Elgin Quotes

I wanted to destroy everything beautiful I’d never have. Burn the Amazon rain forests. Pump chlorofluorocarbons straight up to gobble the ozone. Open the dump valves on supertankers and uncap offshore oil wells. I wanted to kill all the fish I couldn’t afford to eat, and smother the French beaches I’d never see. I wanted the whole world to hit bottom. I really wanted to put a bullet between the eyes of every endangered panda that wouldn’t screw to save its species and every whale and dolphin that gave up and ran itself aground. I wanted to burn the Louvre. I’d do the Elgin Marbles with a sledge-hammer and wipe my ass with the Mona Lisa. This is my world, now.

Living simply is not about living in poverty or self-inflicted deprivation. It's about living an examined life where one has determined what is truly important and enough … and then just let go of all the rest.

I mean seeing the Elgin marbles this morning gave me the same feeling and I didn’t know, don’t know whether I’m in Rome or Paris. I mean the Louvre and the British Museum hold one together, keep one from going to bits.

This was not me. I was spilling my guts, as some people called it; divulging. It was word vomit and Saphira Elgin had her fingers down my throat. I discovered that private things were mostly sour. They sat spoiling in the corners of your hear for so long that by the time you acknowledged them you were dealing with something rancid. And that's what I did; I threw every rotting thing at her, and she absorbed each one.

The two men sat there together, in the kind of silence that's not empty because it has the thoughts of two longtime friends to fill it.

Satisfactions are fulfillment of the heart. Dissatisfactions are the rumblings of the mind.

We are men, and human words are all we have: even the Word of God is composed actually of the words of men.” (HUNTING THE DIVINE FOX, by Robert Farrar Capon,

But she would learn. Every woman was a prisoner for life; it was not some burden that she bore uniquely. She would have all the company she could ever need. *

First principle: there's no such thing as reality. We make it up by perceiving stimuli from the environment - external or internal - and making statements about it. Everybody perceives stuff, everybody makes up statements about it, everybody - so far as we can tell - agrees enough to get by, so that when I say 'Hand me the coffee' you know what to hand me. And that's reality. Second principle; people get used to a certain kind of reality and come to expect it, and if what they perceive doesn't fit the set of statements everybody's agreed to, either the culture has to go through a kind of fit until it adjusts...or they just blank it out.

Who are we as a species? What evolutionary journey are we on? Do we have the inner potentials to meet the demands of the outer world? Can we rise in our maturity and grow into a healing and healthy relationship with the Earth?

The profundity of that remark reduces me to silence.

To live sustainably, we must live efficiently - not misdirecting or squandering the earth's precious resources. To live efficiently, we must live peacefully for military expenditures represent an enormous diversion of resources from meeting basic human needs. To live peacefully, we must live with a reasonable degree of equity, or fairness, for it is unrealistic to think that, in a communications-rich world, a billion people will except living in absolute poverty while another billion live in conspicuous excess.

Any beginning is also an ending, you know. You can't have just the one.

Women are valued to the degree that they serve the needs of men.

True, everything they’d done so far had failed. But they had learned things! What had happened to the idea of knowledge for the sake of knowledge? Truth for the sake of truth?

Exploring a transformational scenario is a demanding exercise in social imagination that requires compassion, persistence, and patience. This is difficult work.

Any beginning is also an ending, you know. You can’t have just the one.

Do the Elgin marbles or the Rosetta stone 'belong to Britain? These treasures have come to us at the Louvre through various circumstances; they have passed through many places and hands. They are not ours. We are only custodians. Our job is to protect and save them from damage and destruction. But they belong to all of us, all of civilization. They belong to the future.

Elgin himself looked ten years younger, now that he’d cast the die, but I thought exuberance had got the better of him when he strode into the saloon later, threw The Origin of Species on the table and announced: "It’s very original, no doubt, but not for a hot evening. What I need is some trollop." I couldn’t believe my ears, and him a church-goer, too. "Well, my lord, I dunno,” says I. "Tientsin ain’t much of a place, but I’ll see what I can drum up —" "Michel’s been reading Doctor Thorne since Taku," cried he. "He must have finished it by now, surely! Ask him, Flashman, will you?" So I did, and had my ignorance, enlightened.

Please do not shoot us in the balls, EJ Elgin. It is only me, Robby Brees, and my friend, Austin Szerba, who is your next-door neighbor, and we are not rat boys from Mars. We come in peace, and smoking cigarettes.” “Benson

No longer were there “doctors” of anthropology and physics and literature to offend the real doctors and confuse the public; they had put a stop to that, as they had put a stop to so many things that were unseemly and inappropriate.

He stayed carefully away from the profs, he ran the data they gave him without allowing any of it to register in his memory—that’s what you have computers for, so you don’t have to put stuff in your own memory—and that was all he did.

Suppose we begin to use it, as you say we should. And then, as more and more little girls acquire Láadan and being to speak a language that expresses the perceptions of women rather than those of men, reality will begin to change. Isn't that true?

the universe as buzzing with invisible energy and aliveness, patiently growing a garden of cosmic scale. It suggests that we humans, as conscious life forms in this immensity, are very precious. We serve an important purpose for a universe growing conscious forms of life: Through us, the universe sees, knows, feels, and learns. We are learning how to live ever more consciously in a living universe. What matters most is not matter but what is invisible—the aliveness within ourselves, our relationships, and the world around us.

Now, the only song a woman knows is the song she learns at birth, a sorrowin’ song, with the words all wrong, in the many tongues of Earth. The things a woman wants to say, the tales she longs to tell . . . they take all day in the tongues of Earth, and half of the night as well. So nobody listens to what a woman says, except the men of power who sit and listen right willingly, at a hundred dollars an hour . . . sayin’ “Who on Earth would want to talk about such foolish things?” Oh, the tongues of Earth don’t lend themselves to the songs a woman sings! There’s a whole lot more to a womansong, a whole lot more to learn; but the words aren’t there in the tongues of Earth, and there’s noplace else to turn. . . . So the woman they talk, and the men they laugh, and there’s little a woman can say, but a sorrowin’ song with the words all wrong, and a hurt that won’t go away. The women go workin’ the manly tongues, in the craft of makin’ do, but the women that stammer, they’re everywhere, and the wellspoken ones are few. . . . ’Cause the only song a woman knows is the song she learns at birth; a sorrowin’ song with the words all wrong, in the manly tongues of Earth. (a 20th century ballad, set to an even older tune called “House of the Rising Sun”; this later form was known simply as “Sorrowin’ Song, With the Words All Wrong”)

A prisoner hears, “You are sentenced to life”; Nazareth felt that now, more sharply than she had ever had to feel it before. But she would learn. Every woman was a prisoner for life; it was not some burden that she bore uniquely. She would have all the company she could ever need.

What the Acropolis in Athens looked like, including the Parthenon of the gods, is best told today at the British Museum in London, which houses the marble statuary removed by Lord Elgin, the British ambassador to Constantinople in 1801-05, and sold at a knockdown price (only 23 million dollars in our money) to the British Museum a couple of decades later. Although Elgin had or bought the permission of the Turkish sultan then ruling Greece, some contemporaries, including the poet and pro-Greek activist Lord Byron, already denounced the Elgin Marbles as 'pillage.' So the Greek government has claimed since the 1970s, but the British won't return them.

There was no end to the inventiveness of men when their goal was to prove their mastery.

There was no end to the inventiveness of men when their goal was to prove their mastery. It

There’s got to be something you can do with them, or they will literally drive you crazy. Women out of control are a curse—and if you don’t put a stop to it, you’ll regret it bitterly later on.

And of course she had no idea what the actual member itself looked like, apart from the sisters’ surreptitious and intense study of the Elgin Marbles. If it were rather like a piece of liver in texture then it might do well with bacon. That was when she realized the appalling absurdity of what she was doing, coming up with a menu for raw . . . raw cock, that’s what the stable lads had called it.

The language we use to describe and operate in the world affects the way we understand the world, our place in it, and our interactions with one another. Changing our language changes our world. This

Nazareth wasted no time in anything she did, and years of experience with her brood of nine had given her a firm way of bustling another person along that was impressive even to a professional nurse who did professional person-bustling.

I don't hate you. I love you." "I love you, too. God, it's hell!" They decided to be more sensible. The next day they didn't meet in Widener. Elgin stayed in his room, and at three o'clock the phone rang. "It's me--Caroline." "Oh God, you called. I was praying you would. Where are you?" "In the drugstore on the corner." There was silence. "Elgin," she said at last, "did you have any orange juice today?" He ran, down the stairs, along the sidewalk, to the drugstore to have his orange juice.

Is there something I can do for you?” he said. “Good morning.” I straightened myself. “I’m Soo-Lin Lee-Segal, the new admin.” “Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand. “We’ve actually met. I have a son, Lincoln, at Galer Street, in Bee’s class.” “I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course.” The Dev lead, Pablo, popped his head in. “It’s a beautiful day, neighbor.” (Everyone on the team teases Elgin with Mr. Rogers references. It’s a quirk of Elgin’s, apparently, that as soon as he gets inside, like Mr. Rogers, he removes his shoes. Even on his TEDTalk, which I just rewatched, Elgin is standing there in his socks. In front of Al Gore and Cameron Diaz!)

5 PM CHRIS TAKES THE STAGE Announces that before the African lady, there will be a surprise talk, a mind-bender, he promises, on brain-computer interface. People snap out of their truffle-and-bacon haze. Chris introduces Elgin Branch from… wait for it… Microsoft Research. Research is the only half-decent group at MS, but really? Microsoft? Audience deflating. Energy dissipating. 5:45 PM HOLY CRAP Disregard snarkiness of 5 PM post. Give me a second… I’m going to need some time… 7 PM SAMANTHA 2 Thanks for your patience. This talk won’t post on the TED website for a month. In the meantime, let me try to do it justice. Big shout-out to my blogging pal TEDGRRRL for letting me transcribe her phone video. 5 PM Branch puts on headset. On the big screen:

Not every difference of opinion is a disagreement, and not every disagreement has a resolution. From the fact that we differ, it does not follow that at least one of us is wrong. Nor does it follow that we are both right. Each alternative has to be considered on it's merits. To say that there are several ways of being right is not to say that there is no difference between being right and being wrong.

Yet two evenings ago we hazarded going to a ‘reception’ at Lady Elgin’s, in the Faubourg St. Germain, and saw some French, but nobody of distinction. It is a good house, I believe, and she has an earnest face which must mean something. We were invited, and are invited to go every Monday, and that Monday in particular, between eight and twelve. You go in a morning dress, and there is tea. Nothing can be more sans façon, and my tremors (for, do you know, I was quite nervous on the occasion, and charged Robert to keep close to me) were perfectly unjustified by the event. You see it was an untried form of society — like trying a Turkish bath. I expected to see Balzac’s duchesses and hommes de lettres on all sides of me, but there was nothing very noticeable, I think, though we found it agreeable enough.

They are encumbered with secret pregnancies that never come to term. There are no terms, you don’t see. They drag their swollen brains about with them everywhere; hidden in pleats and drapes and cunning pouches; and the unbearable keep kicking, kicking under the dura mater. It is no bloody wonder they have headaches. Hold them to your ear, lumpy as they are, and pale; that roar you hear is the surge of the damned unspeakable being kept back. Stone will not dilate will not stretch will not tear— it shivers. Cleaves. Moves uneasily. At its core the burgundy lava simmers, making room. There are volcanoes at the bottom of the sea. Those pretty green things swaying are their false hair. Deliver us? Ram inward the forceps of the patriarchal paradigm and your infernal medicine and bring forth the ancient offspring with their missing mouths? I think not. Not bloody likely. (20th

Of course!” he said. “I’d love to chat, but I’ve got to get this email out.” He grabbed some headphones from around his neck, put them over his ears, and returned to his laptop. And get this—his headphones weren’t even plugged in! They were those sound-canceling ones! The whole ride to Redmond he never spoke to me again. Now, Audrey, for the past five years we always figured Bernadette was the ghastly one. Turns out her husband is as rude and antisocial as she is! I was so miffed that when I got to work, I Googled Bernadette Fox. (Something I can’t believe I’ve waited until now to do, considering our unhealthy obsession with her!) Everyone knows Elgin Branch is team leader of Samantha 2 at Microsoft. But when I looked her up, nothing appeared. The only Bernadette Fox is some architect in California. I checked all combinations of her name—Bernadette Branch, Bernadette Fox-Branch. But our Bernadette, Bee’s mom, doesn’t exist as far as the Internet is concerned.

Now, the only song a woman knows is the song she learns at birth, a sorrowin’ song, with the words all wrong, in the many tongues of Earth. The things a woman wants to say, the tales she longs to tell . . . they take all day in the tongues of Earth, and half of the night as well. So nobody listens to what a woman says, except the men of power who sit and listen right willingly, at a hundred dollars an hour . . . sayin’ “Who on Earth would want to talk about such foolish things?” Oh, the tongues of Earth don’t lend themselves to the songs a woman sings! There’s a whole lot more to a womansong, a whole lot more to learn; but the words aren’t there in the tongues of Earth, and there’s noplace else to turn. . . . So the woman they talk, and the men they laugh, and there’s little a woman can say, but a sorrowin’ song with the words all wrong, and a hurt that won’t go away. The women go workin’ the manly tongues, in the craft of makin’ do, but the women that stammer, they’re everywhere, and the wellspoken ones are few. . . . ’Cause the only song a woman knows is the song she learns at birth; a sorrowin’ song with the words all wrong, in the manly tongues of Earth. (a 20th century ballad, set to an even older tune called “House of the Rising Sun”; this later form was known simply as “Sorrowin’ Song, With the Words All Wrong”)

Sophia counted six clangs of the bell before Mr. Grayson jolted fully awake. He looked up at her, startled and flushed. As though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. She smiled. Rubbing his eyes, he rose to his feet. “Will I shock you, Miss Turner, if I remove my coat?” Sophia felt a twinge of disappointment. When would he stop treating her with this forced politesse, maintaining this distance between them? How many tales of passionate encounters must she spin before he finally understood that she was no less wicked than he, only less experienced? Perhaps it was time to take more aggressive measures. “By all means, remove your coat.” She tilted her eyes to cast him a saucy look. “Mr. Grayson, I’m not an innocent schoolgirl. You will have to try harder than that to shock me.” His lips curved in a subtle smile. “I’ll take that under advisement.” She watched as he shook the heavy topcoat from his shoulders and peeled it down his arms. He draped the coat over the back of a chair before sitting back down. The damp lawn of his shirt clung to his shoulders and arms. A pleasant shiver rippled down to Sophia’s toes. “It doesn’t suit you anyway,” she said, loading her brush with paint. He gave her a bemused look as he unknotted his cravat and pulled it loose. She inwardly rejoiced. Now, if only she could convince him to do away with his waistcoat…” “The coat,” she explained, when his eyebrows remained raised. “It doesn’t suit you.” “Why not? Is the color wrong?” The sudden seriousness in his tone surprised her. “No, the color is perfectly fine. It’s the cut that’s unflattering. That style is tailored to gentlemen of leisure, lean and slender. But as you are so fond of telling me, Mr. Grayson, you are no gentleman. Your shoulders are too broad for fashion.” “Is that so?” He chuckled as he undid his cuffs. Sophia stared as he turned up his sleeves, baring one tanned muscled forearm, then the other. “What style of garments would best suit me, then?” “Other than a toga?” He rewarded her jest with an easy smile. Sophia dabbed at her canvas, pleased to be making progress at last. “I think you need something less restrictive. Something like a sailor’s garb. Or perhaps a captain’s.” “Truly?” His gaze became thoughtful, then searching. “And even dressed in plain seaman’s clothes, would you still find me handsome enough? In my own way?” “No.” She allowed his brow to crease a moment before continuing. “I should find you surpassingly handsome. In every way.” She mixed paint slowly on her palette and gave him a coy look. “And what of my attire? If you had your way, how would you dress me?” “If I had my way…I wouldn’t.” A thrill raced through Sophia’s body. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes dropped to her lap. She forced her gave back up to meet his. Now was not the moment to lose courage. Nothing held sway over a man’s intentions like jealousy. “Gervais once kept me naked for an entire day so he could paint me.” He blinked. “He painted a nude study of you?” “No. He painted me. I took off my clothes and stretched out on the bed while he dressed me in pigment. Gervais called me his perfect, blank canvas. He painted lavender orchids here”-she traced a small circle just above her breast-“and little vines twining down…” She slid her hand down and noted with delight how his eyes followed its path. “I feigned the grippe and refused to bathe for a week.” Desire and jealous rage warred in his countenance, yet he remained as immobile as one of Lord Elgin’s marble sculptures. What would it take to spur the man into action?

Decades later, we do not watch her as a movie star playing at or around a role, nor are we conscious of her gestures, her slight raising of the eyebrows, the sudden drop of her voice. We do not observe an “artiste” struggling to impress. Grace Kelly, the beautiful actress, disappears when we watch Georgie Elgin in The Country Girl; we see only the real weariness of a woman almost out of strength, almost empty of feeling—except that her feeling, and ours, is indeed too deep for tears.

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Corbett condemned a failure of imagination that devalued the process: the persistent heresy of regarding military and naval strategy as two different subjects that can be dealt with apart, of refusing to see them broadly as mere branches of the great art of war, two branches so intimately intertwined that one can never be treated apart from the other, and least of all when we are dealing with the fundamental problems of Insular or Imperial Defence. Lord Elgin’s Commission had treated the Navy as ‘a negligible quantity’, because it had no authority to consider wider strategic issues.76

From the late eighteenth to the middle of the nineteenth century an influx of dilletantes, academics, artists, writers, travellers and eccentrics descended unto the barren plains of Greece to pick over the marble bones of the past in the hope of finding some meaningful connection with Homer and Thucydides. The Levantine Lunatics, as Lord Byron termed them, many of them British, but also Germans, French and other Westerners, went on to paint, record and loot the past. Marbles, such as those made famous by Lord Elgin, pilfered or otherwise from classical sites, made their way into the country houses and museums of Europe. Byron, although critical of his contemporaries, was in many ways one of them, the difference being that he made a point of appreciating the here and now, the reality of the Oriental present as opposed to the classical past, and embracing the people who lived there even if they were regarded as debased specimens by his fellow travellers.

Judas Rose both articulates and critiques the New World Order that was beginning to develop when Elgin was writing the novel. It also speaks to our new New World Order, in which a patriotic nationalism claiming to support feminist emancipation is activated in the name of a transnational global culture whose economic order is indifferent, at best, to the well-being of women.

I love to discuss WWI American Trench Watches. If you have a question about one of my books, a Waltham Trench Watch or an Elgin Trench Watch drop me a line through my web page at LRF Antique Watches. I'll do my best to get back with you quickly!

The miracle of 1849 was that LaFontaine and Baldwin, with the full co-operation of Elgin, invented a new form of politics that would later be picked up by men like Gandhi and Mandela. They did this by refusing conflict, no matter how unbearable the taunts. In all, a dozen or so people died, not the tens of hundreds or thousands expected or the hundreds of thousands experienced in most other countries. The possibility of another idea of loyalty was affirmed – loyalty to the public good.

...wary as any burnt child with an unfamiliar fire to contend with.

It was her favorite cup, emerald-green china with a rim of silver, and sturdy enough to drink from half awake without worrying that she'd crush it, the last unbroken one of a set used for company meals when she was still in Granny School. She despised the cups her mother and grandmother chose to start their days with, delicate white porcelain with the Brightwater Crest on the side, big enough to hold maybe three good swallows, and so frail they felt like eggshells in your hand. She could face those later in the day if need be, but not before breakfast, and at no time did she admire them.

see you here, lad; old Kaiser Bill couldn’t frighten

A symbol is best answered by a symbol. Not by a . . . meat cleaver.

Confederation Day every blessed year on December 12.

stupid man was the “in charge” position, leaving people who knew what they were doing free to do it, while

They would walk in silence to Adams House, and Elgin would sign Caroline in at the policeman’s room. In silence they would mount the stairs, and Elgin would unlock the door of his room, and then they would fall into each other’s arms, sometimes giggling with relief, sometimes sombre, sometimes almost crying with the joy of this privacy and this embrace. Then,

De Hamiltons hadden een beroemde gast over de vloer, de grote admiraal Nelson. Hij was zojuist teruggekeerd uit egypte. De admiraal sprak niet veel, hij leek volledig in de ban van de vrouw des huizes. De decoraties waarmee zijn uniform behangen was, vroegen glimmend om aandacht. Hamilton merkte op dat hij Napels vreselijk miste, omdat hij zich op Sicilië niet aan zijn liefhebberij van het verzamelenvan antieke schatten kon overgeven. Het viel Elgin op dat 'vrouwe' Hamilton niet veel meer droeg dan een onderjurk, die meer van haar lichaam toonde dan betamelijk was. Ze pronkte met haar borsten. Hij vond die borsten mooi, ze voldeden althans aan het klassiek schoonheidsideaal. Ze wiegde overdreven met haar heupen, wellicht omdat ze die heupen zo vaak gebruikte. Haar donkerbruine gazellenogen keken iedereen doordringend aan. Ze had volle, sensuele lippen en had zich smaakvol opgemaakt.

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The foremost items in the British Museum, the first national gallery to open, in 1759 during the Age of Enlightenment, include the Benin Bronzes, seized from Nigeria; the Rosetta stone, smuggled out of Egypt; and the Elgin Marbles, chipped off the Parthenon in Greece.

The first time the power of art pulled the rug out from under me, I was nineteen years old. It was the early 1970s. I was in Europe for the first time, on my way through Paris to Warsaw with my Polish girlfriend, on a bizarre quest to sell blue jeans behind the Iron Curtain. On that day, during my first pilgrimage to the Louvre, I laid eyes on a painting that seemed the sum of all things. It was a cosmographic perpetual motion machine, a purgatorial charnel house—as far from the warmth of any human sun as anything I’d ever beheld. The moment I saw it, something like Krakatoa went off within me. That painting was Théodore Géricault’s The Raft of the Medusa. Standing before it, I felt the gravitational field of my life shift forever. The Raft of the Medusa is massive in scale, yet its subject matter is as simple as cows in a field, bathers by a river, or a birth in a manger. We see a large raft bearing a crowd of male figures, at the mercy of heaving seas. Their poses suggest a classical frieze, like Elgin marbles from hell—a collective ash heap of individually vivisected souls stripped bare of humanity. Each of the men is marked by a distinct, unforgettable gesture. Some are reckoning with their wounds; others seem to be coming to terms with death; some seem closer to damnation than to life. Every one of them appears hopeless. Our eyes are compelled by shafts of flickering phosphorescent light that rake at angles across the figures in the painting’s foreground, tracing its dark pyramidal structure. It’s a vision of jagged complexity and somehow also of profound grandeur.

It would take a long time for Tay’s panic to subside.  He was trapped inside the ship.  But unlike Lightfoot, he was alive.  He was still alive, and more than that…Elgin Tay was an engineer.

Elgin Tay was not dead.  But he wasn’t far from it.

Elgin Tay touched the walls gingerly with trembling fingers.  He was now standing precariously on the ledge, searching intently for anything else around him.

Mount Elgin students had less than one hour for recreation in a day that stretched from 5:00 a.m. until 9:00 p.m.

Flyers were placed in every seat stating: ‘When, not if, the Lakers win the title, balloons will be released from the rafters, the USC marching band will play Happy Days Are Here Again and broadcaster Chick Hearn will interview Elgin Baylor, Jerry West and Wilt Chamberlain in that order.

She was the boring Elgin, switched at birth with an accountant’s daughter. The one who never missed a payment, who only stayed up late to work. The one who never made a bold, life-changing move for passion.

But I want to do this on my own,” she said, “And I don’t want you because you’re Cadence Elgin of the Elgin Gallery. I want you for you.

The president of the bank tried to dissuade her, but she refused,” Margaret Seward told me as we sat in the Elgin Room of the British Museum that afternoon. “I wish I could have witnessed their exchange.

It is not the leaders, with their fiery speech and flashing eye and self-assertiveness, but the masses who respond that produce great achievement.

That is the curse of mankind--loneliness. Misfortunes, sorrows, sins and wickedness--they all congeal into loneliness.

Earl of Elgin a hundred years ago and are housed in the British Museum.

on the other side of Howrah Bridge which, if one could ignore the stalls and rickshaws and white-clad hurrying crowds, was at first like another Birmingham; and then, in the centre, at dusk, was like London, with the misty, tree-blobbed Maidan as Hyde Park, Chowringhee as a mixture of Oxford Street, Park Lane and Bayswater Road, with neon invitations, fuzzy in the mist, to bars, coffee-houses and air travel, and the Hooghly a muddier, grander Thames, not far away. On a high floodlit platform in the Maidan, General Cariappa, the former commander-in-chief, erect, dark-suited, was addressing a small, relaxed crowd in Sandhurst-accented Hindustani on the Chinese attack. Around and about the prowed, battleship-grey Calcutta trams, bulging at exits and entrances with men in white, tanked away at less than ten miles an hour. Here, unexpectedly and for the first time in India, one was in a big city, the recognizable metropolis, with street names – Elgin, Lindsay, Allenby – oddly unrelated to the people who thronged them: incongruity that deepened as the mist thickened to smog and as, driving out to the suburbs, one saw the chimneys smoking among the palm trees.

In some ways Duane Elgin’s Voluntary Simplicity: Toward a Way of Life That is Outwardly Simple, Inwardly Rich, published in 1981, was the first of these.

On March 14, 1899, this ambiguous arrangement was formalized in a memorandum sent to the Qing Government by Claude MacDonald, the British Minster at Peking. Echoing the East India Company’s language to the 1846–48 boundary commissioners, MacDonald wrote to the Zongli Yamen73 proposing “that for the sake of avoiding any dispute or uncertainty in the future, a clear understanding should be come to with the Chinese Government as to the frontier between the two States.” Yet the memo also went on to assert that “it will not be necessary to mark out the frontier. … The natural frontier is the crest of a range of mighty mountains, a great part of which is quite inaccessible.” It was sufficient from the British perspective to outline the prominent features of the Indus watershed in the memo, and to cite this line described on a map of the “Russo-Chinese frontier brought by the late Minister, Hung Chun, from St. Petersburg, and in possession of the Yamen.”74 The vague description in the letter, which generates to this day much debate between India and China, suggested a line that largely followed what the British understood to be the Indus watershed limit, though they still did not have a satisfactory map to represent the whole region. As the viceroy, Lord Elgin, had earlier written to the Secretary of State for India, “we regret that we have no map to show the whole line either accurately or on a large scale.

there was something so appealing to me about Tiffany’s pragmatism. She reminds me of Suzette Haden Elgin’s character, Responsible of Brightwater

iPhones are not the Elgin Marbles, or Stonehenge, or anything else where part of the miracle is that it lasts.

AT&T to add 200 Illinois jobs 117 words AT&T said it will create about 200 new retail and technician jobs in Illinois. “In today’s economy, there’s no doubt that broadband creates jobs,” AT&T Illinois President Paul La Schiazza said at a news conference Friday at the company’s Michigan Avenue flagship store. Gov. Pat Quinn was also in attendance. The governor thanked AT&T for contributing to a “broadband employment future.” “This investment of AT&T . . . to create more jobs in Illinois — that’s what we have to do over and over again,” Quinn said. The new jobs will be located in Chicago, Aurora, Elgin, Buffalo Grove, Northbrook, Libertyville, Champaign and Springfield, the company said. AT&T employs more than 14,000 workers in Illinois. —Hannah Lutz

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