Eer Quotes

Wise wretch! with pleasures too refined to please, With too much spirit to be e'er at ease, With too much quickness ever to be taught, With too much thinking to have common thought: You purchase pain with all that joy can give, And die of nothing but a rage to live.

INTO MY OWN One of my wishes is that those dark trees, So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, Were not, as ’twere, the merest mask of gloom, But stretched away unto the edge of doom. I should not be withheld but that some day Into their vastness I should steal away, Fearless of ever finding open land, Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand. I do not see why I should e’er turn back, Or those should not set forth upon my track To overtake me, who should miss me here And long to know if still I held them dear. They would not find me changed from him they knew— Only more sure of all I thought was true.

Because I liked you better Than suits a man to say, It irked you, and I promised I'd throw the thought away. To put the world between us We parted stiff and dry: 'Farewell,' said you, 'forget me.' 'Fare well, I will,' said I. If e'er, where clover whitens The dead man's knoll, you pass, And no tall flower to meet you Starts in the trefoiled grass, Halt by the headstone shading The heart you have not stirred, And say the lad that loved you Was one that kept his word.

It felt like the wrong thing to do, standing at the wrong door in the wrong place. We did it anyway. Knowing something is wrong and doing it anyway happens very often in life, and I doubt I will eer know why.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow’r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave Awaits alike the inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

I do not see why I should e’er turn back, Or those should not set forth upon my track To overtake me, who should miss me here And long to know if still I held them dear. They would not find me changed from him they knew — Only more sure of all I thought was true.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, he's mine or I am his.

A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty, beyond waht can be valued, rich or rare; no less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor; as much as child e'er loved, or father found; a love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Give my regards to Broadway, Remember me to Herald Square, Tell all the gang at 42nd Street, That I will soon be there; Whisper of how I'm yearning To mingle with the old time throng, Give my regards to old Broadway, And say that I'll be there e'er long.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike the inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

A southwest blow on ye and blister you all o'er!' 'The red plague rid you!' 'Toads, beetles, bats, light on you!' 'As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed with raven's feather from unwholesome fen drop on you.' 'Strange stuff' 'Thou jesting monkey thou' 'Apes with foreheads villainous low' 'Pied ninny' 'Blind mole...' -The Caliban Curses

Lass, lass! You are more desirable than any woman I have e'er known." He drew back to look at her. "E'er, I say, do you hear me? Ne'er have I been more tempted!

Have mercy on me, my Soul. You have shown me Beauty, But then concealed her. You and Beauty live in the light; Ignorance and I are bound together in the dark. Will e'er the light invade darkness? Your delight comes with the Ending, And you revel now in anticipation; But this body suffers with the life While in life. This, my Soul, is perplexing. You are hastening toward Eternity, But this body goes slowly toward perishment. You do not wait for him, And he cannot go quickly. This, my Soul, is sadness. You ascend high, though heaven's attraction, But this body falls by earth's gravity. You do not console him, And he does not appreciate you. This, my Soul, is misery. You are rich in wisdom, But this body is poor in understanding. You do not compromise, And he does not obey. This, my Soul, is extreme suffering. In the silence of the night you visit The Beloved And enjoy the sweetness of His presence. This body ever remains, The bitter victim of hope and separation. This, my Soul, is agonizing torture. Have mercy on me, my Soul!

Let us e'er be merry while we may, for man is but dust, and he hath but a span to live here till the worm getteth him, as our good gossip Swanthold sayeth; so let life be merry while it lasts, say I.

As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed With raven's feather from unwholesom fen Drop on you both! A southwest blow on ye And blister you all o'er!

The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings, Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain-winds be free To blow against thee

THE ELFIN KNIGHT Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Remember me to one who lives there She must be a true love of mine Tell her she'll sleep in a goose-feather bed Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Tell her I sear she'll have nothing to dread She must be a true love of mine Tell her tomorrow her answer make known Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme What e'er she may say I'll not leave her alone She must be a true love of mine Her answer came in a week and a day Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme I'm sorry good sir, I must answer thee nay I'll not be a true love of thine From the sting of my curse she can never be free Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Unless she unravels my riddlings three She will be a true love of mine Tell her to make me a magical shirt Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Without any seam or needlework Else she'll be a true love of mine Tell her to find me an acre of land Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Between the salt water and the sea strand Else she'll be a true love of mine Tell her to plow it with just a goat's horn Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme And sow it all over with one grain of corn Else she'll be a true love of mine And her daughters forever possessions of mine

Hath not a Sith eyes? Hath not a Sith such feelings, heart and soul, As any Jedi Knight did e’er possess? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you Blast us, shall we not injur’d be? If you Assault with lightsaber, do we not die?

Think't the best voyage that e'er you made like an irregular crab which, though’t goes backward, thinks that it goes right, because it goes its own way.

Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea; No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he.

Dionysus: Have you e'er felt a sudden lust for soup? Heracles: Soup! Zeus-a-mercy, yes, ten thousand times.

Liefde, wat is liefde? Ik geloof dat liefde iets is wat eigenlijk geen woorden kan hebben. Liefde is iemand begrijpen, van iemand houden, geluk en ongeluk met hem delen. En daarbij hoort en den duur ook de lichamelijke liefde, je hebt wat gedeeld, iets weggegeven en iets ontvangen en of je dan getrouwd ongetrouwd bent, of een kind krijgt of niet. Of je eer weg is of niet, dat komt er allemaal niet op aan, als je maar weet dat er voor je hele verdere leven iemand naast je staat, die je begrijpt en die je met niemand hoeft te delen.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

He also said that I would never get an apology out of you.” There was a long pause. “I want one. Now.” Xcor put aside his soup and found himself searching the wounds he had given himself, recalling all that pain, all that blood—which had dried brown on the floorboards beneath him. “And then what,” he said in a rough voice. “You’ll have to find out.” Fair enough, Xcor thought. Without grace—not that he had any, anyway—he rose to his feet. At his full height, he was unsteady for too many reasons to count, and the off-balance feeling got even worse as he met the eyes of his… friend. Looking Throe in the face, he stepped up and put out his palm. “I am sorry.” Three simple words spoken loud and clear. And they didn’t go nearly far enough. “I was wrong to treat you as I did. I am… not as much of the Bloodletter as I thought—as I have e’er wanted to be.

Where silver webs of spiders weave and blighted lovers take their leave; where curses lay the spirits low and mortal footsteps fear to go. Where death holds life in grim embrace its line's etched on the sinner's face; where e'er the march of time is flaunted Voices cry- "this place is haunted.

Trying to describe how I felt watching her dance around and sing would be like trying to build a skyscraper with my bare bands. It made me want to marry her. Made me want to buy her a magic airplane and fly her away to a place where nothing bad could ever happen. Made me want to pour rubber cement all over my chest and then lay down on top of her so that we'd be stuck together, and so it would hurt like ell if we eer tried to tear ourselves apart.

When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head. Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night, Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright, And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof. Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, Strive for her son to seize my careless heart; When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chace him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him as the morning frightens night! Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow, O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer; Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow: Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head! Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, From cruel parents, or relentless fair; O let me think it is not quite in vain To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed. And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head! In the long vista of the years to roll, Let me not see our country's honour fade: O let me see our land retain her soul, Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade. From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed-- Beneath thy pinions canopy my head! Let me not see the patriot's high bequest, Great Liberty! how great in plain attire! With the base purple of a court oppress'd, Bowing her head, and ready to expire: But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the skies with silver glitterings! And as, in sparkling majesty, a star Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud; Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar: So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed, Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head. - To Hope

You tell me that you sometimes view the dark side of your Diana, and there no doubt you discover many Spots which I rather wish were erased, than conceal'd from you. Do not judge by this, that your opinion is an indifferent thing to me, (were it so, I should look forward with a heavey Heart,) but it is far otherways, for I had rather stand fair there, and be thought well of by Lysander than by the greater part of the World besides. I would fain hope that those faults which you discover, proceed more, from a wrong Head, than a bad Heart. E'er long May I be connected with a Friend from whose Example I may form a more faultless conduct, and whose benevolent mind will lead him to pardon, what he cannot amend.

O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purged the air of pestilence! That instant was I turn'd into a hart; And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me.

Op een uniek moment in de geschiedenis en op een unieke plek op aarde lees jij deze zin. Misschien dat je deze woorden later nog eens zult zien en de kans is aanwezig dat dit op dezelfde plek zal gebeuren als waar je je nu bevindt (in je bed, je leeskamer, je vaste treincoupé, je lekkere stoel), maar het is een natuurkundige onmogelijkheid dat je mijn voorgaande zin op hetzelfde moment zult herlezen. Wat er thans gebeurt tussen ons, tussen deze zin en jouw aandacht, dit, hier, nu, is uniek, eenmalig en onherhaalbaar. Dit is iets tussen ons, vriend, en het was voorbij eer we er erg in hadden.

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e’er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

792. Thief.-- N. thief, robber, homo trium literarum, pilferer, rifler, filcher, plagiarist. spoiler, depredator, pillager, marauder; harpy, shark, land-shark, falcon, moss-trooper, bushranger, Bedouin, brigand, freebooter, bandit, thug, dacoit, pirate, corsair, viking, Paul Jones; buccan-eer, -ier; piqu-, pick-eerer; rover, ranger, privateer, filibuster; rapparee, wrecker, picaroon; smuggler, poacher, plunderer, racketeer. highwayman, Dick Turpin, Claude Duval, Macheath, knight of the road, foodpad, sturdy beggar; abductor, kidnapper. cut-, pick-purse; pick-pocket, light-fingered gentry; sharper; card-, skittle-sharper; crook; thimble-rigger; rook, Greek, blackleg, leg, welsher, defaulter; Autolycus, Cacus, Barabbas, Jeremy Diddler, Robert Macaire, artful dodger, trickster; swell mob, chevalier d'industrie; shop-lifter. swindler, peculator; forger, coiner, counterfeiter, shoful; fence, receiver of stolen goods, duffer; smasher. burglar, housebreaker; cracks-, mags-man; Bill Sikes, Jack Sheppard, Jonathan Wild, Raffles, cat burglar. [Roget's Thesaurus, 1941 Revision]

Als uw keizer de grondwet van Brabant schendt, zijn zijn onderdanen hem geen gehoorzaamheid meer verschuldigd. Gij Brabander die, tot meerdere eer van de Zuidelijke Nederlanden, het geluk heeft onder de grondwet van Brabant te leven, Gij zult ze verliezen!

...neither evil tongues, / Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, / Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all / The dreary intercourse of daily life, / Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb / Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold / Is full of blessings.

Our cause is for the truth, for righteousness, For anyone who e’er oppression knew. ’Tis not rebellion for the sake of one, ’Tis not a cause to serve a priv’leg’d few— This moment shall resound in history For ev’ry person who would freedom know! So Biggs, stand with me now, and be my aide, And Wedge, fly at my side to lead the charge— We three, we happy three, we band of brothers, Shall fly unto the trench with throttles full!

Wake not the Dead: - they bring but gloomy night And cheerless desolation into day For in the grave who mouldering lay, No more can feel the influence of light, Or yield them to the sun's prolific might; Let them repose within their house of clay - Corruption, wilt thou vainly e'er essay To quicken: - it sends forth a prest'lent blight; And neither fiery sun, nor bathing dew, Nor breath of Spring the dead can e'er renew. That which from life is pluck'd, becomes the foe Of life, and whoso wakes it waketh woe. Seek not the dead to waken from that sleep In which from mortal eye they lie enshrouded deep.

One of my wishes is that those dark trees. So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze. Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom. But stretched away unto the edge of doom. I should not be withheld but that some day into their vastness I should steal away. Fearless of ever finding open land, or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand. I do not see why I should e'er turn back. Or those should not set forth upon my track. To overtake me, who should miss me here. And long to know if still I held them dear. They would not find me changed from him they knew,-only more sure of all I though was true.

Ek het al dikwels gesien hoe mense wat ons Echo-gemeenskap besoek, aanvanklik heel beïndruk is, maar gou ’n mate van ontnugtering beleef as hulle ons eers beter leer ken. Daar is dalk liefde en selfopoffering, maar daar is ook baie chaos en konflik. Ek wonder soms, wat het hulle verwag, St Franciscus se happy band of brothers? I wish!

That which we dare invoke to bless; Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt; He, They, One, All; within, without; The Power in darkness whom we guess; I found Him not in world or sun, Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye; Nor thro' the questions men may try, The petty cobwebs we have spun: If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep, I heard a voice `believe no more' And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the Godless deep; A warmth within the breast would melt The freezing reason's colder part, And like a man in wrath the heart Stood up and answer'd `I have felt.' No, like a child in doubt and fear: But that blind clamour made me wise; Then was I as a child that cries, But, crying, knows his father near; And what I am beheld again What is, and no man understands; And out of darkness came the hands That reach thro' nature, moulding men.

A fool of thee: depart. APEMANTUS I love thee better now than e'er I did. TIMON I hate thee worse.

If you count proper nouns, the word in English with the most varied spellings is air with a remarkable thirty-eight: Aire, ayr, heir, e’er, ere, and so on.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.

Behind each thing a shadow lies; Beauty hath e'er its cost: Within the moonlight-flooded skies How many stars are lost!

This is the most despiteful'st gentle greeting The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. - Paris

If we do not like what is happening to us, it is a sure sign that we are in need of a change of mental diet. For man, we are told, lives not by bread alone but by every Word that proceeds from the mouth of God. And having discovered the mouth of God to be the mind of man, a mind which lives on Words or inner talking, we should feed into our minds only loving, noble thoughts. For with Words or inner talking we build our world. Let love's lordly hand raise your hunger and thirst to all that is noble and of good report, and let your mind starve e'er you raise your hand to a cup love did not fill or a bowl love did not bless. That you may never again have to say, "What have I said? What have I done, O All Powerful Human Word?

A Night Thought Lo! where the Moon along the sky Sails with her happy destiny; Oft is she hid from mortal eye Or dimly seen, But when the clouds asunder fly How bright her mien! Far different we, a froward race, Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace With cherished sullenness of pace Their way pursue, Ingrates who wear a smileless face The whole year through. If kindred humours e'er would make My spirit droop for drooping's sake, From Fancy following in thy wake, Bright ship of heaven! A counter impulse let me take And be forgiven

The dews that wet the tender grass, At the sun’s birth, too quickly pass, Nor e’er can hope to see it rise In full perfection to the skies.” Shiônagon, who now joined them, and heard the above distich, consoled the nun with the following:— “The dews will not so quickly pass, Nor shall depart before they see The full perfection of the grass, They loved so well in infancy.

After him I love More than I love these eyes, more than my life, More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. If I do feign, you witnesses above, Punish my life for tainting of my love!

If e’er the Jew her father come to heaven, It will be for his gentle daughter’s sake; And never dare misfortune cross her foot, Unless she do it under this excuse, 40 That she is issue to a faithless Jew.

1059The egg it is the source of it all. ‘Tis everyone’s ancestral hall. The bravest chief that ever fought, The lowest thief that e’er was caught, The harlot’s lip, the maiden’s leg, They each and all came from an egg.

Dis maklik om te sê die kerk is ’n droë ou moeder. Tog wil ek my nie indink wat sal in die woestyn van barmhartigheid gebeur as die wêreld op ’n oggend wakker word en alle kerke het oornag hulle deure gesluit en hulle aktiwiteite gestaak nie. Geen brood om uit te deel nie. Geen sendingstasies of sopkombuise nie. Niemand om mense te doop en te begrawe nie. Eers op daardie dag sal ons besef die ou moeder was toe al die tyd nie so dor as wat ons gedink het nie.

Eers het ek die arme diertjies wat skynbaar nie op hulle eie kon loop nie en gedra moes word, jammer gekry. Maar toe merk ek op dat die meeste van hulle eintlik besonder gelukkig lyk – veral die skilpadjies het gelyk of hulle glimlag. Die titel van die boek was The mating game. Toe ek uiteindelik besef waaroor dit gaan, het ek die boek gaan wegsteek, uit vrees dat my pa sou probeer verduidelik – en dat ek sou moes maak of ek vir die eerste keer in my lewe van seks hoor.

They are right; for man, to man so oft unjust, Is always so to women; one sole bond Awaits them, treachery is all their trust; Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond Over their idol, till some wealthier lust Buys them in marriage—and what rests beyond? A thankless husband, next a faithless lover, Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all ’s over. Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers, Some mind their household, others dissipation, Some run away, and but exchange their cares, Losing the advantage of a virtuous station; Few changes e’er can better their affairs, Theirs being an unnatural situation, From the dull palace to the dirty hovel: Some play the devil, and then write a novel.

Roman Centurion's Song" LEGATE, I had the news last night - my cohort ordered home By ships to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome. I've marched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed below: Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go! I've served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall, I have none other home than this, nor any life at all. Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws near That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here. Here where men say my name was made, here where my work was done; Here where my dearest dead are laid - my wife - my wife and son; Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memory, service, love, Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how can I remove? For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields suffice. What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful Northern skies, Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August haze - The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June's long-lighted days? You'll follow widening Rhodanus till vine and olive lean Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean To Arelate's triple gate; but let me linger on, Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon! You'll take the old Aurelian Road through shore-descending pines Where, blue as any peacock's neck, the Tyrrhene Ocean shines. You'll go where laurel crowns are won, but -will you e'er forget The scent of hawthorn in the sun, or bracken in the wet? Let me work here for Britain's sake - at any task you will - A marsh to drain, a road to make or native troops to drill. Some Western camp (I know the Pict) or granite Border keep, Mid seas of heather derelict, where our old messmates sleep. Legate, I come to you in tears - My cohort ordered home! I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome? Here is my heart, my soul, my mind - the only life I know. I cannot leave it all behind. Command me not to go!

My Influence My life shall touch a dozen lives Before this day is done. Leave countless marks of good or ill, E’er sets the evening sun. This, the wish I always wish, The prayer I always pray; Lord, may my life help others’ lives It touches by the way.7

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou / That, notwithstanding thy capacity / Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there, / Of what validity and pitch so e'er, / But falls into abatement and low price / Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy / That it alone is high fantastical.

he wins success, And dying foes his power confess. Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb, Fortune has set her mark on him. Graced with a conch-shell's triple line, His throat displays the auspicious sign.16 [pg 003] High destiny is clear impressed On massive jaw and ample chest, His mighty shafts he truly aims, And foemen in the battle tames. Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown, Embedded lies his collar-bone. His lordly steps are firm and free, His strong arms reach below his knee;17 All fairest graces join to deck His head, his brow, his stately neck, And limbs in fair proportion set: The manliest form e'er fashioned yet.

Hymn He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, Alike they're needful for the flower: And joys and tears alike are sent To give the soul fit nourishment. As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done! Can loving children e'er reprove With murmurs whom they trust and love? Creator! I would ever be A trusting, loving child to thee: As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done! Oh, ne'er will I at life repine: Enough that thou hast made it mine. When falls the shadow cold of death I yet will sing, with parting breath, As comes to me or shade or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done!

The poor have little, beggars none, the rich too much, enough not one. He that lies down with Dogs, shall rise up with fleas. Men and melons are hard to know.   Take this remark from Richard poor and lame, Whate’er’s begun in anger ends in shame.   No man e’er was glorious, who was not laborious. All things are easy to Industry,

Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head, an' a' that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that. Our toils obscure an' a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an' a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man's a Man for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, an' a' that, His ribband, star, an' a' that: The man o' independent mind He looks an' laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's abon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Their dignities an' a' that; The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, It's coming yet for a' that, That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that.

En jij,' zei Winter, 'bent mijn verloren gewaande nichtje en mijn dierbare vriendin. Ik kon het tot op dit moment niet geloven, maar het is dus echt waar.' Winter pakte Cinders handen vast. 'Kun je je mij nog herinneren?' Langzaam schudde Cinder haar hoofd. 'Dat geeft niet,' zei Winter, en haar gezicht zei dat het echt in orde was. 'Mijn herinneringen zijn ook vaag, en ik ben een jaar ouder dan jij. Maar toch hoop ik dat we weer goede vriendinnen kunnen worden... Vergeef me. Je bent niet langer alleen maar mijn vriendin en nichtje, en dit is niet de juiste manier om je te begroeten.' Ze maakte een buiging als een ballerina en drukte een kus op Cinders metalen knokkel. 'Mijn Koningin, het is me een eer om u te dienen.

Well, well, look who finally got off her back,” Isla said from down below, one eyebrow raised, smirking up at her like a round, wee weasel. Amber darted a look around the great hall to make sure no one was within earshot, then said, “I was hardly e’er on my back. You need to teach Alban some new tricks if that’s all he’s doing to you. Lachlan is most inventive.

Like a bark upon the sea, Life is floating over death; Above, below, encircling thee, Danger lurks in every breath. "Parted art thou from the grave Only by a plank most frail; Tossed upon the restless wave, Sport of every fickle gale. "Let the skies be e'er so clear, And so calm and still the sea, Shipwreck yet has he to fear Who life's voyager will be." —RUCKERT.

Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art— An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, But never yet hath seen, nor e’er shall see The naked eye, thy form, as it should be; The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, Even with its own desiring phantasy, And to a thought such shape and image given, As haunts the unquench’d soul—parch’d—wearied—wrung—and riven.

Wij zijn alle koningen zonder onderscheid onderdanigheid en gehoorzaamheid verontschuldigd, want die betreffen hun functie; maar achting en zeker liefde zijn we alleen hun deugden verschuldigd. Laten we hen, als concessie aan de openbare orde, geduldig verdragen wanneer ze hun ambt onwaardig zijn, over hun fouten zwijgen, en hen helpen door bijval te schenken aan hun neutrale politieke handelen zolang hun gezag onze steun behoeft. Maar wanneer de relatie beëindigd is zou het niet redelijk zijn de Gerechtigheid en onze vrijheid het uiten van onze ware gevoelens te ontzeggen en met name de goede onderdanen de eer te onthouden dat zij eerbiedig en trouw een meester hebben gediend wiens onvolkomenheden hun zo goed bekend waren, en daarbij het nageslacht dit zo nuttige voorbeeld te onthouden. En zij die omwille van een of andere persoonlijke verplichting tegen beter weten in de herinnering aan een laakbare vorst koesteren, hanteren een eigen, particuliere gerechtigheid ten koste van die van de gemeenschap.

You make me afraid,” she murmured one morning when he came back to sit beside her on the bed. “The thought plagues me that I will see you slain and, like your mother, will have to flee to find a haven for our babe.” “By the grace of God, madam, I will prove wiser than my enemy.” He lay back across the bed, resting his head in her lap while he reached up a hand to caress softly her smooth, flat belly through the light fabric of her nightgown. “I have a fancy to see our offspring and plant other seeds where this one grows, so you needn’t fret that I’ll be foolhardy, my love.” Erienne ran her fingers through his hair. “I hope the hour quickly approaches when you may give up the mask and guise. I want to tell the world and all the women in it that you’re mine.” She shrugged lightly. “ ’Twould not overburden me to tell my father of our marriage, either.” Christopher chuckled. “He’ll croak.” Erienne giggled and leaned over him. “Aye, that he will. Louder than any wily toad that e’er’s been born. He’ll stamp and snort and claim injustice, but with your babe growing in me, I doubt that anyone will lend an ear to the question of annulment.” Her eyes gleamed with twinkling humor. “Besides, what suitor would look twice at me when I’ve grown fat with child?” Christopher raised up on an elbow and leered at her. “Madam, if you think your father or any suitor could get past me to try to separate us, then let me assure you that the highwaymen have not yet seen such a wrath that I would display should that happen.” His brow raised in question. “Do you doubt what I say?” Erienne gave a flirtatious shrug, then rolled to the edge of the bed and bounced to her feet with light, lilting laughter floating behind her. Before she could catch up her robe, however, Christopher swung around the end of the bed and caught her close against him, slipping his arms around her waist and holding her tightly to him. Their lips met in a long, slow kiss of love, and after he drew away it was a full moment or more before Erienne opened her eyes to find the grayish-green ones smiling into hers, and her arms tightly clasped about his neck. “I believe you,” she breathed unsteadily. -Erienne & Christopher

The Fifth Congress had recessed in July 1798 without declaring war against France, but in the last days before adjourning it did approve other measures championed by Abigail Adams that aided in the undoing of her husband—the Alien and Sedition Acts. Worried about French agents in their midst, the lawmakers passed punitive measures changing the rules for naturalized citizenship and making it legal for the U.S. to round up and detain as “alien enemies” any men over the age of fourteen from an enemy nation after a declaration of war. Abigail heartily approved. But it was the Sedition Act that she especially cheered. It imposed fines and imprisonment for any person who “shall write, print, utter, or publish…any false, scandalous and malicious writing or writings against the government of the United States, or either house of the Congress of the United States, or the President of the United States” with the intent to defame them. Finally! The hated press would be punished. To Abigail’s way of thinking, the law was long overdue. (Of course she was ready to use the press when it served her purposes, regularly sending information to relatives and asking them to get it published in friendly gazettes.) Back in April she had predicted to her sister Mary that the journalists “will provoke measures that will silence them e’er long.” Abigail kept up her drumbeat against newspapers in letter after letter, grumbling, “Nothing will have an effect until Congress pass a Sedition Bill, which I presume they will do before they rise.” Congress could not act fast enough for the First Lady: “I wish the laws of our country were competent to punish the stirrer up of sedition, the writer and printer of base and unfounded calumny.” She accused Congress of “dilly dallying” about the Alien Acts as well. If she had had her way, every newspaperman who criticized her husband would be thrown in jail, so when the Alien and Sedition Acts were passed and signed, Abigail still wasn’t satisfied. Grumping that they “were shaved and pared to almost nothing,” she told John Quincy that “weak as they are” they were still better than nothing. They would prove to be a great deal worse than nothing for John Adams’s political future, but the damage was done. Congress went home. So did Abigail and John Adams.

You can always see a face in the fire. The laborer, looking into it at evening, purifies his thoughts of the dross and earthiness which they have accumulated during the day. But I could no longer sit and look into the fire, and the pertinent words of a poet recurred to me with new force.— “Never, bright flame, may be denied to me Thy dear, life imaging, close sympathy. What but my hopes shot upward e’er so bright? What but my fortunes sunk so low in night? Why art thou banished from our hearth and hall, Thou who art welcomed and beloved by all? Was thy existence then too fanciful For our life’s common light, who are so dull? Did thy bright gleam mysterious converse hold

With contradict’ry aim I stand, Rent in twain between two lands. One is lit with flowers bright, The other by sublime starlight. “A searing fire is one way felt. The sting of ice that does not melt Upon the other path is found. To both I am forever bound. “My mind is called to what I’ve known, And mem’ries of what once was home. Yet calls the road that leads to where I breathe now more familiar air. “In her is found the now and then, The song of hope, the sighed amen, Both fire and ice, both flow’rs and stars, The future, past, the near and far. “Where e’er the path that guides her feet, In what far clime her heart doth beat, Howe’er oft I depart or bide, Home is where my love resides.

CLUNY” I am quite sure he thinks that I am God Since He is God on whom each one depends For life, and all things, that His bounty sends- Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I To Him whom God I know and. own: his eye, Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod: He is more patient underneath the rod Than I, when God His wise corrections sends. He looks love at me, deep as words e’er spake And from me never crumb or sup will take But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail; And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear He is content and quiet if I’m near, Secure that my protection will prevail; So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he Tells me what I unto my God should be. -BISHOP DOANE

Once on a time, La Mancha's knight, they say, A certain bard encount'ring on the way, Discours'd in terms as just, with looks as sage, As e'er could Dennis of the Grecian stage; Concluding all were desp'rate sots and fools, Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules. Our author, happy in a judge so nice, Produc'd his play, and begg'd the knight's advice, Made him observe the subject and the plot, The manners, passions, unities, what not? All which, exact to rule, were brought about, Were but a combat in the lists left out. "What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the knight; "Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite." "Not so by Heav'n" (he answers in a rage) "Knights, squires, and steeds, must enter on the stage." So vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain. "Then build a new, or act it in a plain.

XII.—LOCHINVAR. Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone; So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; He swam the Esk river, where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all; Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword - For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word - "Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar - "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume: And the bride's-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung. "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Well!” said John Slater, after having acknowledged his nose and his likeness; “I could laugh at a jest as well as e’er the best on ‘em, though it did tell agen mysel, if I were not clemming” (his eyes filled with tears; he was a poor, pinched, sharp-featured man, with a gentle and melancholy expression of countenance), “and if I could keep from thinking of them at home, as is clemming; but with their cries for food ringing in my ears, and making me afeard of going home, and wonder if I should hear ’em wailing out, if I lay cold and drowned at th’ bottom o’ th’ canal, there — why, man, I cannot laugh at aught. It seems to make me sad that there is any as can make game on what they’ve never knowed; as can make such laughable pictures on men, whose very hearts within ’em are so raw and sore as ours were and are, God help us.” John

THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read A volume of the Law, in which it said, "No man shall look upon my face and live." And as he read, he prayed that God would give His faithful servant grace with mortal eye To look upon His face and yet not die. Then fell a sudden shadow on the page And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age, He saw the Angel of Death before him stand, Holding a naked sword in his right hand. Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man, Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran. With trembling voice he said, "What wilt thou here?" The angel answered, "Lo! the time draws near When thou must die; yet first, by God's decree, Whate'er thou askest shall be granted thee." Replied the Rabbi, "Let these living eyes First look upon my place in Paradise." Then said the Angel, "Come with me and look." Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book, And rising, and uplifting his gray head, "Give me thy sword," he to the Angel said, "Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way." The Angel smiled and hastened to obey, Then led him forth to the Celestial Town, And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down, Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes, Might look upon his place in Paradise. Then straight into the city of the Lord The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel's sword, And through the streets there swept a sudden breath Of something there unknown, which men call death. Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, and cried, "Come back!" To which the Rabbi's voice replied, "No! in the name of God, whom I adore, I swear that hence I will depart no more!" Then all the Angels cried, "O Holy One, See what the son of Levi here has done! The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence, And in Thy name refuses to go hence!" The Lord replied, "My Angels, be not wroth; Did e'er the son of Levi break his oath? Let him remain; for he with mortal eye Shall look upon my face and yet not die." Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath, "Give back the sword, and let me go my way." Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, "Nay! Anguish enough already has it caused Among the sons of men." And while he paused He heard the awful mandate of the Lord Resounding through the air, "Give back the sword!" The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer; Then said he to the dreadful Angel, "Swear, No human eye shall look on it again; But when thou takest away the souls of men, Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword, Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord." The Angel took the sword again, and swore, And walks on earth unseen forevermore.

Ernst of Edelsheim I'll tell the story, kissing   This white hand for my pains: No sweeter heart, nor falser   E'er filled such fine, blue veins. I'll sing a song of true love,   My Lilith dear! to you; Contraria contrariis—   The rule is old and true. The happiest of all lovers   Was Ernst of Edelsheim; And why he was the happiest,   I'll tell you in my rhyme. One summer night he wandered   Within a lonely glade, And, couched in moss and moonlight,   He found a sleeping maid. The stars of midnight sifted   Above her sands of gold; She seemed a slumbering statue,   So fair and white and cold. Fair and white and cold she lay   Beneath the starry skies; Rosy was her waking   Beneath the Ritter's eyes. He won her drowsy fancy,   He bore her to his towers, And swift with love and laughter   Flew morning's purpled hours. But when the thickening sunbeams   Had drunk the gleaming dew, A misty cloud of sorrow   Swept o'er her eyes' deep blue. She hung upon the Ritter's neck, S he wept with love and pain, She showered her sweet, warm kisses   Like fragrant summer rain. "I am no Christian soul," she sobbed,   As in his arms she lay; "I'm half the day a woman,   A serpent half the day. "And when from yonder bell-tower   Rings out the noonday chime, Farewell! farewell forever,   Sir Ernst of Edelsheim!" "Ah! not farewell forever!"   The Ritter wildly cried, "I will be saved or lost with thee,   My lovely Wili-Bride!" Loud from the lordly bell-tower   Rang out the noon of day, And from the bower of roses   A serpent slid away. But when the mid-watch moonlight   Was shimmering through the grove, He clasped his bride thrice dowered   With beauty and with love. The happiest of all lovers   Was Ernst of Edelsheim— His true love was a serpent   Only half the time!

...Because the sacred fire that lights all nature liveliest of all in its own image glows. All these prerogatives the human creature possesses, and if one of them should fail, he must diminish from his noble stature. Sin only can disenfranchise him, and veil his likeness to the Highest Good; whereby the light in him is lessened and grows pale. Ne'er can he win back dignities so high till the void made by guilt be all filled in with just amends paid for by illicit joy. Now, when your nature as a whole did sin in its first root, it lost these great awards, and lost the Eden of its origin; nor might they be recovered afterwards by any means, as if thou search thou'lt see, except by crossing one of these two fords; either must God, of his sole courtesy, remit, or man must pay with all that's his, the debt of sin in its entirety. Within the Eternal Counsel's deep abyss rivet thine eye, and with a heed as good as thou canst give me, do thou follow this. Man from his finite assets never could make satisfaction; ne'er could he abase him so low, obey thereafter all he would, as he'd by disobedience sought to raise him; and for this cause man might not pay his due himself, nor from the debtor's roll erase him. Needs then must God, by his own ways, renew man's proper life, and reinstate him so; his ways I say - by one, or both of two. And since the doer's actions ever show more gracious as the style of them makes plain the goodness of the heart from which they flow, that most high Goodness which is God was fain - even God, whose impress Heaven and earth display - by all His ways to lift you up again; nor, between final night and primal day, was e'er proceeding so majestical and high, nor shall not be, by either way; for God's self-giving, which made possible that man should raise himself, showed more largesse than if by naked power He'd cancelled all; and every other means would have been less than justice, if it had not pleased God's Son to be humiliate in fleshliness.

Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief, Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes, My body round engirt with misery, For what's more miserable than discontent? Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see The map of honour, truth and loyalty: And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith. What louring star now envies thy estate, That these great lords and Margaret our queen Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong; And as the butcher takes away the calf And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house, Even so remorseless have they borne him hence; And as the dam runs lowing up and down, Looking the way her harmless young one went, And can do nought but wail her darling's loss, Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes Look after him and cannot do him good, So mighty are his vowed enemies. His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.

Yes, he thought, to survive, one must not be alone. And one must have a partner of worth. Possess that? And you were richer than any King and queen who e’er roamed the earth.

Men heeft Wijsgeeren gehad, welken men dien naam toevoegde, om eenige zonderlinge grilligheeden, tot welken te pleegen hunne natuurgenooten niet besluiten konden. Een ongehavende baard, gescheurde klederen, onvoegzaame wooningen, zotte en strenge zeden, onhandelbaarheid in de zaamenleeving, en dergelijken waren de kenmerken hunner wijsgeerlijke waardigheid, en - tot schande der eeuwen, in welken zij leefden, - moet men zeggen, dat de volken veelal zelve de oorzaaken deezer belachlijke en afschuwelijke wanschepzels waren; vermits zij hen den naam van Wijsgeeren toekenden, en ze als de zodanigen eere beweezen.

selfs al is dit nodig dat julle 'n kort tydjie bedroef gemaak word deur allerhande beproewings 7 sodat die egtheid van julle geloof getoets kan word. Julle geloof is baie kosbaarder as goud, goud wat vergaan. Selfs die suiwerheid van goud word met vuur getoets, en die egtheid van julle geloof moet ook getoets word, sodat dit lof en heerlikheid en eer waardig mag wees by die wederkoms van Jesus Christus.

Mensen die graag naar uitdragerijen gingen, die graag gedichten lazen, baatzuchtigheid verachtelijk vonden, van eer en liefde droomden, zag ze als een elite die boven de rest van het mensdom uitstak. Je hoefde zulke neigingen niet werkelijk te hebben, als ze maar werden verkondigd; van een man die haar bij een diner had toevertrouwd dat hij hield van rondslenteren in de stad, van vuile handen krijgen in oude winkeltjes, dat hij nooit goed bevonden zou worden in deze zakelijke eeuw want zijn eigen belangen konden hem niet schelen en dat hij daarom in een andere tijd thuishoorde, zei ze toen ze er vandaan kwam: 'Het is echt een aanbiddelijke man, een gevoelig wezen, ik had het nooit gedacht!' en vatte een acuut en overweldigend gevoel van vriendschap voor hem op. Mensen daarentegen die, zoals Swann, zulke neigingen hadden maar er niet over spraken, raakten haar niet. Zij moest weliswaar erkennen dat Swann niet om geld gaf, maar voegde er met een stuurs gezicht aan toe: 'Maar bij hem is het iets heel anders', en wat tot haar verbeelding sprak was dan ook niet de praktijk van belangeloosheid, maar de verwoording ervan.

Het merendeel, van ons Nederlanders, heeft niet de eer om mij te leren kennen. De interesse ligt bij Matthijs van Nieuwkerk, Jeroen Dijsselbloem, Eva Jinek en Jeroen Pauw.

De laatste kruimel brood eer ik, als mijn overtuiging.

Maar in elke liefde is smart, bedacht ik, smart om de voltooiing en de naderende dood van de liefde als het een gelukkige liefde is, en smart om de onmogelijkheid en het verlies van wat ons nooit heeft toebehoord als de liefde onbeantwoord blijft. En zoals ik treurde om de rijkdommen die ik niet had, zo treurde ik vroeger om Claire, die anderen toebehoorde. En zo treurde ik ook nu, liggend in haar bed, in haar appartement in Parijs, in de lichtblauwe wolken van haar kamer, die ik tot vanavond onrealiseerbaar en niet bestaand geacht zou hebben en die Claires bleke, op drie plaatsen met zulk schaamteloos en kwellend verleidelijk haar bedekte lichaam omgaven; zo treurde ik nu over het feit dat ik niet meer zou kunnen dromen over Claire zoals ik altijd gedaan had; en dat het nog lang zou duren eer ik een ander beeld van haar gecreeerd zou hebben dat op een andere manier net zo onbereikbaar voor mij zou worden als tot nu toe dit lichaam, dit haar en deze lichtblauwe wolken geweest waren.

Stranger, what e’er thy land or creed or race, Here rest awhile, there’s virtue in the place.”     - Anonymous   A

See from His head, His hands, His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down! Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

O sight most tragic, this - a robot-man, who doth require a mask to stay alive. What situation e'er did lead to this? How can he stand to live beneath a mask? But soft, Piett, reconsider this: Aye, verily, how shall I judge? The mask he wears is far more obvious than most. With Vader it is plain he wears a mask, though few have seen the scarring underneath. But truly, what man doth not wear a mask? For all of us are masked in some way - some choose sharp cruelty as their outward face, some put themselves behind a king's facade, some hide behind the mask of bravery, some put on the disguise of arrogance. But underneath our masks, are we not one? Do not all wish for love, and joy, and peace? And whether rebel or Imperial, do not our hearts all beat in time to make the pounding rhythm of the galaxy? So while Darth Vader's mask keeps him alive, and sits upon his face for all to see, 'tis possible he is more honest than a man who wears no mask, but hides his self. But come, Piett, now still thy prating tongue - his private time is done, his mask back on.

Carnal reason doth oft inadvertently rebel against things which to us seem improbable, even if it was thus ordained before we e’er stirred in our mother’s wombs.

I bit back my grin and offered up a prayer of thanks and a proverb of my own. “Thou hast made me tall and plain, and I will never e’er complain.

What Exile from himself can flee? To Zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where e’er I be, The blight of life—the demon Thought.

A man's a man for a' that Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head, an’ a’ that; The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that. Our toils obscure an’ a’ that, The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, The Man’s the gowd for a’ that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man’s a Man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that; The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men for a’ that. Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord, Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that, Tho’ hundreds worship at his word, He’s but a coof for a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, His ribband, star, an’ a’ that, The man o’ independent mind, He looks an’ laughs at a’ that. A Prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that! But an honest man’s aboon his might – Guid faith, he mauna fa’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that, Their dignities, an’ a’ that, The pith o’ Sense an’ pride o’ Worth Are higher rank than a’ that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a’ that, That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, It’s comin yet for a’ that, That Man to Man the warld o’er Shall brithers be for a’ that.

KALI THE MOTHER The stars are blotted out, The clouds are covering clouds, It is darkness vibrant, sonant. In the roaring, whirling wind Are the souls of a million lunatics Just loose from the prison-house, Wrenching trees by the roots, Sweeping all from the path. The sea has joined the fray, And swirls up mountain-waves, To reach the pitchy sky. The flash of lurid light Reveals on every side A thousand, thousand shades Of Death begrimed and black — Scattering plagues and sorrows, Dancing mad with joy, Come, Mother, come! For Terror is Thy name, Death is in Thy breath, And every shaking step Destroys a world for e'er. Thou "Time", the All-Destroyer! Come, O Mother, come! Who dares misery love, And hug the form of Death, Dance in Destruction's dance, To him the Mother comes.

Aan jou de eer,' had ze gezegd. Maar het was geen kwestie van eer. 'Heb je wel het waterinstinct?' vroeg Riv.

This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod: And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of

Have ye e'er seen such a lovely set o' bosoms?

Now, 'tis e'er the wont of simple folk to prize the deed and o'erlook the motive, and of learned folk to discount the deed and lay open the soul of the doer. Burlingame declared the difference 'twixt sour pessimist and proper gentleman lies just here: that one will judge good deeds by a morality of the motive and ill by a morality of deed, and so condemn the twain together, whereas your gentleman doth the reverse, and hath always grounds to pardon his wayward fellows.

Engelsen zijn nu eenmaal eigenaardig. Ze lijken op Chinese, in elkaar passende dozen. Het duurt een hele tijd eer je bij de binnenste bent. En als het je eenmaal gelukt is, dan is het resultaat teleurstellend, maar het proces is leerzaam en onderhoudend.

De doden zijn dood en het maakt niet uit of hun een eer wordt bewezen. Het is voor ons, de levenden, dat het iets betekent. De herinnering heeft geen enkel nut voor hen die ze eert, maar ze dient degenen die zich ervan bedienen. Met mijn herinnering bouw ik mijn identiteit op, met haar troost ik me.