Dover Boys Quotes

Science, my boy, is made up of mistakes; but of mistakes which lead to the discovery of truth.” “And

One," said the recording secretary. "Jesus wept," answered Leon promptly. There was not a sound in the church. You could almost hear the butterflies pass. Father looked down and laid his lower lip in folds with his fingers, like he did sometimes when it wouldn't behave to suit him. "Two," said the secretary after just a breath of pause. Leon looked over the congregation easily and then fastened his eyes on Abram Saunders, the father of Absalom, and said reprovingly: "Give not sleep to thine eyes nor slumber to thine eyelids." Abram straightened up suddenly and blinked in astonishment, while father held fast to his lip. "Three," called the secretary hurriedly. Leon shifted his gaze to Betsy Alton, who hadn't spoken to her next door neighbour in five years. "Hatred stirreth up strife," he told her softly, "but love covereth all sins." Things were so quiet it seemed as if the air would snap. "Four." The mild blue eyes travelled back to the men's side and settled on Isaac Thomas, a man too lazy to plow and sow land his father had left him. They were not so mild, and the voice was touched with command: "Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise." Still that silence. "Five," said the secretary hurriedly, as if he wished it were over. Back came the eyes to the women's side and past all question looked straight at Hannah Dover. "As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman without discretion." "Six," said the secretary and looked appealingly at father, whose face was filled with dismay. Again Leon's eyes crossed the aisle and he looked directly at the man whom everybody in the community called "Stiff-necked Johnny." I think he was rather proud of it, he worked so hard to keep them doing it. "Lift not up your horn on high: speak not with a stiff neck," Leon commanded him. Toward the door some one tittered. "Seven," called the secretary hastily. Leon glanced around the room. "But how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity," he announced in delighted tones as if he had found it out by himself. "Eight," called the secretary with something like a breath of relief. Our angel boy never had looked so angelic, and he was beaming on the Princess. "Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee," he told her. Laddie would thrash him for that. Instantly after, "Nine," he recited straight at Laddie: "I made a covenant with mine eyes; why then should I think upon a maid?" More than one giggled that time. "Ten!" came almost sharply. Leon looked scared for the first time. He actually seemed to shiver. Maybe he realized at last that it was a pretty serious thing he was doing. When he spoke he said these words in the most surprised voice you ever heard: "I was almost in all evil in the midst of the congregation and assembly." "Eleven." Perhaps these words are in the Bible. They are not there to read the way Leon repeated them, for he put a short pause after the first name, and he glanced toward our father: "Jesus Christ, the SAME, yesterday, and to-day, and forever!" Sure as you live my mother's shoulders shook. "Twelve." Suddenly Leon seemed to be forsaken. He surely shrank in size and appeared abused. "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up," he announced, and looked as happy over the ending as he had seemed forlorn at the beginning. "Thirteen." "The Lord is on my side; I will not fear; what can man do unto me?" inquired Leon of every one in the church. Then he soberly made a bow and walked to his seat.

At the banquet were present the Khān’s jugglers, the chief of whom was ordered to shew some of his wonders. He then took a wooden sphere, in which there were holes, and in these long straps, and threw it up into the air till it went out of sight, as I myself witnessed, while the strap remained in his hand. He then commanded one of his disciples to take hold of, and to ascend by, this strap, which he did until he also went out of sight. His master then called him three times, but no answer came: he then took a knife in his hand, apparently in anger, which he applied to the strap. This also ascended till it went quite out of sight: he then threw the hand of the boy upon the ground, then his foot; then his other hand, then his other foot; then his body, then his head. He then came down, panting for breath, and his clothes stained with blood. The man then kissed the ground before the General, who addressed him in Chinese, and gave him some other order. The juggler then took the limbs of the boy and applied them one to another: he then stamped upon them, and it stood up complete and erect. I was astonished, and was seized in consequence by a palpitation at the heart: but they gave me some drink, and I recovered. The judge of the Mohammedans was sitting by my side, who swore, that there was neither ascent, descent, nor cutting away of limbs, but the whole was mere juggling.

Arthur was tired out. He had been broken by the two battles which he had fought already, the one at Dover, the other at Barbara Down. His wife was a prisoner. His oldest friend was banished. His son was trying to kill him. Gawaine was buried. His Table was dispersed. His country was at war. Yet he could have breasted all these things in some way, if the central tenet of his heart had not been ravaged. Long ago, when his mind had been a nimble boy's called Wart—long ago he had been taught by an aged benevolence, wagging a white beard. He had been taught by Merlyn to believe that man was perfectible: that he was on the whole more decent than beastly: that good was worth trying: that there was no such thing as original sin. He had been forged as a weapon for the aid of man, on the assumption that men were good. He had been forged, by that deluded old teacher, into a sort of Pasteur or Curie or patient discoverer of insulin. The service for which he had been destined had been against Force, the mental illness of humanity. His Table, his idea of Chivalry, his Holy Grail, his devotion to Justice: these had been progressive steps in the effort for which he had been bred He was like a scientist who had pursued the root of cancer all his life. Might—to have ended it— to have made men happier. But the whole structure depended on the first premise: that man was decent. Looking back at his life, it seemed to him that he had been struggling all the time to dam a flood, which, whenever he had checked it, had broken through at a new place, setting him his work to do again. It was the flood of Force Majeur. During the earliest days before his marriage he had tried to match its strength with strength—in his battles against the Gaelic confederation—only to find that two wrongs did not make a right. But he had crushed the feudal dream of war successfully. Then, with his Round Table, he had tried to harness Tyranny in lesser forms, so that its power might be used for useful ends. He had sent out the men of might to rescue the oppressed and to straighten evil —to put down the individual might of barons, just as he had put down the might of kings. They had done so—until, in the course of time, the ends had been achieved, but the force had remained upon his hands unchastened. So he had sought for a new channel, had sent them out on God's business, searching for the Holy Grail. That too had been a failure, because those who had achieved the Quest had become perfect and been lost to the world, while those who had failed in it had soon returned no better. At last he had sought to make a map of force, as it were, to bind it down by laws. He had tried to codify the evil uses of might by individuals, so that he might set bounds to them by the impersonal justice of the state. He had been prepared to sacrifice his wife and his best friend, to the impersonality of Justice. And then, even as the might of the individual seemed to have been curbed, the Principle of Might had sprung up behind him in another shape—in the shape of collective might, of banded ferocity, of numerous armies insusceptible to individual laws. He had bound the might of units, only to find that it was assumed by pluralities. He had conquered murder, to be faced with war. There were no Laws for that.

Bran aveva il controllo di sé, di solito. Composto e sicuro della propria sessualità, di chi fosse e di chi volesse. Di recente, era diventato molto più facile non volere nessuno. Complicava solo le cose e creava diversi mal di testa, a lungo andare. In ogni caso, non poteva avere Evan: era troppo giovane e troppo ingenuo… Sapeva cosa volesse dire essere soli e delusi dalla vita e sperava che il ragazzo comprendesse in cosa si stava mettendo. Non poteva scegliere al posto suo, però; poteva solo fare il suo dovere e fidarsi che Evan avrebbe scelto la strada migliore per sé.

«Ascoltano la sua musica,» disse. «Dei completi estranei piangono la sua morte, dicono che è stata una tragedia e si aspettano che io stia come loro tutto il tempo. E credimi, li capisco. Era bravo. Un magnifico idolo che andava contro il sistema e che ha tenuto un’intera generazione nel palmo della sua mano. Capisco che ha plasmato la vita di tantissime persone, che è stato la colonna sonora della loro adolescenza o roba simile, ma per me era solo un papà che non ho mai conosciuto e che non mi ha mai incontrata. Per questo devo andare in terapia e fingere di provare tutte quelle emozioni che si aspettano da me.» Corey non riusciva a credere alle sue orecchie. Hannah stava descrivendo più o meno i suoi stessi sentimenti. «Fingi tanto?» le domandò. Lei toccò il gomito con il suo. «Tutto il tempo. Faccio finta che m’importi che mio padre sia morto prima ancora di vedermi, di non averlo mai conosciuto.» Si morse il labbro come se avesse appena rivelato qualcosa di grosso, e in effetti era così. «La gente si aspetta che m’importi, anche se sotto sotto non è così.» Corey annuì. «Anch’io fingo tutto il tempo.» Lei poteva anche avergli confidato un segreto, ma lui non si sarebbe mai aperto con nessuno. Non gli importava della morte di sua madre, ma d’altronde non era mai stato nella posizione di dover fingere di curarsene. Hannah saltò giù dal muretto e gli offrì il pugno. Corey chiuse le dita e premette la mano contro la sua. Non aveva tanta voglia di toccarla, non era zia Mim o Angel, ma il contatto non lo fece ritrarre. «Alle finzioni,» disse lei. «Già,»

Era molto più facile per lui non provare nulla per i ragazzi che scopava. Per quanto potesse sembrare spietato, in quel modo era più facile restare distaccati. La sua mente si spegneva e lasciava che il corpo compisse il suo dovere. I sogni a occhi aperti e il Viagra facevano il resto.

seemed almost certain to the mathematicians that since the general first, second, third, and fourth degree equations can be solved by means of the usual algebraic operations such as addition, subtraction, and roots, then the general fifth degree equation and still higher degree equations could also be solved. For three hundred years this problem was a classic one. Hundreds of mature and expert mathematicians sought the solution, but a little boy found the full answer. The Frenchman Évariste Galois (1811— 1832), who refused to conform to school examinations but worked brilliantly and furiously on his own, showed that general equations of degree higher than the fourth cannot be solved by algebraic operations. To establish this result Galois created the theory of groups, a subject that is now at the base of modern abstract algebra and that transformed algebra from a a series of elementary techniques to a broad, abstract, and basic branch of mathematics.

scholar, J. Dover Wilson, confessed his bafflement: “To credit this amazing piece of virtuosity to a butcher boy who left school at thirteen, or even to one whose education was nothing more than what a grammar school and residence in a little provincial borough could provide, is to invite one either to believe in miracles or to disbelieve in the ‘man from Stratford.

«Hai girato qualcosa, oggi?» «Sì.» Con uno scatto degno di un gatto, il ballerino balzò oltre lo schienale della poltrona ormai vuota di Jon e si lasciò scivolare sul cuscino. «Un merdoso filmetto di seghe con Jay e Nico. Diavolo, era così forzato, cazzo.» «Perché lo fai, allora?» sbottò lui. Irrazionalmente, sentiva il dovere di difendere la professione che aveva iniziato a detestare. «Pensavo fossi soltanto un ballerino.» «Soltanto un ballerino?» ritorse Sonny. «Io non mi limito a essere soltanto qualcosa, stronzo. E forse dovresti rispondere alla tua stessa domanda. Sei tu che ti tormenti per una scena di sesso passivo che, chiaramente, non vuoi girare. Forse dovresti preoccuparti più di te stesso che di me. Sembra che tu stia per ricevere un assaggio della tua stessa medicina.»