Elephant Ride Quotes

You may control a mad elephant; You may shut the mouth of the bear and the tiger; Ride the lion and play with the cobra; By alchemy you may learn your livelihood; You may wander through the universe incognito; Make vassals of the gods; be ever youthful; You may walk in water and live in fire; But control of the mind is better and more difficult.

After you're dead and buried and floating around whatever place we go to, what's going to be your best memory of earth? What one moment for you defines what it's like to be alive on this planet. What's your takeaway? Fake yuppie experiences that you had to spend money on, like white water rafting or elephant rides in Thailand don't count. I want to hear some small moment from your life that proves you're really alive.

Mother,” Hyacinth said, pausing for slightly longer than normal to steal a bit of time to organize her thoughts, “I am not going to chase after Mr. St. Clair. He’s not at all the right sort of man for me.” “I’m not certain you’d know the right sort of man for you if he arrived on our doorstep riding an elephant.” “I would think the elephant would be a fairly good indication that I ought to look elsewhere.

Then it is dark; it is a night where kings in golden suits ride elephants over the mountains.

What one moment from you defines what it’s like to be alive on this planet. What’s your takeaway?’’ There is silence. Tobias doesn’t get her point, and frankly, neither do I. She continues: ‘’Fake yuppie experiences that you had to spend money on, like white water rafting or elephant rides in Thailand don’t count. I want to hear some small moment from your life that proves you’re really alive.

The world rides through space on the back of a turtle. This is one of the great ancient world myths, found wherever men and turtles were gathered together; the four elephants were an Indo-European sophistication. The idea has been lying in the lumber rooms of legend for centuries. All I had to do was grab it and run away before the alarms went off. There are no maps. You can't map a sense of humour. Anyway, what is a fantasy map but a space beyond which There Be Dragons? On the Discworld we know There Be Dragons Everywhere. They might not all have scales and forked tongues, but they Be Here all right, grinning and jostling and trying to sell you souvenirs.

Onyx is angry," Damian says. "Onyx has a right to be angry. You've got to remember, for many elephants, their life is that of a human in a war-torn country. Ravaged homes, killed relatives, separation," Damian says. Here's another thing I've learned over two months--every elephants here has a sad story. Every captive elephant's story is one of loss and separation. Something to remember every time you see happy people getting elephant rides.

He says that woman speaks with nature. That she hears voices from under the earth. That wind blows in her ears and trees whisper to her. That the dead sing through her mouth and the cries of infants are clear to her. But for him this dialogue is over. He says he is not part of this world, that he was set on this world as a stranger. He sets himself apart from woman and nature. And so it is Goldilocks who goes to the home of the three bears, Little Red Riding Hood who converses with the wolf, Dorothy who befriends a lion, Snow White who talks to the birds, Cinderella with mice as her allies, the Mermaid who is half fish, Thumbelina courted by a mole. (And when we hear in the Navaho chant of the mountain that a grown man sits and smokes with bears and follows directions given to him by squirrels, we are surprised. We had thought only little girls spoke with animals.) We are the bird's eggs. Bird's eggs, flowers, butterflies, rabbits, cows, sheep; we are caterpillars; we are leaves of ivy and sprigs of wallflower. We are women. We rise from the wave. We are gazelle and doe, elephant and whale, lilies and roses and peach, we are air, we are flame, we are oyster and pearl, we are girls. We are woman and nature. And he says he cannot hear us speak. But we hear.

My own belief is that two adults are allowed to love who they want, and if you don't agree with that, you are a narrow-minded shitfuck and we can't be friends.

One of the interesting quirks of the aging process is that events that seem to have little or no impact at the time resonate with a thunderous importance later on, like an expertly constructed detective novel.

I don’t know why I was so afraid of failure; the most interesting people I know have failed more than they have succeeded. This may be because life is not as simple as it appears to a desperately ambitious young man, or it could be that all my friends are losers.

It must be depressing to have your sole purpose in the universe be pointing out other people's mistakes. Am I right, Internet trolls, gossip columnists, and clergymen?

As my dear wife occasionally reminds me: "Never miss an opportunity to shut the fuck up.

you're Shane, right?' He inched away from her and managed a quick nod as he twisted the rag he held in his fingers. 'Heidi sad you were willing to teach me how to ride.' Her expression shifted from entertained to confused, as if she was wondering why no one had mentioned he was a can or two shy of a six-pack. 'A horse,' he clarified, then wanted to kick himself. What else but a horse? Did he think she was here to learn to ride his mother's elephant? One corner of Annabelle's perfect, full mouth twitched. 'A horse would be good. You seem to have several.' He wanted to remind himself that he was usually fine around women. Smooth even. He was intelligent, funny and could, on occasion, be charming. Just not now, with his blood pumping and his brain doing nothing more than shouting "it's her, it's her" over and over again. Chemistry, he thought grimly. It could turn the smartest man into a drooling idiot. Here he was, proving the theory true.

He went to India with his capital, and there, according to a wild legend in our family, he was once seen riding on an elephant, in company with a Baboon; but I think it must have been a Baboo—or a Begum. Anyhow, from India tidings of his death reached home, within ten years. How they affected my aunt, nobody knew; for immediately upon the separation, she took her maiden name again, bought a cottage in a hamlet on the sea-coast a long way off, established herself there as a single woman with one servant, and was understood to live secluded,

I was struck by the ancient, pagan feel of the place. New Orleans doesn't feel like any other American city I've been to. It has an atmosphere like Rome or Istanbul, a sense of the veil being very thin between this world and the world of the fictional and the dead. It is an eerie, haunted, and beautiful place - as any port should be.

Who rides on a tiger can never dismount; asleep on an elephant, that is repose.

She was the type to keep riding the train the wrong way around.

Riding an elephant isn't as exotic or special as it looks on websites about jungles.

I always suspected the perpetrators of both good and evil probably would have behaved the same way, God or no God.

And I'm afraid it really is a jungle too," pursued the Consul, "in fact I expect Rousseau to come riding out of it at any moment on a tiger." "What's that?" Mr Quincey said, frowning in a manner that might have meant: And God never drinks before breakfast either. "On a tiger," the Consul repeated. The other gazed at him a moment with the cold sardonic eye of the material world. "I expect so," he said sourly. "Plenty tigers. Plenty elephants too... Might I ask you if the next time you inspect your jungle you'd mind being sick on your own side of the fence?

Of all the circus animals, from bears to lions to elephants to politicians, very few ride a unicycle. I'd love to see a Pekin duck spinning around for the crowd. Now THAT is something that would make me want to VOTE.

My first true Real Love was my first child, which meant the nasty, inconvenient, unpleasant business of genuinely loving another human being without judging them or caring or even wondering if they loved you back. Just Love in all its grisly glory.

EVERY WEDNESDAY, I teach an introductory fiction workshop at Harvard University, and on the first day of class I pass out a bullet-pointed list of things the students should try hard to avoid. Don’t start a story with an alarm clock going off. Don’t end a story with the whole shebang having been a suicide note. Don’t use flashy dialogue tags like intoned or queried or, God forbid, ejaculated. Twelve unbearably gifted students are sitting around the table, and they appreciate having such perimeters established. With each variable the list isolates, their imaginations soar higher. They smile and nod. The mood in the room is congenial, almost festive with learning. I feel like a very effective teacher; I can practically hear my course-evaluation scores hitting the roof. Then, when the students reach the last point on the list, the mood shifts. Some of them squint at the words as if their vision has gone blurry; others ask their neighbors for clarification. The neighbor will shake her head, looking pale and dejected, as if the last point confirms that she should have opted for that aseptic-surgery class where you operate on a fetal pig. The last point is: Don’t Write What You Know. The idea panics them for two reasons. First, like all writers, the students have been encouraged, explicitly or implicitly, for as long as they can remember, to write what they know, so the prospect of abandoning that approach now is disorienting. Second, they know an awful lot. In recent workshops, my students have included Iraq War veterans, professional athletes, a minister, a circus clown, a woman with a pet miniature elephant, and gobs of certified geniuses. They are endlessly interesting people, their lives brimming with uniquely compelling experiences, and too often they believe those experiences are what equip them to be writers. Encouraging them not to write what they know sounds as wrongheaded as a football coach telling a quarterback with a bazooka of a right arm to ride the bench. For them, the advice is confusing and heartbreaking, maybe even insulting. For me, it’s the difference between fiction that matters only to those who know the author and fiction that, well, matters.

I don’t want my sons to be traumatized by what happened to their father or grandfathers or great-grandfathers, but everyone should know about the lives of those who came before them so that they can figure out why their fingers are bent or why sometimes they feel bone-crushingly sad for no reason that anyone else can see.

And as Sean climbs into bed and closes his eyes, Mother comes, riding astride a lion the size of a house, blowing a clarion from a horn made out of a hollowed-out elephant's tusk. Her eyes have a faint crimson glow from the lasers that are mounted behind her irises, ready to fire at will. 'I touched a prince's chest today and made his heart stop,' she says. 'I'll do it again if I have to: they'll see what happens if anyone gets in my way. Good night, my son. Remember that I will always keep you safe; that I am always everywhere and always here.' 'Good night, Mom,' Sean says, and falls asleep. And Mother recedes, wise and beautiful and strong, a genius and a hero, a punisher of thieves and a slayer of wicked men, to watch over her son in all her different versions.

Sometimes when I think about entities—like in “separate entities”—it gets mighty grim. I start thinking, and I nearly go to pieces. …For instance, say you’re riding on the subway. And there are dozens of people in the car. Mere “passengers” you’d have to call them, as a rule. “Passengers” being conveyed from Aoyama 1-chome to Akasakamitsuke. Sometimes, though, it’ll strike you, that each and every one of those passengers is a distinct individual entity. Like, what does this one do? Or why on earth do you suppose that one’s riding the Ginza Line? Or whatever. By then it’s too late. You let it get to you and you’re a goner.

No, they were not real. TV monsters and movie monsters and comic-book monsters were not real. Not until you went to bed and couldn’t sleep; not until the last four pieces of candy, wrapped in tissues and kept under your pillow against the evils of the night, were gobbled up; not until the bed itself turned into a lake of rancid dreams and the wind screamed outside and you were afraid to look at the window because there might be a face there, an ancient grinning face that had not rotted but simply dried like an old leaf, its eyes sunken diamonds pushed deep into dark sockets; not until you saw one ripped and clawlike hand holding out a bunch of balloons: See the sights, have a balloon, feed the elephants, ride the Chute-the-Chutes! Ben, oh, Ben, how you’ll float—

How did the name misfit even come about?" Sam asked. "It's so... dumb." Willo laughed. "Well, it's really not," she said. "We used to call them all sorts of slang terms: kooks, greasers, killjoys, chumps, and we had to keep changing the name as times changed. We used nerds for a long time, and then we started calling them dweebs." Willo hesitated. "And then a group of kids wasn't so nice to your mom." "I had braces," Deana said. "I had pimples. I had a perm. You do the math." She smiled briefly, but Sam could tell the pain was still there. Deana continued: "And I worked here most of the time so I really didn't get a chance to do a lot with friends after school. It was hard." This time, Willo reached out to rub her daughter's leg. "Your mom was pretty down one Christmas," she said. "All of the kids were going on a ski trip to a resort in Boyne City, but she had to stay here and work during the holiday rush. She was moping around one night, lying on the couch and watching TV..." "... stuffing holiday cookies in my mouth," Deana added. "... and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer came on. She was about to change the channel, but I made her sit back down and watch it with me. Remember the part about the Island of Misfit Toys?" Sam nodded. Willo continued. "All of those toys that were tossed away and didn't have a home because they were different: the Charlie-in-the-Box, the spotted elephant, the train with square wheels, the cowboy who rides an ostrich..." "... the swimming bird," Sam added with a laugh. "And I told your mom that all of those toys were magical and perfect because they were different," Willo said. "What made them different is what made them unique." Sam looked at her mom, who gave her a timid smile. "I walked in early the next morning to open the pie pantry, and your mom was already in there making donuts," Willo said. "She had a big plate of donuts that didn't turn out perfectly and she looked up at me and said, very quietly, 'I want to start calling them misfits.' When I asked her why, she said, 'They're as good as all the others, even if they look a bit different.' We haven't changed the name since.

Not only resemblances exist in things whose analogy is obvious, as when we detect the type of the human hand in the flipper of the fossil saurus, but also in objects wherein there is great superficial unlikeness. Thus architecture is called "frozen music," by De Stael and Goethe. Vitruvius thought an architect should be a musician. "A Gothic church," said Coleridge, "is a petrified religion." Michael Angelo maintained, that, to an architect, a knowledge of anatomy is essential. In Haydn's oratorios, the notes present to the imagination not only motions, as, of the snake, the stag, and the elephant, but colors also; as the green grass. The law of harmonic sounds reappears in the harmonic colors. The granite is differenced in its laws only by the more or less of heat, from the river that wears it away. The river, as it flows, resembles the air that flows over it; the air resembles the light which traverses it with more subtile currents; the light resembles the heat which rides with it through Space. Each creature is only a modification of the other; the likeness in them is more than the difference, and their radical law is one and the same.

When people in this country ask me what it means to be an untouchable, I explain that caste is like racism against blacks here. But then they ask, “How does anyone know what your caste is?” They know caste isn’t visible, like skin color. I explain it like this. In Indian villages and towns, everyone knows everyone else. Each caste has its own special role and its own place to live. The brahmins (who perform priestly functions), the potters, the blacksmiths, the carpenters, the washer people, and so on—they each have their own separate place to live within the village. The untouchables, whose special role—whose hereditary duty—is to labor in the fields of others or to do other work that Hindu society considers filthy, are not allowed to live in the village at all. They must live outside the boundaries of the village proper. They are not allowed to enter temples. Not allowed to come near sources of drinking water used by other castes. Not allowed to eat sitting next to a caste Hindu or to use the same utensils. There are thousands of other such restrictions and indignities that vary from place to place. Every day in an Indian newspaper you can read of an untouchable beaten or killed for wearing sandals, for riding a bicycle.

The Buddha, too, goes into the forest and has conferences there with the leading gurus of his day. Then he goes past them and, after a season of trials and search, comes to the bo tree, the tree of illumination, where he, likewise, undergoes three temptations. The first is of lust, the second of fear, and the third of submission to public opinion, doing as told. In the first temptation, the Lord of Lust displayed his three beautiful daughters before the Buddha. Their names were Desire, Fulfillment, and Regrets - Future, Present, and Past. But the Buddha, who had already disengaged himself from attachment to his sensual character, was not moved. Then the Lord of Lust turned himself into the Lord of Death and flung at the Buddha all the weapons of an army of monsters. But the Buddha had found himself that still point within, which is of eternity, untouched by time. So again, he was not moved, and the weapons flung at him turned into flowers of worship. Finally the Lord of Lust and Death transformed himself into the Lord of Social Duty and argued, "Young man, haven't you read the morning papers? Don't you know what there is to be done today?" The Buddha responded by simply touching the earth with the tips of the fingers of his right hand. Then the voice of the goddess mother of the universe was heard, like thunder rolling on the horizon, saying, "This, my beloved son, has already so given of himself to the world that there is no one here to be ordered about. Give up this nonsense." Whereupon the elephant on which the Lord of Social Duty was riding bowed in worship of the Buddha, and the entire company of the Antagonist dissolved like a dream. That night, the Buddha achieved illumination, and for the next fifty years remained in the world as teacher of the way to the extinction of the bondages of egoism. p171-2

I told you before--you mustn’t let Edward scare you. He’s a bully and a coward. What would Frank Merriwell do if he were you?” Frank Merriwell--I was thoroughly sick of hearing that name. “I don’t care what some dumb guy in a story would do. I’m not going to fight Edward.” “Fight me then.” Hannah raised her fists and danced around on her bare feet, bouncing, ducking, and swinging at the air around my head. “Pretend I’m Edward!” I ducked a punch, and she swung again. “Put up your dukes,” she ordered, “defend yourself, sir.” This time Hannah clipped my chin hard enough to knock me down. Her shirtwaist was completely untucked, her face was smudged, her hair was tumbling down her back and hanging in her eyes. “On your feet, sir,” she shouted. “Let’s see your fighting spirit!” Hannah was making so much noise she didn’t hear John Larkin push aside the branches and enter the grove. When he saw her take another swing at me, he started laughing. Hannah whirled around, her face scarlet, and stared at John. “What do you mean by sneaking up on us like a common Peeping Tom?” “With the noise you’ve been making, you wouldn’t have noticed a herd of rampaging elephants.” John was still laughing, but Hannah was furious. Putting her fists on her hips, she scowled at him. “Well, now you know the truth about me. I’m no lady and I never claimed to be one. I suppose you’ll start taking Amelia Carter for rides in your precious tin lizzie and treating her to sodas at your father’s drugstore. I’m sure she’d never brawl with her brothers.” Theo and I looked at each other. We were both hoping Hannah would make John leave. Before he came along and ruined everything, we’d been having fun. To my disappointment, John didn’t seem to realize he was unwanted. Leaning against a tree, he watched Hannah run her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what you’re so fired up about,” he said. “Why should I want to take Amelia anywhere? I’ve never met a more boring girl. As for her brothers--a little brawling wouldn’t hurt them. Or Amelia either.” Hannah turned away, her face flushed, and John winked at me. “Your sister’s first rate,” he said, “but I wager I know a sight more about boxing than she does. Why not let me show you a thing or two?” Happy again, Hannah smiled at John. “What a grand idea! But go slow, Andrew’s still weak.” When John took off his jacket, I edged closer to Hannah. “I like your lessons,” I said to her, scowling at John. He was rolling up his sleeves, probably to show off his muscles. Next to him, I was nothing but a skinny little baby. He’d knock me flat and everyone would laugh at me.

You may control a mad elephant; You may shut the mouth of the bear and the tiger; Ride the lion and play with the cobra; By alchemy you may earn your livelihood; You may wander through the universe incognito; Make vassals of the gods; be ever youthful; You may walk on water and live in fire: But control of the mind is better and more difficult. In

Dads earned money and kept you fed and clothed and drove you around the place, but mums wrapped their bodies around yours and made you feel safe. Mums were the ones who cried when you cried, but loved your tears all the same because they had the power to make them go away. Mums were there in the night, when dark, twisting fears were wrapping themselves around you. Mums were the ones who lay down close and whispered stories about riding through tropical forests on blue elephants. Mums were the ones who could put their hands on your bare bum and bite your neck and nobody would think it at all unusual. Not fair! He

The idea for elephant-back safaris was initially that of the photographer, socialite, and Africa hand Peter Beard, who suggested to Moore in the 1980s that riding elephants through the bush was unprecedented and would be an incomparable safari.

On 19 November, the Maharaja and his army entered Peshawar. The next day he rode on an elephant through its bazaars—‘the first time in 700 years that the city saw an Indian conqueror ride through its streets’.

You may control a mad elephant; You may shut the mouth of the bear and the tiger; Ride the lion and play with the cobra; By alchemy you may earn your livelihood; You may wander through the universe incognito; Make vassals of the gods; be ever youthful; You may walk on water and live in fire: But control of the mind is better and more difficult.

She smiles and then runs as fast as she can toward them.

then through the Indian Ocean, down around the Cape of Good Hope, and up to the Atlantic. The entirety of the world via water. So many of the places I went exist in my mind like a brochure when I try to recall them. Elephants in Tsavo East National Park, an elevator packed with people riding from Salvador’s upper to lower city. The rippling heat of Delhi and the bright turquoises, saffrons, and fuchsias of women’s saris. I learned about silk and sashimi, about wild animals and barren deserts. I also learned about intractable poverty, caste systems, indigenous tribes—things I might have learned about America if I’d been paying closer attention. But this is perhaps the most profound lesson of travel, that you don’t really know the place and culture you’ve come from until you’ve left it. Today, I think that even if I had someday left the States, without that voyage, I’d have trod the familiar: London, Paris, Amsterdam, Montreal. Instead, Semester at Sea gave me the courage to imagine a different kind of travel, and a blueprint for how to do it. To see the sights, certainly, but to understand that it was meeting people that really mattered. In this, I also count a legacy from my father, the salesman who could talk to anyone about anything.

When I was a boy I once received, as a Christmas gift, a beautiful book of oriental fairy tales. The stories all took place in India. They told of mighty kings riding to war on elephants; of marble palaces with golden domes where lovely princesses were imprisoned; of magic music that came at midnight from an enchanted grove in the jungle.

I’d actually say that trashy simulated concern in the media helps perpetuate the myth that therapy is somehow self-indulgent. I suppose by nature it is a little, but so are all attempts toward better health, like brushing your teeth twice a day or getting a little exercise now and again.

Carol Dweck's

They’re beautiful.” Nick gave her a crooked grin. “And so are you.” She giggled. “Mr. Perrin, are you comparing me to an elephant?” “That probably wouldn’t be in my best interest, would it?” She laughed. “My, but you are a smart fellow.

There’s a heart-wrenching scene in Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, the old stop-motion Christmas TV special, that has always resonated with me. After his run-in with the Abominable Snowman, Rudolph and his buddies seek asylum on the Island of Misfit Toys, a haven for crappy, deformed, and unwanted toys presumably built by an elf with substance abuse issues. There’s the choo-choo train with square wheels, the water pistol that shoots jelly, the cowboy riding an ostrich, the white elephant with pink polka dots, the infelicitously named Charlie-in-the-Box. “Hey we’re all misfits, too!” Rudolph squeals to his newfound friends, and everyone breaks into song. I cry every time I see it.

They mean well, the lot of them,” Sophie fumed as she lifted a naked, happy Kit from a laundry tub of warm water. “Gah-bu-bu!” “They’re getting as meddlesome as His Grace, leaving me to ride by myself for most of the journey, dodging about so Vim must take me in to dinner, then shuffling around with the subtlety of elephants so he sits beside me, as well.” She rubbed noses with the baby. “The worst part was deciding to spend the night here when Morelands is just a few miles farther down the road, and all without consulting me, of course. And Vim, ever so polite through it all.” “Ba-ba-ba.

But if the credits don’t roll the monster isn’t dead yet.

Fear is not necessarily your enemy. Fear can lead you to the truth about yourself.

Well, I’d say a bad therapist is someone who thinks they know how you should live, someone who thinks that their moral compass is more accurate than yours and who believes they are smarter than you because you are in some sort of distress or discomfort. This kind of douchery is fairly common among therapists I have met, and although some people may enjoy being bossed around by a sanctimonious cunt, that’s never really been my thing. I believe that a good therapist is someone who, for want of a more accurate expression, “re-parents” you as an adult. Someone who listens to you describe what you believe is your problem and then offers a different perspective. Perhaps, with a little luck and a lot of skill and patience, that new perspective will help you reach an insight which in turn offers you relief.

Fear doesn’t deal in fact. It lives in untruth and rumor, like a modern politician. It’s a voracious weed that needs just a whiff of uncertainty to thrive, because fear needs to conceal itself from plain sight in order to be really effective. A capricious god whose mind you cannot know, a monstrous foreigner in a far-off land who wants to harm your children. What is hiding in the shadows? Usually nothing.

How you feel is not necessarily how it is. In fact, going by feel without having an idea of where you are in the scheme of things will often get you in very big trouble in life as well as in aviation.

There's a beep. And, in that fraction of a second, I see it all → . . Me in bed, covered in lipstick and talcum powder; falling down the coach aisle; smashing into a hat-stall; climbing under a table; thirty hands in the air; spinning under a spotlight; jumping in the snow; a ponytail, cut off; sitting on a catwalk; standing on a doorstep; my first kiss, on a television set. I see a Japanese fish market and an octopus; a sumo stage; a glass box and a hundred dolls; a shining lake; a zebra crossing; a brand-new sister. I see New York and a governess; a fairground ride; a planetarium; a party; Brooklyn Bridge. Toilet paper and Icarus; dinosaur biscuits; posters; Marrakesh and a monkey; parties of stars. Picnics and coffee; an advertising agency; a doppelganger; an Indian elephant and firework clouds of paint; a cafe, filled with pink. I see Sydney and diving and a fashion show that glittered with gold. In short: I see a whole world, opening behind me. And a new world, opening in front. A world that I fit into perfectly.

When I offered to help him with extra practice, he got all defensive. Small dick syndrome?” She shrugs. “I dunno. Sometimes I feel like some people can’t stand it when you shine brighter than them, and I’m not going to dim myself for anyone.” “You’re amazing, and honestly, you deserve to be worshipped. Any guy or girl who is lucky enough to snag you should respect that. I’m talking like fanning you with palm leaves, and hand feeding you grapes kinda deal.” “You’re right. I do deserve that. Maybe one of those things to carry me around too, or an elephant. Do you think I could get my own elephant to ride around on?” “Probably cruel to the elephant.” Her hand flies up to her mouth. “You’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I guess I’ll have to settle for a Ferrari. Cherry red. Or one in every color to match my lipsticks.

In order to appease the high priests and avoid being murdered, Akhenaten’s son and heir, Tutankhaten (“In the image of Aten”), changed his name to Tutankhamun (“In the image of Amun-Ra”—the old god). The

Why on earth would you do it twice? I have asked myself that many times since and all I can come up with is that I felt like I should.

At the time, I was too much of a pussy to defend myself against the desires of others and too shut down to recognize my own desires.

How in the hell can that creepy guy be a hero to you?” Johnson asked me after we saw The Graduate in the movie theater on his ranch. “All I needed was to see ten minutes of that guy, floating like a big lump in a pool, moving like an elephant in that woman’s bed, riding up and down the California coast polluting the atmosphere, to know that I wouldn’t trust him for one minute with anything that really mattered to me. And if that’s an example of what love seems like to your generation, then we’re all in big trouble. All they did was to scream and yell at each other before getting to the altar. Then after it was over they sat on the bus like dumb mutes with absolutely nothing to say to one another.”35

Riding an elephant is very difficult. It’s like ascending a throne: to climb up and sit on it is a strenuous task and getting down from it is the most difficult of all! Still, one has to go through such experiences sometimes

In my life I've done more suffering than thinking— though I believe one understands better that way. You see, dogs aren't enough any more. People feel so damned lonely, they need company, they need something bigger, stronger, to lean on, something that can really stand up to it all. Dogs aren't enough; what we need is elephants. . . It seems that the elephants Morel was trying to save were purely imaginary and symbolic, a parable, as they say, and that the poor bastard was really defending the old human rights, the rights of man, those noble, clumsy, gigantic, anachronistic survivals of another age - another geological epoch. . . you announce this salvation as coming *soon’— though I suppose that in the language of paleontology, which is not exactly that of human suffering, the word soon’ means a few trifling hun- dred thousands of years. Earth was his kingdom, his place, his field— he belonged. . The lorry was literally stuffed with ‘trophies’: tusks, tails, heads, skins— an orgy of butch- ery. De Vries, was certainly not collecting for museums, because most of them had been so riddled with shot as to be unrecognizable and in any case unsuitable for the pleasure of the eye. I suppose there are things that nothing can kill and that remain forever intact. It’s as if nothing could ever j^ppen to human beings. They’re a species over which it’s not easy to triumph. They’ve a way of rising from the ashes, smiling and holding hands. "Well, I finally got an idea. When he fails, do like me: think about free elephant ride through Africa for hundreds and hundreds of wonderful animals that nothing could be built—either a wall or a fence of barbed wire—passing large open spaces and crush everything in its path, and destroying everything—while they live, nothing is able to stop them—what freedom! And even when they are no longer alive, who knows, perhaps continue to race elsewhere still free. So you begin to torment your claustrophobia, barbed wire, reinforced concrete, complete materialism imagine herds of elephants of freedom, follow them with his eyes never left them on their run and will see you soon feel better ... " years of isolation in the depths of the jungle have no power against a tenacious hope, and that a hundred acres of land at the height of the rainy season are easier to clear than are certain little intimate nooks of our soul. she understood perfectly well how unconvincing this sounded, but she couldn’t help it: it was the truth. He felt that, at his age, patience was ceasing to be a virtue and was becoming a luxury he could less and less afford. He strove for one last time to look at the affair with all the detachment and all the serenity suitable to a man of science. the immense sky, filled with absence. with the impassive face of a man who feels perfectly sure of having the last word. Of course to the pure all things are pure.

Louise M. Moody’s Bucket List • Ride an elephant • See the pyramids in Egypt • Send a message in a bottle • Gaze at the northern lights • Sleep in a castle • Swim with dolphins • Learn sign language • Make a difference • Dance the rumba • Read War and Peace for the third time

Our goal is to architect our experiences to take people down a path that ideally appeals to both the rider’s logic and the elephant’s emotions, biases, and mechanics, but ultimately gets them where they need to end up. This is the beauty of what Walt Disney World accomplishes on their monorail/boat ride. You have a beautiful and

Jardin du Luxembourg A merry-go-round of freshly painted horses sprung from a childish world vividly bright before dispersing in adult oblivion and losing its quaint legendary light spins in the shadows of a burbling circus. Some draw toy coaches but remain upright; a roebuck flashes past, a fierce red lion and every time an elephant ivory-white. As if down in the forest of Fontainebleau a little girl wrapped up in royal blue rides round on a unicorn; a valiant son hangs on to the lion with a frantic laugh, hot fists gripping the handles for dear life; then that white elephant with ivory tusks - an intense scrum of scarves and rumpled socks though the great whirligig is just for fun. The ring revolves until the time runs out, squealing excitedly to the final shout as pop-eyed children gasp there in their grey jackets and skirts, wild bobble and beret. Now you can study faces, different types, the tiny features starting to take shape with proud, heroic grins for the grown-ups, shining and blind as if from a mad scrape.

I’m fine!” Percy yelled as he ran by, followed by a giant screaming bloody murder. He jumped over a burning scorpion and ducked as Hannibal threw a Cyclops across his path. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tyson pounding the Earthborn into the ground like a game of whack-a-mole. Ella was fluttering above him, dodging missiles and calling out advice: “The groin. The Earthborn’s groin is sensitive.” SMASH! “Good. Yes. Tyson found its groin.” “Percy needs help?” Tyson called. “I’m good!” “Die!” Polybotes yelled, closing fast. Percy kept running. In the distance, he saw Hazel and Arion galloping across the battlefield, cutting down centaurs and karpoi. One grain spirit yelled, “Wheat! I’ll give you wheat!” but Arion stomped him into a pile of breakfast cereal. Queen Hylla and Reyna joined forces, forklift and pegasus riding together, scattering the dark shades of fallen warriors. Frank turned himself into an elephant and stomped through some Cyclopes, and Dakota held the golden eagle high, blasting lightning

The church stands no hope of engaging the age of outrage unless we root out the lie that the solution to sin lies anywhere outside of the gospel of Jesus Christ. He is “the true God and eternal life” (1 John 5:20). Salvation is not coming on Air Force One. And Jesus will not come riding on a donkey or an elephant. Those who fail to see such things have been lost to the idolatry of the moment.

One woman, however, was spared. Both Miran and his father asked for the hand of the famously beautiful Lutf un-Nissa. ‘But she declined and sent this reply: “having ridden an elephant before, I cannot now agree to ride an ass.”’87

I want to learn and continue to learn. It's the only way to stay alive.

History is like the blind men describing the elephant. Depending on which area is experienced by each individual who lived it, history will always be described differently and all perspectives are valid. The history of Air America is fascinating, and because of the clandestine nature of the organization, there are many different individual stories that come out of their tenure in Southeast Asia. Weird Neil Hansen's story, fLIGHT, is a gritty, raw and unfiltered look at his Air America days and beyond. Strap in and enjoy the ride!

Domesticating the ant was no easy matter. The little red scientists had not even believed such creatures were possible, because of surface area-to-volume constraints, but there they were, clumping around like intelligent robots, so the little red scientists had to explain them. To get some help they climbed up into the humans' reference books, and read up on ants. They learned about the ants' pheromones, and they synthesized the ones they needed to control the soldier ants of a particularly small docile red species, and after that, they were in business. Little red cavalry. They charged around everywhere on antback, having a fine old time, twenty or thirty of them on each ant, like pashas on elephants. Look close at enough ants and you'll see them, right there on top. But the little red scientists continued to read the texts, and learned about human pheromones. They went back to the rest of the little red people, awestruck and appalled. Now we know why these humans are such trouble, they reported. Humans have no more will than these ants we are riding around on. They are giant meat ants. The little red people tried to comprehend such a travesty of life.

I say suffer, because I believe if you are prejudiced you are committing an act of self robbery, which will severely damage your chance of joy or happiness.

Earth, demon realm, I don't give a shit where. I always have your back." His brows furrowed. "Did you really think otherwise?" "No, but sometimes I feel like I'm living in this crazy big top, riding on the back of an elephant while spinning plates and juggling balls. And I look out at you, the one person in the audience who I always find, who I always make sure is there, and I wonder if today is the day when you'll tire of the circus.

I say suffer, because I believe that if you are a prejudiced; you are committing an act of self robbery, which will severely diminish your chance of joy or happiness. Tribalism is not just a curse for those who are victims of its cruel nonsense, but also for the stubborn evolutionary throwbacks who believe that it has validity as a value judgment .

It’s just hard to go from seeing elephants living their lives in the wild and not being bothered by humans, to seeing them put in a bunker every night and then being forced to take assholes like us on rides.

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Discover the Wonders of Jaipur with Tejofyuk Jaipur, also known as the Pink City, is a treasure trove of history, culture, and architectural marvels. Whether you're a history enthusiast, a culture lover, or simply someone seeking a break from the monotony, a Jaipur trip promises a unique experience. Tejofyuk is here to make your journey seamless and unforgettable with its unparalleled travel services. Why Plan a Jaipur Trip? Jaipur offers something for everyone. From grand palaces and bustling markets to mouth-watering cuisine, every aspect of this city leaves a lasting impression. Here are some highlights that make a Jaipur tour irresistible: 1.Amber Fort: A stunning blend of Hindu and Mughal architecture, Amber Fort is a must-visit. Take an elephant ride or walk up the steep pathways to explore this majestic structure. 2.City Palace: Situated in the heart of Jaipur, the City Palace offers a glimpse into royal living. Its intricate architecture and museum make it a highlight of any Jaipur trip. 3.Hawa Mahal: Known as the "Palace of Winds," this iconic structure features hundreds of small windows designed to keep the palace cool. 4.Jaipur Markets: Shop for traditional jewelry, textiles, and handicrafts at Johari Bazaar and Bapu Bazaar to take a piece of Jaipur back home. How Tejofyuk Enhances Your Jaipur Tour Planning and executing a memorable trip can be overwhelming, but with Tejofyuk, you can relax and enjoy every moment. Here’s how we make a difference: 1.Customizable Packages: Whether you’re traveling solo, with family, or in a group, Tejofyuk offers tailored packages to meet your needs. 2.Comfortable Travel Options: Our fleet includes a variety of vehicles, ensuring your journey is both comfortable and convenient. 3.Experienced Guides: Gain deeper insights into Jaipur’s rich history and culture with our knowledgeable guides. 4.Affordable Rates: Enjoy premium services without breaking the bank. Tips for a Successful Jaipur Trip 1.Plan Ahead: Make a list of places you want to visit and allocate sufficient time to explore each one. 2.Stay Hydrated: Jaipur’s climate can be hot, so keep a water bottle handy. 3.Embrace Local Cuisine: Don’t miss out on trying dal baati churma, laal maas, and ghewar. 4.Book with Tejofyuk: Let us handle the logistics so you can focus on making memories. Conclusion A Jaipur tour is more than just a vacation; it’s an adventure into a world of timeless beauty and vibrant traditions. With Tejofyuk by your side, you’re guaranteed a hassle-free and enriching experience. Start planning your dream Jaipur trip today and let the Pink City captivate your heart. Book now with Tejofyuk and embark on a journey of a lifetime!

Discover the Wonders of Jaipur with Tejofyuk Jaipur, also known as the Pink City, is a treasure trove of history, culture, and architectural marvels. Whether you're a history enthusiast, a culture lover, or simply someone seeking a break from the monotony, a Jaipur trip promises a unique experience. Tejofyuk is here to make your journey seamless and unforgettable with its unparalleled travel services. Why Plan a Jaipur Trip? Jaipur offers something for everyone. From grand palaces and bustling markets to mouth-watering cuisine, every aspect of this city leaves a lasting impression. Here are some highlights that make a jaipur trip irresistible: 1.Amber Fort: A stunning blend of Hindu and Mughal architecture, Amber Fort is a must-visit. Take an elephant ride or walk up the steep pathways to explore this majestic structure. 2.City Palace: Situated in the heart of Jaipur, the City Palace offers a glimpse into royal living. Its intricate architecture and museum make it a highlight of any Jaipur trip. 3.Hawa Mahal: Known as the "Palace of Winds," this iconic structure features hundreds of small windows designed to keep the palace cool. 4.Jaipur Markets: Shop for traditional jewelry, textiles, and handicrafts at Johari Bazaar and Bapu Bazaar to take a piece of Jaipur back home. How Tejofyuk Enhances Your Jaipur Tour Planning and executing a memorable trip can be overwhelming, but with Tejofyuk, you can relax and enjoy every moment. Here’s how we make a difference: 1.Customizable Packages: Whether you’re traveling solo, with family, or in a group, Tejofyuk offers tailored packages to meet your needs. 2.Comfortable Travel Options: Our fleet includes a variety of vehicles, ensuring your journey is both comfortable and convenient. 3.Experienced Guides: Gain deeper insights into Jaipur’s rich history and culture with our knowledgeable guides. 4.Affordable Rates: Enjoy premium services without breaking the bank. Tips for a Successful Jaipur Trip 1.Plan Ahead: Make a list of places you want to visit and allocate sufficient time to explore each one. 2.Stay Hydrated: Jaipur’s climate can be hot, so keep a water bottle handy. 3.Embrace Local Cuisine: Don’t miss out on trying dal baati churma, laal maas, and ghewar. 4.Book with Tejofyuk: Let us handle the logistics so you can focus on making memories. Conclusion A Jaipur tour is more than just a vacation; it’s an adventure into a world of timeless beauty and vibrant traditions. With Tejofyuk by your side, you’re guaranteed a hassle-free and enriching experience. Start planning your dream Jaipur trip today and let the Pink City captivate your heart. Book now with Tejofyuk and embark on a journey of a lifetime!

I forgot about my nerves while I talked to her; she made me forget myself for a while. I can't say anything much nicer about a person.

Fear would have you believe that it starts with a capital letter, but it doesn't, not unless you put it at the start of the sentence or name your cat after it. Fear is not a proper noun. Fear is just fear, just another workday noun or sometimes verb trying to find its place in the lexicon. Like all bullies, it wants you to believe it's tougher than it really is.

up his abode in a suburb. At sunrise on entering the city he saw the king issuing forth by the eastern gate, and raising his hand he cried, "Victory to the king." Now the king being far-sighted, as he was riding along, saw the outstretched hand of the brahmin as he stood on some rising ground, and drawing nigh to him on his elephant he spoke after this manner: Born in what realm and why, I pray, Dost hither come, O brahmin, say; [477] This said, to-day I grant to thee Thy prayer, whatever it may be. Then the brahmin answered him: Four verses, mighty king, to thee Of import deep as is the sea I hither bring; list to them well, Secrets of highest worth they tell. "Great king," he said, "these four verses taught me by the Buddha Kassapa are worth a hundred pieces of money each, and having heard that you take pleasure in libations 1 of soma juice, I am come to teach you." The king was greatly pleased and said, "Master, in this you have done well, but it is impossible for me to turn back. To-day, because it is the Phussa conjunction, it is the day for bathing my head: when I return I will listen to you. Be not dissatisfied with me." And with these words he bade his councillors, saying, "Go ye and in a certain house of a brahmin prepare a couch and arrange a dining place under cover," and he retired into his park. This was girt about by a wall eighteen cubits high and guarded all round by elephants within touch of one another. Then came horses, then chariots, and finally archers and other foot-soldiers—like a mighty troubled ocean was the army that had been transported thither. The king, when he had put off his heavy adornments and had been shaved and shampooed, bathed in all his royal majesty in the lotus tank, and coming up out of the water he stood there clad in bathing garments, and they brought him scented garlands to adorn him. The man-eater thought, "When he is fully dressed, the king must be a heavy weight. I will seize him just when he is light to carry." [478] So shouting and jumping about and whirling a sword above his head as quick as lightning he proclaimed his name, crying, "Ho! here am I, the man-eating robber," and he laid his finger on his forehead 2 and stepped out of the water. As soon as they heard his cry, the elephant-riders with their elephants, the horsemen with their horses, and the charioteers with their chariots