pulled something from his bag, He was smart but this thing seemed smarter, He opened it and removed the safety tag, Now he turned to me and said, “Look at the sky, what do you see?” And I without being reticent said, “The sky, the Sun, that is all I see,” Looking at me he replied, “I thought so, and here is the fact, You see the sky and just the Sun, But you miss the real act, Time invested cannot be undone, You see I am a time traveller and I travel with it, Today on this highway, tomorrow on another, But I never miss the destination even by a bit, And as we were walking together, I asked you what you see when you look at the sky, You should have said, nothing, I have no time for it, Because the Sun will be there, so will be the sky, Being the time travellers we are not allowed to sit, We have to keep on moving and always seeking, Until we reach our destiny, Now this for you is my lesson worth heeding, If you are to find your final destiny, So let the Sun be, let the stars shine, and let the sky spread its magical blue, You keep travelling, moving, from one destination to another, Then you shall be a time traveller too, Like none other, like none other, So we switched lanes on the highway, He rode in a direction new, And now I was a lone rider on my life’s highway, Having realised what is known to just a few, That to be the time traveller, We should not wander but travel with a fixed aim, Because a true traveller is like a true lover, Who knows love and destiny are not a game, So for the real time traveller, it is always one destiny and one love, Though crossing many destinations is a part of it all, But the passion for love and to love, Supercedes the lure of destinations all! Now I often see the time traveller on the highways that I cross, We just bow our heads and move ahead, Because we have a destination to cross, To reach the final destiny of love, and in this pursuit we shall always stay ahead!

Colorado was not far behind. Rocky Mountain Klansmen kidnapped two prominent attorneys—one a Jew who defended bootleggers, the other a Catholic whose crime was his faith—then clubbed them nearly to death. They tried to force a Black family out of their home in Grand Junction, warning that if they did not leave, their lives would be in danger. But the violence did nothing to curb popularity. The Klan mayor of Denver, elected in 1923, named fellow members of the Invisible Empire as police chief and city attorney. One night alone, the Klan set seven crosses ablaze throughout Denver. They would soon be “the largest and most cohesive, most efficiently organized political force in the state of Colorado,” wrote the Denver Post.

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One of the most ambitious men to exploit the timber trade was Hugh F. McDanield, a railroad builder and tie contractor who had come to Fayetteville along with the Frisco. He bought thousands of acres of land within hauling distance of the railroad and sent out teams of men to cut the timber. By the mid-1880s, after a frenzy of cutting in south Washington County, he turned his gaze to the untapped fortune of timber on the steep hillsides of southeast Washington County and southern Madison County, territory most readily accessed along a wide valley long since leveled by the east fork of White River. Mr. McDanield gathered a group of backers and the state granted a charter September 4, 1886, giving authority to issue capital stock valued at $1.5 million, which was the estimated cost to build a rail line through St. Paul and on to Lewisburg, which was a riverboat town on the Arkansas River near Morrilton. McDanield began surveys while local businessman J. F. Mayes worked with property owners to secure rights of way. “On December 4, 1886, a switch was installed in the Frisco main line about a mile south of Fayetteville, and the spot was named Fayette Junction.” Within six months, 25 miles of track had been laid east by southeast through Baldwin, Harris, Elkins, Durham, Thompson, Crosses, Delaney, Patrick, Combs, and finally St. Paul. Soon after, in 1887, the Frisco bought the so-called “Fayetteville and Little Rock” line from McDanield. It was estimated that in the first year McDanield and partners shipped out more than $2,000,000 worth of hand-hacked white oak railroad ties at an approximate value of twenty-five cents each. Mills ran day and night as people arrived “by train, wagon, on horseback, even afoot” to get a piece of the action along the new track, commonly referred to as the “St. Paul line.” Saloons, hotels, banks, stores, and services from smithing to tailoring sprang up in rail stop communities.

They didn’t know it, but the boy who crossed with them—his clothes, they thought, looked a bit muddy—was the ghost of Eduardito, the boy who had drowned. He wanted to warn them that there are junctions where the line joining the past to the present bends right around until it forms a hole. “If you fall down, you won’t come back,” he wanted to tell them. But, with all the adrenaline pumping through them, they didn’t stop to listen.

It was the sunset when he put his had on my shoulders. Blue-red skies, so blue as the farewell might be, so red as the life will be. - How long? - For them? Maybe forever, maybe one day longer... - My Jinn is sad today and I'm not sure, why? - Want to see them back? - It was just my faith in impossibility. - Want to give them a few seconds more? - The stone is the stone, Eve. The not-alive is... - We can try, Jinnie, why not? You tried. - Tears warmed my face. What the day is today? - Do you believe in magic, Eve? When were you crying last time? Honestly, I don't remember. What can it change, my tears? Terracotta cheeks, porcelain temples, stony trap, the eternity. - Are you still afraid of the sarcophagus? - Just my thought, his crazy and psychedelic fear, conjecture. Do the Genies have a kind of trauma?? - We do have the hearts. Is it making you better? - I hear his question, I can't find his mind, the one I feel, skies in fire and howling wind. -It is the Time, Eve, that wind, it is the breeze, uncommonly, experienced. Nothing cannot be back, we have to pay for this, from us, our particles, all who we are... The man on crossing, perception of junction, step forward step back, I saw him before. Before of what? Where is he going now? - That moment when can go to nowhere, Eve. How many times were you dying? Honestly, I don't remember, what can it change, my death? Terracotta palms, porcelain thumbs, stony breath after all. - Jinnie, what day is today? You are talking about the Death, yes? - The warm touch, route, depth. - Why here is so cold? - Do you know what was before them, Eve? Do you want to see? - No!!! - My feeling was No, my blood said Back, my senses Stroke pushing me back. Do not be imprisoned, Do not let Them to imprison you. - You and Us... - His whisper, his step, gates slam shut. WTF... Terracotta-Stony gates. Nothing more, nothing less, nothingness. I am smashed. With them... With??? Oh no, whatever, not they!!! Buried alive. Do not move, do not turn back, this is a delusion, you do not hear them, you are only the... Author??? - RED! - Shreds of his voice. - Blue and Red. - What is she doing here??? - Rustle - Is she our Salvation??? They stepped, closer, they are the coldest I ever met. - Hey, I am not him!!! - I was shouting. - Do not step on me!!! There was something crushing under my feet. Sounds like... Ice? Not possible. Or yes, it is the frozen stone, millions of them, buttered Time. - Go! - This is my Jinn - Get out from ice!!! Go where? I am stuck, for eternity. With them and their horses. What the Jinn said? 'Ride them'. It was about the Dragons. Sorry, this is what I said! Was it? Upper, North, South. Go upper. Before they will arise... - The woman is a woman is a woman... - Sometimes the thoughts are touching, the desires surrounding.

The world has often mourned Over the stories of two strangers So right for each other But who crossed paths At the wrong time They met at the junction And buried sweet dreams turned bitter A journey envisioned together Was then covered on separate lanes The price heavier than the crime But what is time If not a puppet in its Lord’s Hands Ticking seamlessly right Flawlessly accomplishing destiny’s plan Executing orders with precision, sublime Perhaps the strangers may meet at another turn Or maybe their paths diverged to never converge But looking back, the argument may hold little value Because in an attempt to find each other They found their Lord, The Gracious, The Kind.

Fate isn’t always the good stuff, Remi. Sometimes the path provided isn’t a straight line but rather a journey filled with obstacles and detours. It took the unimaginable for me to find you, but I will never stop being grateful that there was even one single junction in time in which our paths crossed.

I don't remember much about my death. A moment of panic. The screeching of tyres. An ear-shattering bang. Then...nothing. No bright light, no tunnel, no loved ones waiting to greet me, their faces smiling benevolently as they welcomed me to the afterlife. Just the high-pitched beeping of the traffic lights as they changed, signalling to pedestrians that it was now their turn to cross the junction, oblivious to the carnage before them.

These increases in brain cholesterol and pituitary activity were clues that were rich in their implications, and in the late 1960’s a research team at the University of California at Berkeley began to look for specific differences in the neural structures of gentled and ungentled rats. They found that greater tactile stimulation resulted in the following differences: These animals’ brains were heavier, and in particular they had heavier and thicker cerebral cortexes. This heaviness was not due only to the presence of more cholesterol—that is, more myeline sheaths—but also to the fact that actual neural cell bodies and nuclei were larger. Associated with these larger cells were greater quantities of cholinesterase and acetylcholinesterase, two enzymes that support the chemical activities of nerve cells, and also a higher ratio of RNA to DNA within the cells. Increased amounts of these specific compounds indicates higher metabolic activity. Measurements of the synaptic junctions connecting nerve cells revealed that these junctions were 50% larger in cross-section in the gentled rats than in the isolated ones. The gentled rats’ adrenal glands were also markedly heavier, evidence that the pituitary-adrenal axis—the most important monitor of the body’s hormonal secretions—was indeed more active.34 Many other studies have confirmed and added to these findings. Laboratory animals who are given rich tactile experience in their infancy grow faster, have heavier brains, more highly developed myelin sheaths, bigger nerve cells, more advanced skeletal muscular growth, better coordination, better immunological resistance, more developed pituitary/adrenal activity, earlier puberties, and more active sex lives than their isolated genetic counterparts. Associated with these physiological advantages are a host of emotional and behavioral responses which indicate a stronger and much more successfully adapted organism. The gentled rats are much calmer and less excitable, yet they tend to be more dominant in social and sexual situations. They are more lively, more curious, more active problem solvers. They are more willing to explore new environments (ungentled animals usually withdraw fearfully from novel situations), and advance more quickly in all forms of conditioned learning exercises.35 Moreover, these felicitous changes are not to be observed only in infancy and early maturation; an enriched environment will produce exactly the same increases in brain and adrenal weights and the same behavioral changes in adult animals as well, even though the adults require a longer period of stimulation to show the maximum effect.36

Do you have a driver's license?" "Of course," she said, not knowing if it was true or not. She was already sitting behind the steering wheel. He tossed her the keys and she turned the ignition as he climbed into the car. She pressed hard on the gas pedal and the car shrieked away from the curb. The back end fishtailed. She needed to get to school quickly and find some answers. She had a feeling that Catty wasn't going to last long in that place. The light turned yellow ahead of her. "Slow down!" Derek shouted as the car in front of them stopped for the light. She didn't let up. "You're going to rear-end it!" Derek cried, and his foot pressed the floor as if he were trying to work an invisible brake. She jerked the steering wheel, swerved smoothly around the car, and blasted through the intersection, ignoring the flurry of horns and screeching tires. Derek snapped his seat belt in place. "Why are you in such a hurry to get to school?" "Geometry test," she answered, and buzzed around two more cars. At the next junction she needed to make a left-hand turn, but the line of traffic waiting for the green arrow would delay her too long. She continued in her lane, and when she reached the intersection, she turned in front of the car with the right-of-way. Angry honks followed her as she blasted onto the next street. "We've got time, Tianna!" Derek yelled. "School doesn't start for another fifteen minutes." Would fifteen minutes give her enough time to get the answers she needed? She didn't think so. She pressed her foot harder on the accelerator. The school was at least a mile away, but if she ignored the next light and the next, then maybe she could get there with enough time to question Corrine. She didn't think her powers were strong enough to change the lights and she didn't want to chance endangering other drivers, but she was sure she could at least slow down the cross traffic. She concentrated on the cars zooming east and west on Beverly Boulevard in front of her without slowing her speed. "Tianna!" Derek yelled. "You've got a red light!" She squinted and stalled a Jaguar in the crosswalk. Cars honked impatiently behind the car, and when a Toyota tried to speed around it, she stopped it, too. She could feel the pressure building inside her as she made a Range Rover and a pick-up slide to a halt. She shot through the busy intersection against the light. Derek turned back. "You've got to be the luckiest person in the world.

Ah, Love Lane,” Jerry said, pointing down towards the river as they crossed a road. “Did you know it comes to a junction with Cock Hill? I’d buy someone a pint for that.

Windowpanes rattled with the blasts and the houses of the border city shook. Meth unleashed charge after charge in German brains, neurotransmitters were released, exploded in the synaptic gaps, burst, and dispersed their explosive cargo: neuronal paths twitched, gap junctions flared, everything whirred and roared. Down below the defenders cowered, their bunkers shaking. The siren wail of the plunging planes drilled into their ears and left their nerves bare.66 In the course of the hours that followed, 60,000 Germans, 22,000 vehicles, and 850 tanks crossed the river: “We felt a kind of high, an exceptional state,” one participant reported. “We were sitting in our vehicles, covered in dust, exhausted and wired.”67 In a rush they had never experienced before, the Germans took the French border city. “The pugnacious desire to defeat the enemy in chivalrous combat will never fade,” says the official Wehrmacht report.68 In fact Pervitin made an enormous contribution to putting the soldiers in a warlike mood. French military reinforcements arrived a few crucial hours too late.