Darby Quotes

Darby preferred to live her life wide-eyed, tormented, running, because nothing can catch you if you never stop.

We all must deal with our shadows the best we can. No one can conquer them for us.

No matter how she had suffered, Darby hadn’t retreated from life after all. In fact, she’d embraced it. Quietly, carefully, but with dignity and love.

Remember friends as you pass by as you are now so once was I. As I am now so you must be prepare yourself to follow me. (18th Century epitaph)

People thought silence meant the absence of noise, and sometimes it did, but other times it screamed so loudly she had to fight not to cover her ears.

Bucky Katt: A bad writer is just a good writer with writer's block.

Really," said Thiel crossly, bending to collect them, "I was quite clear to Darby that we wished a single, recent map. Take these away, Death. They're unnecessary." "All paper maps are recent," said Death with a sniff, "when one considers the vastness of geological time." "Her Majesty merely wishes to see the city as it is today," said Thiel. "A city is a living organism, always changing-

Ethics are so annoying. I avoid them on principle.

Darby, sir, but Janus they call me,” the seaman said, “on account of a surgeon we shipped in the Sophie, a learned bloke, saying I saw both ways like some old Roman cut-up by that name.

When your life burns to ash before you, it's hard to find hope in the embers of what remains.

Don’t give your heart to him, Shay,” Darby says softly. “Ford won’t keep it safe. No one ever kept his heart safe growing up and he doesn’t know how to treat anyone any better. It’s not his fault he’s not a good man, but it’ll be your fault if you expect him to be one.

But first and foremost, combating hate requires understanding it—not what it seems to be or what we hope it amounts to, but what it actually is.

Habit. It was a habit bred from years of escaping accountability. He got away with everything. If you dared to question him, he’d unload and make you feel guilt for even trying.

Isn’t she a gem? You never know who you’re going to meet here. Now that you’re living in the greatest city in the world, anything is possible.” Of course that was Stella’s perspective. With her beauty and steady work, she had an independence Darby envied.

People changed, often for the worse.

In Treasure Island, Savannah is the place where Captain John Flint, the murderous pirate with the blue face, has died of rum before the story begins. It is on his death bed in Savannah that Flint bellows his last command - "Fetch aft the rum, Darby!" - and hands Billy Bones a map of Treasure Island. "He gave it me at Savnnah," says Bones, "when he lay a-dying." The book has a drawing of Flint's map in it with an X marking the location of the buried treasure.

That’s how grief works. Grief, depression, trauma. They overwhelm. They’re louder than the good things happening in your life. You can’t compartmentalize the darker aspects and put them in a box and think they won’t leach into the rest of your life.

But life- I'd come to find out- was pretty damn large. It coiled and wove and spun its own story, threading together tales to create an intricate, confusing saga. We didn't get our own book. We were all part of the same infinite one..... We weren't chapters. We weren't even sentences. My part in it was as insignificant as a letter on a page.

Bucky B. Katt: "I'm not closed minded you're just wrong

Don’t fear the pros, Darby. The pros know what they’re doing, and do it cleanly. Fear the amateurs.

Was the pie good, luv?" she asked. I'd forgotten the pie until that moment. I took a leaf from Dr. Darby's notebook. "Um," I said.

You’re going to have terrible days and okay days, and you will not know which one you’re getting until it’s too late to duck.

Jake Darby? Ugh.” Jake Darby is like the villain in a bad teen movie—perfect on the outside, a festering mass of evil on the inside.

They destroy you in silence until you’re afraid of speaking out. They attack you in your own damn house, where you should be safe.

That’s how they win. They destroy you in silence until you’re afraid of speaking out. They attack you in your own damn house, where you should be safe.

Hate can be understood as a social bond, a complex phenomenon that occurs among people as a means of mattering and belonging.

Wisdom and philosophy never found out God; He makes Himself known to us through our needs, necessity finds Him out. I doubt much if we have ever learned anything solidly except we have learned it thus.

While I was at the funeral home, seeing my father for the final time, one of Darby’s daughters gave me a box my dad left for me. When I opened it, it contained a silver bracelet, presumably a gift he’d gotten me for the wedding. Inscribed on the front were my initials, and as I looked at the back of the bracelet, I started crying even harder. My dad had inscribed, “To the man that you’ve become, and the son you’ll always be.

Under the blanket the outline of her body was slender and displayed a certain innocence, a precious quality far more significant than the elegance of her form. She seemed to radiate kindness and essential goodness, and Darby, trying to measure the value of her, told himself it was immeasurable.

And Miss Ophelia?" he asked, getting round to her at last. "Miss Ophelia? Well, to tell you the truth, Ned, we're all rather worried about her." Ned recoiled as if a wasp had gone up his nose. "Oh? What's the trouble? Nothing serious, I hope." "She's gone all green," I said. "I think it's chlorosis. Dr. Darby thinks so too.

When you identify hearing voices with illness and try to kill the voices with neuroleptic medication, you just miss the personal problems that lay at the roots of hearing voices—and you will not help the person solving those problems. You just make a chronic patient.

It will be in the key of delicious. - Bucky

No, the great thing about selfie sticks is that they send annoying people out into the world with a built-in means with which to thrash them. -Bucky Katt

Bigotry in America has many branches, some bigger and stronger than others, but they all derive from the same trunk.

Atty’s eyes rested on Darby with all the subtlety of a dog watching his food bowl being filled!

Not just for today, but always. If not that, then what is the purpose of faith?

There was something about you from the very beginning that called to me, that told me I needed you just as much as you would need me. That’s as true today as it was then.

Being up so high above the city made her troubles seem less dramatic. Darby

Darby, you flew 2,000 miles to be disciplined by a notoriously heartless Dominant. One might question your sanity but never your courage,” he laughed.

As Kate fell into the rhythm of Darby’s stride—horse and rider becoming one—she felt her spirits soar. For a little while, with the scenery blurring by, she was no longer Traitor Kate. No longer the girl despised by a kingdom. No longer the girl cast aside by the friend and prince she had once loved. In moments like these, atop a horse and flying over the ground, she glimpsed her old life. She became Kate Brighton again. Daughter of Hale Brighton, master of horse to the high king. She was free. A girl with a future. Someone who mattered.

Part of me craves human contact, but in reality, I can’t stand for anyone to touch my body. Arms and hands are okay, and sometimes a leg brush, but my torso is absolutely off limits.

That gap-toothed grin destroyed me. Ran me through with medieval brutality. It wasn’t clean. Or quick. It was slow and jagged and splintered as it pierced my heart, twisting on the way in, dragging on the way out. It left a million brittle shards behind, ensuring that I would never ever forget who that organ belonged to. Darby Collins. The only person who ever smiled when they saw me.

She remembered walking back from there last month, half-drunk with a gaggle of half-friends from her dorm, and when one of them asked her (only half-giving a shit) where she’d planned to go for Christmas break, Darby had answered bluntly: that it would require an act of God Himself to make her come back home to Utah. And apparently He’d been listening, because He’d blessed Darby’s mother with late-stage pancreatic cancer.

I settled for soothing as many of his hurts as I could with my love. Perhaps if I kissed every square inch of him, if I whispered enough words of love into his skin as I held him as close as humanly possible, it would be a start.

Come on in, I’ve got a sale on scratch and dent dreams, whole cases of imperfect ambitions stuff the idealists couldn't sell. Yeah, I know none of its got price tags, you decide how much its worth. And none of its got glossy colored packaging but it all works just fine. I’ve got rainy day swing sets good night kisses and stationary stars still flying at the speed of light. And over there out back if you dig down through those alabaster stoplights and those old 45’s you’ll find a whole crate of second hand hope. Yeah right there, that’s no chrome, you just gotta work, polish it up a little bit. Most folks give up too easy, trade it in for some injection mold and here and now.

آنان می نگرند اما نمی بینند. گوش می کنند اما نمی شنوند و نمی فهمند. نبوت اشعیا در مورد آنان تحقق می یابد که میگویند : "به گوش خود خواهید شنید اما هرگز نخواهید فهمید. به چشم خود خواهید دید اما هرگز درک نخواهید کرد." زیرا دل این قوم سخت شده است و گوش هایشان سنگین گشته. چشمان خود را بسته اند تا مبادا با چشم هایشان ببینند و با گوش هایشان بشنوند و در دلهای خود بفهمند.

The idea of having a useless husband sounds like a nightmare.” She had friends who put up with that nonsense. Not her. She wanted a partner, not another child in a grown-up body. He’d always been steady. Present. Supportive. Driven. A little too set in his ways, but a loving dad and husband. As a child of divorce, he fought hard for their marriage. They’d hit rough patches and lived through a painful year filled with yelling and disappointment when they both hated their jobs and their expenses didn’t allow for a change.

These people, these neighbors, both Protestant and Catholic alike, who spat at each other with such hatred that it sometimes erupted into violence, did so because their faith was slightly different. Because they couldn’t be bothered to learn the truth about each other.

That’s how grief works. Grief, depression, trauma. They overwhelm. They’re louder than the good things happening in your life. You can’t compartmentalize the darker aspects and put them in a box and think they won’t leach into the rest of your life.” Elisa heard voices in the

This history sets forth the only true account of the adventures of a daring Tipperary man named Darby O’Gill among the Fairies of Sleive na mon. These adventures were first related to me by Mr. Jerry Murtaugh a reliable car driver who goes between Kilcuny and Ballinderg. He is a first cousin of Darby O’Gill's own mother.

Wars are won by men like Bill Darby, storming up the beach with all guns blazing, and by men like Leverton, sipping his tea as the bombs fell. They are won by planners correctly calculating how many rations and contraceptives an invading force will need; by tacticians laying out grand strategy; by generals inspiring the men they command; by politicians galvanizing the will to fight; and by writers putting war into words. They are won by acts of strength, bravery, and guile. But they are also won by feats of imagination. Amateur, unpublished novelists, the framers of Operation Mincemeat, dreamed up the most unlikely concatenation of events, rendered them believable, and sent them off to war, changing reality through lateral thinking and proving that it is possible to win a battle fought in the mind, from behind a desk, and from beyond the grave. Operation Mincemeat was pure make-believe; and it made Hitler believe something that changed the course of history.

Only Darby, who also innately understood the concept of otherness had successfully avoided this pitfall. just as it was rude and invasive to ask him about his genitalia or sexual preference, it was equally rude and invasive to ask her about her ethnicity. It was the sort of information that should be volunteered. Never asked for.

Seven...eight...nine... Some in the crowd shuffled for positions where they could have a better view. By now it was close to four o'clock, and the sun was setting slightly in the west. What that morning had been close to zero weather was now in the mid-forties. The dueling field, which had been sparkling with the morning frost was now dry.

I’ll never admit it, but the line between Darby and Violet was once blurred in my own mind. They’re both my ideal woman, though one I created and the other materialized. Seeing the woman I had invented personified was what prompted me to speak to her that first night. If there had never been a Violet, there may never have been a Darby, or an us.

Remember, that in the midst of blessings there are trials, and in the midst of trials, there will be blessings.

Why do I keep doing this for him? He’s never nice to anyone, why do I keep trying to take care of him? Because he’s broken, you just don’t know how much yet.

The den of the Devil is no place for the innocent.

Sin never truly pays off. It just feels like it does. It always costs; maybe not immediately, but inevitably.

If people treat a cemetery like trash, it’s a good indication of how they feel about the people buried there and those who are still receiving services,” she said.

People thought silence meant the absence of noise, and sometimes it did, but other times it

No one hid meaningless things.

Survivors stayed awake and ready. Falling into fantasy invited trouble, and she’d had enough of that.

Real or not, only a man would find solace in such flimsy excuses at a time like this. Women were programmed to fight to be believed.

Ever since he’d been promoted to dean of admission at Ithaca College he spent more time in the office and less at the desk his father had made when Roland graduated from college.

The first time I laid eyes on Langstone Manor I could not blame my husband for staying away for over fifteen years.

If all else fails, proceed with unbending civility.

My blind uncle moves faster than you, Albrooke. And he has no feet.

Three things in the world banish sorrow⁠—love and whiskey and music.

But so many people misunderstand that I will repeat it: the perpetrator of violence is not “out of control.” It is quite the opposite—an oppressor uses violence in order to maintain control.

I hate how books do this to you. They destroy your soul, pick and prod them till the bleed, stab your eyes so you have no choice but cry, yet...” she paused, “yet you cannot help but love them.

People embrace conspiracism for the same reasons they find God or start reading the future in the stars: They’ve experienced anxiety, ostracism, or a sense of losing control. They are seeking stories to explain what’s happening. Narratives become sources of power, validation, even superiority. Socialization has primed them for this moment; skepticism of authority is already ingrained in their existence.26 Perhaps they grew up in an environment that championed antiestablishment ideas. Maybe they had a series of bad encounters with powerful entities. Or perhaps they were conditioned by global unrest, social instability, financial insecurity, political polarization, and declining trust in institutions. Life in contemporary America may be enough to incline a person toward conspiracism

Unconditional love is bullshit. A trap that lures you in, makes you comfortable, then snaps, breaking you in half. Like hope, it blinds and destroys. Leaves you limping and unprepared for what’s coming right for you.

It would seem that courage comes in many forms. Perhaps the only true way to recognize it is by how it makes you feel inside, a testimony of the spirit, and that certain sense that what you have done was the right thing.

Cats, of course, are easier to make fun of. The cutest cat is still a freak. Where
dogs are sympathetic, almost tragic, figures, cats are pure comedy. Dogs are your
buddies, cats are entertainment They're like a TV show. There's nothing funnier than when a cat falls off of something. When a dog falls down a couple of stairs, you rush to it and console it. But when a cat does it, it's funny—you point at it and laugh (which they don't like, incidentally).

I knew the truth. I was alone. And likely would always be. That normally did not trouble but lately I had begun to feel the weight of such a truth, the isolation of such a life, and it upset me more than I would have liked to admit.

No, it’s fine. Trust me, they all want to meet you and you will probably be the new favorite.” I smile at him, hoping that doesn’t freak him out too much. His eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “I’m no one’s favorite anything.” “That’s bullshit. You’re my favorite.

On Independence Day, Todd Rundgren asked if I would go with him to Upper Darby to visit his mother. We set off fireworks in an abandoned lot and ate Carvel ice cream. Afterward I stood next to his mother in the backyard watching him play with his younger sister. She quizzically eyed his multicolored hair and velvet bell-bottoms. “I gave birth to an alien,” she blurted, which surprised me since he seemed so down-to-earth, at least to me. When we drove back to the city, both of us agreed we had found kin, each as alien as the other. Later

Of the many, many thousands of serious students of the Bible throughout Christian history who pored over every word—from leading early Christian scholars such as Irenaeus in the second century; to Tertullian and Origen in the third; to Augustine in the fifth; to all the biblical scholars of the Middle Ages up to Aquinas; to the Reformation greats Luther, Melanchthon, and Calvin; on to, well, everyone who studied or simply read or even just heard passages from the Bible—this idea of the rapture occurred to no one until John Nelson Darby came up with the idea in the early 1800s (as we will discuss in chapter 3).

Wallace would never realize his political ambitions, but he would certainly play a part in seeing that Johnson realized his. After the assassination of President Kennedy, a fingerprint was found on a cardboard box in the sniper’s nest on the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. It could not be linked with Oswald, any other employee of the Texas School Book Depository, or any law enforcement officer who had handled the box. Wallace’s print from his previous conviction and the one found on the box were a match, according to fingerprint expert A. Nathan Darby, former head of Austin’s police identification unit. Darby was the most experienced certified latent print examiner in America, with more than thirty-five years of military forensic and police experience. An initial comparison found a match between the two prints on fourteen unique points while Darby ultimately ascertained that the two prints had thirty-two matching points,65 far exceeding the requirement for identification and conviction. “I’m positive,” said Darby. “The finger that made the ink print also made the latent print. It’s a match.” In comparison, “the Dallas police found only three partial fingerprints of Oswald on only two of the boxes in the area.”66

The time she dreamt that her throat closed up in seventh grade Social Studies class and she vomited a three-inch maggot, pale and bloated, writhing on her desk? 3: 21 a.m. The time a man stalked her on her way to 7-Eleven, whistling at her, and then cornered her in the restroom, produced a tiny handgun, and shot her in the back of the head? 3: 33 a.m. The time that tall ghost —a gray-haired woman with a floral skirt and double-jointed knees, both bending backward like a dog’s hind legs —came lurching through Darby’s bedroom window, half-floating and half-striding, weightless and ethereal, like a creature underwater? 3: 00 a.m. exactly.

I’m sure I’ll still have setbacks, things that trigger a memory that I wasn’t expecting and send me spiraling, but I know that Paul will love me through those times. He’ll hold me while I break down and not judge me for it, close the cabinet doors that I leave open, and only grumble a little when he finds the milk warm on the counter.

Oppressors are effective manipulators because they portray themselves as sufferers. For example, they might excuse their behavior by saying that they feel slighted by you, criticized, jealous, under pressure at work, or wounded from another relationship. I want to impress upon you that oppression stems from attitudes and values—not feelings. 7 Oppressors do not do abusive things because they feel bad; rather, they oppress because they have an entitled mentality. 8 Their sense of entitlement does not come from feelings of inferiority or past pain. Rather, oppressors have an inflated sense of themselves that allows them to justify mistreating others so that their demands are met.

For a specific date in the first energy transition—coal’s becoming a distinctive industrial fuel, superior to wood—January 1709 could well do. That month, Abraham Darby, an English metalworker and Quaker entrepreneur, working his blast furnace in a village called Coalbrookdale, figured out a way to remove impurities from coal, thus turning it into coke, a higher-carbon version of coal. The coke replaced charcoal, which is partly-burned wood, and had been the standard fuel for smelting. Darby was convinced, he said, “that a more effective means of iron production may be achieved.” He was also ridiculed. “There are many who doubt me foolhardy,” he said. But his method worked.1 Though it took a few decades to spread, Darby’s innovation lowered the cost of smelting iron, making iron much more available for industrial uses, helping to spur the Industrial Revolution.

was a book by Arthur Raistrick called Quakers in Science and Industry and I glanced through it for a few minutes, then carried it to a nearby chair and sat reading for about half an hour, so unexpectedly absorbed did I become. I hadn’t realized it, but Quakers in the Darbys’ day were a bullied and downtrodden minority in Britain. Excluded from conventional pursuits like politics and academia, they became big in industry and commerce, particularly, for some reason, in banking and the manufacture of chocolate. The Barclays and Lloyds banking families and the Cadburys, Frys, and Rowntrees of chocolate renown were all Quakers. They and many others made Britain a more dynamic and wealthy place entirely as a consequence of being treated shabbily by it. It had never occurred to me to be unkind to a Quaker, but if that’s what it takes to get the country back on its feet again, I am prepared to consider it. —

A finger touches my pinkie. My eyes pop open and my head snaps toward Jeremy. My body is tense once again, but my hands have stopped moving. What the hell is he doing? The video call on his phone has ended, now he’s scrolling through social media. Despite not looking at me and appearing completely oblivious to what is happening in my head, he hooks his finger around mine. He mutters something I don’t hear over the music in my ears but looks like ‘I’ve got you.

Often, men simply feel more entitled to take leisure time. A University of Southern California study of married couples found that at the end of a workday, women’s stress levels went down if their husbands pitched in with housework. No surprise there—but the mind-boiling part is that men’s stress levels fell if they kicked back with some sort of leisure activity—but only if their wives kept busy doing household tasks at the same time (an effect I term While You’re Up, I’ll Take Another Cold One). When study author Darby Saxbe started looking at the data, she says, “We sort of thought it would probably be all the more relaxing to have leisure time if you have a spouse that’s doing that leisure with you,” she tells me. “So it was kind of surprising that we found the opposite effect—that the more leisure time dads had and the less leisure time wives had, the more men’s cortisol levels dropped.” The somewhat dispiriting conclusion: a man’s biological adaptation to stress is healthier when his wife has to suffer the consequences.

Going forward, if she is to continue, things need to change.” “Oh, and you are speaking for her on this?” Mr. Gui challenged, clearly the royals having quickly gathered or waiting for the results. “No, but as someone who treasures her, I will fucking physically bar her from the next time if that’s what it takes to keep her safe,” he shot back, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “You all slipped extra crystals in over the deal. Professor White collected thousands of extras. Not again. It could have killed her.” “Nonsense, she just has to—” a male argued. “She doesn’t have control,” Darby snarled. “It was an accident. An accident we’ve repeated. She has no idea how she does it. She can’t do it on purpose without those exact circumstances. Most wouldn’t dare have tried again without waiting until reaching fourth year where we get the training but yet, she’s doing it over and over again to help everyone else. No, not if it costs us her.” “Everyone vows now or the deal is off,” Mrs. Courtenay demanded. “We made a deal with her and we risked her. I’m ashamed. We’re better than this. I know we’re desperate and scared, but she is nineteen and alone and we were greedy with her. No more.

The air without is impregnated with raindew moisture, life essence celestial, glistering on Dublin stone there under starshiny coelum. God's air, the Allfather's air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. Breathe it deep into thee. By heaven, Theodore Purefoy, thou hast done a doughty deed and no botch! Thou art, I vow, the remarkablest progenitor barring none in this chaffering allincluding most farraginous chronicle. Astounding! In her lay a Godframed Godgiven preformed possibility which thou hast fructified with thy modicum of man's work. Cleave to her! Serve! Toil on, labour like a very bandog and let scholarment and all Malthusiasts go hang. Thou art all their daddies, Theodore. Art drooping under thy load, bemoiled with butcher's bills at home and ingots (not thine!) in the countinghouse? Head up! For every newbegotten thou shalt gather thy homer of ripe wheat. See, thy fleece is drenched. Dost envy Darby Dullman there with his Joan? A canting jay and a rheumeyed curdog is all their progeny. Pshaw, I tell thee! He is a mule, a dead gasteropod, without vim or stamina, not worth a cracked kreutzer. Copulation without population! No, say I! Herod's slaughter of the innocents were the truer name. Vegetables, forsooth, and sterile cohabitation! Give her beefsteaks, red, raw, bleeding! She is a hoary pandemonium of ills, enlarged glands, mumps, quinsy, bunions, hayfever, bedsores, ringworm, floating kidney, Derbyshire neck, warts, bilious attacks, gallstones, cold feet, varicose veins. A truce to threnes and trentals and jeremies and all such congenital defunctive music! Twenty years of it, regret them not. With thee it was not as with many that will and would and wait and never do. Thou sawest thy America, thy lifetask, and didst charge to cover like the transpontine bison. How saith Zarathustra? Deine Kuh Trübsal melkest Du. Nun Trinkst Du die süsse Milch des Euters. See! it displodes for thee in abundance. Drink, man, an udderful! Mother's milk, Purefoy, the milk of human kin, milk too of those burgeoning stars overhead rutilant in thin rainvapour, punch milk, such as those rioters will quaff in their guzzling den, milk of madness, the honeymilk of Canaan's land. Thy cow's dug was tough, what? Ay, but her milk is hot and sweet and fattening. No dollop this but thick rich bonnyclaber. To her, old patriarch! Pap! Per deam Partulam et Pertundam nunc est bibendum!

The air without is impregnated with raindew moisture, life essence celestial, glistening on Dublin stone there under starshiny coelum. God’s air, the Allfather’s air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. Breathe it deep into thee. By heaven, Theodore Purefoy, thou hast done a doughty deed and no botch! Thou art, I vow, the remarkablest progenitor barring none in this chaffering allincluding most farraginous chronicle. Astounding! In her lay a Godframed Godgiven preformed possibility which thou hast fructified with thy modicum of man’s work. Cleave to her! Serve! Toil on, labour like a very bandog and let scholarment and all Malthusiasts go hang. Thou art all their daddies, Theodore. Art drooping under thy load, bemoiled with butcher’s bills at home and ingots (not thine!) in the countinghouse? Head up! For every newbegotten thou shalt gather thy homer of ripe wheat. See, thy fleece is drenched. Dost envy Darby Dullman there with his Joan? A canting jay and a rheumeyed curdog is all their progeny. Pshaw, I tell thee! He is a mule, a dead gasteropod, without vim or stamina, not worth a cracked kreutzer. Copulation without population! No, say I! Herod’s slaughter of the innocents were the truer name. Vegetables, forsooth, and sterile cohabitation! Give her beefsteaks, red, raw, bleeding! She is a hoary pandemonium of ills, enlarged glands, mumps, quinsy, bunions, hayfever, bedsores, ringworm, floating kidney, Derbyshire neck, warts, bilious attacks, gallstones, cold feet, varicose veins. A truce to threnes and trentals and jeremies and all such congenital defunctive music! Twenty years of it, regret them not. With thee it was not as with many that will and would and wait and never—do. Thou sawest thy America, thy lifetask, and didst charge to cover like the transpontine bison. How saith Zarathustra? Deine Kuh Trübsal melkest Du. Nun Trinkst Du die süsse Milch des Euters. See! it displodes for thee in abundance. Drink, man, an udderful! Mother’s milk, Purefoy, the milk of human kin, milk too of those burgeoning stars overhead rutilant in thin rainvapour, punch milk, such as those rioters will quaff in their guzzling den, milk of madness, the honeymilk of Canaan’s land. Thy cow’s dug was tough, what? Ay, but her milk is hot and sweet and fattening. No dollop this but thick rich bonnyclaber. To her, old patriarch! Pap! Per deam Partulam et Pertundam nunc est bibendum!

And estranged though they might be, Rees couldn't stand the idea that his wife would be rebuffed at the ball. She was no Cinderella, after all, with a fairy godmother waiting in the wings. He would just have to wave his own magic wand. He found himself grinning at that, and decided not to share the joke with Darby.

I grew up having everything served to be on a plate and now suddenly I'm expected to be the one serving.

I initially didn't want to do this job, but I got sucked in, and once the tube started sucking, it never stopped. It just kept pulling you deeper and deeper until you were the one commanding the switch.

Darby himself fired 300 rounds of .30 caliber ammunition at one tank and failed to stop it. Then, as he said, he ‘ran like hell.” But the Italians could do little once the Rangers were indoors because their machine guns, their only armament, could not be elevated. Darby got into his jeep, raced down to the pier, unmounted a gun that had just been brought ashore, and lifted it into the vehicle. Then he drove his improvised tank-destroyer back to Gela and started shooting. “Every time we slammed a shell in that demounted gun,” he said, “she recoiled on the captain and knocked him ass over teakettle into the back seat.” But it did the trick, and the Italians soon retreated.

Malissa might have known that Michelle [Baer] was too

Thanks, Maisie,” I said. “I appreciate the update.” “I enjoy being helpful,” she replied.” Darby chuckled. “I think she’s developing a sense of humor.” “I’m not sure I can handle an inanimate polymer egg cracking jokes all the time,” I said.

Seeking help from God means, in part, remembering who he is and who you are to him. Your oppressor would like you to believe that you are not worthy of Jesus’ love and redemption. Your spouse’s criticism, threats, and mockery are a profound betrayal. You have endured a horrendous kind of tearing down and shaming when the messages you receive from your spouse proclaim your worthlessness. It can be easy to believe the lies when they come from the one closest to you. When you feel unlovable and unworthy, it hard to remember how God sees you. The truth is that when God speaks of you, he rejoices over you. He promises you that “you shall be called by a new name. . . . You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD. . . . You shall no more be termed Forsaken . . . but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her. . . . So shall your God rejoice over you” (Isa. 62: 2–5). Let that sink in for a minute. God says that you are a crown of beauty and that his delight is in you. Bask in the truths of who God says you are. You are precious to him. His voice needs to become louder than the voice of your oppressor.

So important did the sound effects become that Ken Darby immortalized the craft in a musical selection, The Sound Effects Man, which was heard periodically.

You died right after.” “I know. I was there.

It doesn’t have to be this way. If Americans reconceptualise parents as a precious national resource, child-rearing as an enterprise that secures the long-term future of the U.S. economy and the transition to parenthood as a window for long-term health, then we can decide as a society that family leave is worth the investment.

Vilderschwein.