Fallen And Risen Quotes

A woman fallen has no future; a man risen has no past.

But we were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted into battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen. We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses.

I viewed my fellow man not as a fallen angel, but as a risen ape.

You think so?" The boy looked down at his cross-legged form. He was sitting straight-backed, legs folded neatly in the manner of an Egyptian scribe. "It's two thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine years since Ptolemy died," he said. "He was fourteen. Eight world empires have risen up and fallen away since that day, and I still carry his face. Who do you think's the lucky one?

And now, as I'm lying alone in my own bed, I keep thinking about writhing against him last night, naked and vulnerable. Even after we'd both risen and fallen, peaked and plummeted, even after Marcus was physically shrinking from inside me, I couldn't stop clutching, crying, trying. Trying to pull him deeper, deeper, deeper within. Trying to make him more a part of me than I am myself.

Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven; Summer, with flowers that fell; Remembrance, fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell; Strength without hands to smite; Love that endures for a breath; Night, the shadow of light, And Life, the shadow of death.

We were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments?

As you grow in true spiritual power and understanding you will actually find that many outer rules and regulations will become unnecessary; but this will be because you have really risen above them; never, never, because you have fallen below them. This point in your development, where your understanding of Truth enables you to dispense with certain outer props and regulations, is the Spiritual Coming of Age. When you really are no longer spiritually a minor, you will cease to need some of the outer observances that formerly seemed indispensable; but your resulting life will be purer, truer, freer, and less selfish than it was before; and that is the test.

Never once, did Christ ever utter, "I came here to start a religion" Early Christians did not worship items, relics, wars, or governments.

philosophy I studied philosophy for four years. But I'd trade everything I learned for this passage... quoted in the Britannica: 'But we were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted into battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen. We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses.' Amen.

I know the power names hold better than anyone. Yesterday, I was a girl without an identity, someone risen from the ashes of a dead forest. A girl whose only memories were the movements her body made during a slaughter. Now I have a name. And with that comes the expectation that I’m unchanged,

Let no one mourn that he has fallen again and again: for forgiveness has risen from the grave!

Glory belongs not to the fallen but to those who have fallen and risen again.

You don’t need to look for the kind of love that patches your wounds and builds you a new home within your body. You can do that on your own. You have fallen and you have risen time and time again; you are the living, breathing fragments of your triumphs and your tragedies, stitched together through hurt and hope, and you still shine. You still shine.

I had to first overcome the nightmares: my dreams were populated by menaces, shadows, murderous persecutions, disgusting events and objects, ambiguous sexual relations that excited me while also making me feel guilty. Here, I was a character inferior to my level of consciousness in the real world, capable of misdeeds that I would never have allowed myself to perpetrate while awake. I repeated many times, like a litany, “It is I who dream, just as it is I who am awake, and not a perverse and vulnerable child. The dreams happen in me; they are part of me. All that appears is myself. These monsters are aspects of me that have not been resolved. They are not my enemies. The subconscious is my ally. I must confront the terrible images and transform them.” I often had the same nightmare: I was in a desert, and a psychic entity determined to destroy me would come from the horizon as a huge cloud of negativity. I would wake up screaming and soaked in sweat. Now, tired of this undignified flight, I decided to offer myself in sacrifice. At the climax of the dream, in a state of lucid terror, I said, “Enough, I will stop wanting to wake up! Abomination, destroy me!” The entity approached threateningly. I stood still, calm. Then, the immense threat dissolved. I woke up for a few seconds, then peacefully went back to sleep. I realized it was I myself who had fed my terrors. I now knew that what terrifies us loses all its power in the moment that we stop fighting it. I began a long period during which whenever I had dreams, instead of running I would face my enemies and ask them what they wanted to tell me. Gradually, the images transformed before me and began to offer me presents: sometimes a ring, other times a golden sphere or a pair of keys. I now understood that just as every devil is a fallen angel, every angel is also a demon that has risen.

We are random animals. That is who we are, and we have only ourselves, nothing more-there is no greater relationship. Long before Darwin, a priest lucid in his madness encountered four chimpanzees on a forlorn island in Africa and hit upon a great truth: We are risen apes, not fallen angels.

Under the trees several pheasants lay about, their plumage dabbled with blood... some feebly twitching a wing, some staring up at the sky... all of them writhing in agony, except the fortunate ones whose tortures had ended during the night... Tess guessed at once the meaning... The birds had been driven down into this corner by some shooting-party; and while those that had dropped dead under the shot had been searched for and carried off, many badly wounded birds had escaped and hidden themselves away, or risen among the thick boughs, where they maintained their position till they grew weaker with loss of blood, when they had fallen one by one... "Poor darlings--to suppose myself the most miserable being on earth in the sight o' such misery as yours... And not a twinge of bodily pain about me! I be not mangled, and I be not bleeding, and I have two hands to feed and clothe me." She was ashamed of herself for the gloom of the night, based on nothing more tangible than a sense of condemnation under an arbitrary law of society which had no foundation in Nature.

... he ran across the road and began to walk at breakneck speed down the hill. He hardly knew where he was walking. Pride and hope and desire like crushed herbs in his heart sent up vapours of maddening incense before the eyes of his mind. He strode down the hill amid the tumult of sudden-risen vapours of wounded pride and fallen hope and baffled desire. They streamed upwards before his anguished eyes in dense and maddening fumes and passed away above him till at last the air was clear and cold again.

There is a massive, irreconcilable conflict between science and religion. Religion was humanity's original cosmology, biology and anthropology. It provided explanations for the origin of the world, life and humans. Science now gives us increasingly complete explanations for those big three. We know the origins of the universe, the physics of the big bang and how the basic chemical elements formed in supernovas. We know that life on this planet originated about 4 billion years ago, and we are all descendants of that original replicating molecule. Thanks to Darwin we know that natural selection is the only workable explanation for the design and variety of all life on this planet. Paleoanthropologists and geneticists have reconstructed much of the human tree of life. We are risen apes, not fallen angels. We are the most successful and last surviving African hominid. Every single person on this Earth, all 7 billion of us, arose 50,000 years ago from small bands of African hunter-gatherers, a total population of somewhere between 600 and 2,000 individuals.

There is no moon. The stars have risen and fallen and given way to a new spread, to the smeared heart of our Milky Way.

I am nobody’s role model. I am a man of many flaws. I have fallen as many times as I have risen but in the end a creator of KLASSIK things.

Gentleman, we're all cruel, we're all monsters, we all make men weep and mothers, and babes at the breast, but of all, let it be settled here, now, of all I am the lowest reptile! I've sworn to amend, and every day I've done the same filthy things. I understand now that such men as I need a blow, a blow of destiny to catch them as with a noose, and bind them by force from without. Never, never should I have risen of myself! But the thunderbolt has fallen. I accept torture of accusation, and my public shame; I want to suffer and by suffering I shall be purified.

Every spoke on the great wheel of luck was visible on a Saturday—there were men rising, risen, just falling, fallen, and at rest—and that night every digger would either drink his sorrow, or his joy.

There weren't really any new immigrants in Miller's Valley at all. You could tell by their last names that people who lived in the area were originally from Germany or Poland or some of the Slavic countries, but they'd been Americans long enough to have flat vowels and made-up minds. When I got older I realized that the majority of people in Miller's Valley were the most discontented kind of Americans, working people whose situations hadn't risen or fallen over generations, but who still carried a little bit of those streets-paved-with-gold illusions and so were always annoyed that the streets were paved with tar. If they were paved at all.

The legends of the Fallen Angels have a basis in actual facts, as all advanced occultists know. The striving for selfish power on the Spiritual Planes inevitably results in the selfish soul losing its spiritual balance and falling back as far as it had previously risen. But to even such a soul, the opportunity of a return is given — and such souls make the return journey, paying the terrible penalty according to the invariable Law.

the fallen of the baboon into the river is the risen of the joy of the crocodile. Though the crocodile becomes happy, it conceals its joy until it deploys all its necessary deft and strength to take captive of the Baboon

A mother must be vigilant. She must be able and willing to wake up ten times during the night to feed her baby. After her intermittent vigil, she must see everything clearly the next morning so that she can notice any changes in her baby. A mother is not permitted to have blurry vision. She must notice if her baby’s wail is too loud or too low. She must know if the child’s temperature has risen or fallen. A mother must not miss any signs.

To say that the frozen silence contracted itself into a yet higher globe of ice were to under-rate the exquisite tension and to shroud it in words. The atmosphere had become a physical sensation. As when, before a masterpiece, the acid throat contracts, and words are millstones, so when the supernaturally outlandish happens and a masterpiece is launched through the medium of human gesture, then all human volition is withered at the source and the heart of action stops beating. Such a moment was this. Irma, a stalagmite of crimson stone, knew, for all the riot of her veins that a page had turned over. At chapter forty? O no! At chapter one, for she had never lived before save in a pulseless preface. How long did they remain thus? How many times had the earth moved round the sun? How many times had the great blue whales of the northern waters risen to spurt their fountains at the sky? How many reed-bucks had fallen to the claws of how many leopards, while that sublime unit of two-figure statuary remained motionless? It is fruitless to ask. The clocks of the world stood still or should have done.

He weeps like a child, catching his breath and hiccuping,his face drenched with tears.We are random animals. That is who we are, and we have only ourselves, nothing more--there is no greater relationship. [..] We are risen does, not fallen angels. Tomás is strangled by loneliness.

You had the physical bullies and the emotional bullies and they both revelled in destroying lives. No, she had no time for them. But there were others whose strength was of a much rarer kind. Not easy to find, because they revealed nothing. They were quiet. They often believed themselves to be much weaker than they were. But when pushed too hard, they surprised themselves, finding they would not back away another step, that a wall had risen in their souls, unyielding, a barrier that could not be passed. To find one such as this was the most precious of discoveries.

He lay on the bed and he felt he might never rise from it. He lay in an enormous torpor. The world was too heavy to bear and it was settling itself onto his chest. He felt old, old. Civilizations had risen and fallen in the brief time that he had lived. He felt that when the old man's head exploded across the snow he should have turned the gun on himself.

When I got older I realized that the majority of people in Miller’s Valley were the most discontented kind of Americans, working people whose situations hadn’t risen or fallen over generations, but who still carried a little bit of those streets-paved-with-gold illusions and so were always annoyed that the streets were paved with tar. If they were paved at all. Maybe

Toward nightfall, Khrenov’s temperature had risen. The thermometer was warm, alive—the column of mercury climbed high on the little red ladder. For a long time he muttered unintelligibly, kept biting his lips and gently shaking his head. Then he fell asleep. Natasha undressed by a candle’s wan flame, and saw her reflection in the murky glass of the window—her pale, thin neck, the dark braid that had fallen across her clavicle. She stood like that, in motionless languor, and suddenly it seemed to her that the room, together with the couch, the table littered with cigarette stubs, the bed on which, with open mouth, a sharp-nosed, sweaty old man slept restlessly—all this started to move, and was now floating, like the deck of a ship, into the black night.

Had the heavens fallen and mixed themselves with the earth, had the people of London risen in rebellion with French ideas of equality,* had the Queen persistently declined to comply with the constitutional advice of her ministers, had a majority in the House of Commons lost its influence in the country,—the utter prostration of the bereft husband could not have been more complete.

No one wanted to listen. Independent thought had been relinquished, with appalling eagerness, it seemed to him, and in its place had risen a stolid resolve to question nothing. Worse, Trull found he could not help himself. Even as he saw the anger grow in the faces of those around him—anger that he dare challenge, that he dare think in ways contrary to theirs, and so threaten their certainty—he was unable to stay silent.

She felt how young her world still was, how pure, how fresh, how empty, despite the civilisations that had risen and fallen while she was away, despite the stories that the people of this land had already woven into the warp and weft of this world, the stories that came to her as dreams. She felt how precious it all was to her, how terrible it would be to lose this world, this universe, to the dark force encroaching upon it.

Governments had risen and fallen; men and women had worked, had starved, had made speeches, had fought, had been tortured, had died. Hope had come and gone, a fugitive in the scented bosom of illusion. Men had learned to sniff the heady dreamstuff of the soul and wait impassively while the lathes turned the guns for their destruction. And through those years, Dimitrios had lived and breathed and come to terms with his strange gods.

Robert crossed Pulteney Bridge with a light step. He grinned at the boy raking odiferous horse manure to the curb and tipped him well for his service. He nodded—with a grin—to the puzzled driver of a hack heading into the city. And he bowed—with a grin—as he stepped aside to allow the weary-looking woman with two toddlers to pass. None to see him would realize that Robert had fallen under the hooves of a racing carriage and risen from the other side unscathed—metaphorically speaking, of course.

Man has risen, not fallen. He can choose to develop his capacities as the highest animal and to try to rise still farther, or he can choose otherwise. The choice is his responsibility, and his alone. There is no automatism that will carry him upward without choice or effort and there is no trend solely in the right direction. Evolution has no purpose; man must supply this for himself. The means to gaining right ends involve both organic evolution and human evolution, but human choice as to what are the right ends must be based on human evolution.

She who ever had remained in the depth of my being, in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses; she who never opened her veils in the morning light, will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song. Words have wooed yet failed to win her; persuasion has stretched to her its eager arms in vain. I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my heart, and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my life. Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers and dreams, she reigned yet dwelled alone and apart. many a man knocked at my door and asked for her and turned away in despair. There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face, and she remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition

Before The Beginning Of Years" Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven; Summer, with flowers that fell; Remembrance, fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell; Strength without hands to smite; Love that endures for a breath; Night, the shadow of light, And life, the shadow of death. And the high gods took in hand Fire, and the falling of tears, And a measure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years; And froth and the drift of the sea; And dust of the laboring earth; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth; And wrought with weeping and laughter, And fashioned with loathing and love, With life before and after And death beneath and above, For a day and a night and a morrow, That his strength might endure for a span With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man. From the winds of the north and the south, They gathered as unto strife; They breathed upon his mouth, They filled his body with life; Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul therein, A time for labor and thought, A time to serve and to sin; They gave him light in his ways, And love, and space for delight, And beauty, and length of days, And night, and sleep in the night. His speech is a burning fire; With his lips he travaileth; In his heart is a blind desire, In his eyes foreknowledge of death; He weaves, and is clothed with derision; Sows, and he shall not reap; His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep.

God’s becoming incarnate in the world is not first and foremost a response to the problem posed by sin. It is instead a climactic moment in a positive movement towards the world, a movement which would have taken place even had there been no such thing as sin. Had Adam not fallen, to put it in traditional language, Christ would still have come into the world, would still have died, and would still have risen again. Rahner does not deny the reality or the gravity of sin and evil, nor does he deny that, in fact, the incarnation, cross and resurrection have something to do with the forgiveness of sin. But this is not all that they are; Christ is not just the remedy for our sins. Sin, as Rahner sees it, cannot be allowed to be the driving motor of the story of God’s involvement with the world.

Some destruction is required to live. We cannot eat rocks and air. Yet why should one organism eat so greedily that all others are imperiled? When we’re finished grazing in the garden, I want there to be some garden left. This is more than aesthetic desire- though surely it is the beautiful complexity of nature that woos me. It is moral desire. To use nature beyond its capacity to restore itself is to destroy the force and process that have given us our lives. We have not fallen from nature, we have risen from it; all human accomplishment, feeling, and belief along with flesh and blood are rooted in that generative power. Even our strange human inwardness that imagines such guiding abstractions as faith, justice, love, and compassion is a gift of nature. The theory of evolution, our long genetic entanglement with all the other living things, is not at odds with theories of the sacred. It locates the sacred in living things. I believe we owe nature the deep sense of gratitude that people once expressed to their gods. The earth’s life is finite, as is my own, and these are the realities I accept with sorrow, the place and the passage made sacred by their limits.

When my prince had fallen, the spirit ofthe depths opened my vision and let me become aware of the birth of the new God. The divine child approached me out of the terrible ambiguity, the hateful-beautiful, the evil-good, the laughable-serious, the sick-healthy, the inhuman-human and the ungodly-godly.129 I understood that the Godl3o whom we seek in the absolute was not to be found in absolute beauty, goodness, seriousness, elevation, humanity or even in godliness. Once the God was there. I understood that the new God would be in the relative. If the God is absolute beauty and goodness, how should he encompass the of life, which is beautiful and hateful, good and evil, laughable and serious, human and inhuman? How can man live in the womb of the God if the Godhead himself attends only to one-half of him?131 If we have risen near the heights of good and evil, then our badness and hatefulness lie in the most extreme torment. Man's torment is so great and the air of the heights so wealc that he can hardly live anymore. The good and the beautiful freeze to the ice of the absolute idea/32 and the bad and hateful become mud puddles full of crazy life. Therefore after his death Christ had to journey to Hell, otherwise the ascent to Heaven would have become impos- sible for him. Christ first had to become his Antichrist, his underworldly brother. No one knows what happened during the three days Christ was in Hell. I have experienced it.133 The men ofyore said that he had preached there to the deceased.134 What they say is true, but do you know how this happened? It was folly and monkey business, an atrocious Hell's masquerade of the holiest mysteries. How else could Christ have saved his Antichrist? Read the unknown books of the ancients, and you will learn much from them. Notice that Christ did not remain in Hell, but rose to the heights in the beyond.135 Our conviction of the value of the good and beautiful has become strong and unshakable, that is why life can extend beyond this and still fulfil everything that lay bound and yearning. But the bound and yearning is also the,hateful and bad. Are you again indignant about the hateful and the bad? Through this you can recognize h()w great are their force and value for life. Do you think that it is dead in you? But this dead can also change into serpents.136These serpents will extinguish the prince ofyour days.

The importance of this will be appreciated by any thinking person who realizes what creatures of moods, feelings and emotion the majority of people are, and how little mastery of themselves they manifest. If you will stop and consider a moment, you will realize how much these swings of Rhythm have affected you in your life — how a period of Enthusiasm has been invariably followed by an opposite feeling and mood of Depression. Likewise, your moods and periods of Courage have been succeeded by equal moods of Fear. And so it has ever been with the majority of persons — tides of feeling have ever risen and fallen with them, but they have never suspected the cause or reason of the mental phenomena. An understanding of the workings of this Principle will give one the key to the Mastery of these rhythmic swings of feeling, and will enable him to know himself better and to avoid being carried away by these inflows and outflows. The Will is superior to the conscious manifestation of this Principle, although the Principle itself can never be destroyed. We may escape its effects, but the Principle operates, nevertheless. The pendulum ever swings, although we may escape being carried along with it.

Since the Enlightenment unfolded in the late 18th century, life expectancy across the world has risen from 30 to 71, and in the more fortunate countries to 81.1 When the Enlightenment began, a third of the children born in the richest parts of the world died before their fifth birthday; today, that fate befalls 6 percent of the children in the poorest parts. Their mothers, too, were freed from tragedy: one percent in the richest countries did not live to see their newborns, a rate triple that of the poorest countries today, which continues to fall. In those poor countries, lethal infectious diseases are in steady decline, some of them afflicting just a few dozen people a year, soon to follow smallpox into extinction. The poor may not always be with us. The world is about a hundred times wealthier today than it was two centuries ago, and the prosperity is becoming more evenly distributed across the world’s countries and people. The proportion of humanity living in extreme poverty has fallen from almost 90 percent to less than 10 percent, and within the lifetimes of most of the readers of this book it could approach zero. Catastrophic famine, never far away in most of human history, has vanished from most of the world, and undernourishment and stunting are in steady decline. A century ago, richer countries devoted one percent of their wealth to supporting children, the poor, and the aged; today they spend almost a quarter of it. Most of their poor today are fed, clothed, and sheltered, and have luxuries like smartphones

robbery by European nations of each other's territories has never been a sin, is not a sin to-day. To the several cabinets the several political establishments of the world are clotheslines; and a large part of the official duty of these cabinets is to keep an eye on each other's wash and grab what they can of it as opportunity offers. All the territorial possessions of all the political establishments in the earth—including America, of course—consist of pilferings from other people's wash. No tribe, howsoever insignificant, and no nation, howsoever mighty, occupies a foot of land that was not stolen. When the English, the French, and the Spaniards reached America, the Indian tribes had been raiding each other's territorial clothes-lines for ages, and every acre of ground in the continent had been stolen and re-stolen 500 times. The English, the French, and the Spaniards went to work and stole it all over again; and when that was satisfactorily accomplished they went diligently to work and stole it from each other. In Europe and Asia and Africa every acre of ground has been stolen several millions of times. A crime persevered in a thousand centuries ceases to be a crime, and becomes a virtue. This is the law of custom, and custom supersedes all other forms of law. Christian governments are as frank to-day, as open and above-board, in discussing projects for raiding each other's clothes-lines as ever they were before the Golden Rule came smiling into this inhospitable world and couldn't get a night's lodging anywhere. In 150 years England has beneficently retired garment after garment from the Indian lines, until there is hardly a rag of the original wash left dangling anywhere. In 800 years an obscure tribe of Muscovite savages has risen to the dazzling position of Land-Robber-in-Chief; she found a quarter of the world hanging out to dry on a hundred parallels of latitude, and she scooped in the whole wash. She keeps a sharp eye on a multitude of little lines that stretch along the northern boundaries of India, and every now and then she snatches a hip-rag or a pair of pyjamas. It is England's prospective property, and Russia knows it; but Russia cares nothing for that. In fact, in our day land-robbery, claim-jumping, is become a European governmental frenzy. Some have been hard at it in the borders of China, in Burma, in Siam, and the islands of the sea; and all have been at it in Africa. Africa has been as coolly divided up and portioned out among the gang as if they had bought it and paid for it. And now straightway they are beginning the old game again—to steal each other's grabbings. Germany found a vast slice of Central Africa with the English flag and the English missionary and the English trader scattered all over it, but with certain formalities neglected—no signs up, "Keep off the grass," "Trespassers-forbidden," etc.—and she stepped in with a cold calm smile and put up the signs herself, and swept those English pioneers promptly out of the country. There is a tremendous point there. It can be put into the form of a maxim: Get your formalities right—never mind about the moralities. It was an impudent thing; but England had to put up with it. Now, in the case of Madagascar, the formalities had originally been observed, but by neglect they had fallen into desuetude ages ago. England should have snatched Madagascar from the French clothes-line. Without an effort she could have saved those harmless natives from the calamity of French civilization, and she did not do it. Now it is too late. The signs of the times show plainly enough what is going to happen. All the savage lands in the world are going to be brought under subjection to the Christian governments of Europe. I am

Dr. Sherman VanMeter has made a career of unpacking the densest areas of scientific endeavor in accessible—if not polite—terms. You’ve written books on everything from astrophysics to zoology. How are you able to achieve expertise in so many disparate fields? There’s a perception that scientific disciplines are separate countries, when in fact science is a universal passport. It’s about exploring and thinking critically, not memorization. A question mark, not a period. Can you give me an example? Sure. Kids learn about the solar system by memorizing the names of planets. That’s a period. It’s also scientifically useless, because names have no value. The question mark would be to say instead, “There are hundreds of thousands of sizable bodies orbiting the sun. Which ones are exceptional? What makes them so? Are there similarities? What do they reveal?” But how do you teach a child to grasp that complexity? You teach them to grasp the style of thinking. There are no answers, only questions that shape your understanding, and which in turn reveal more questions. Sounds more like mysticism than science. How do you draw the line? That’s where the critical thinking comes in. I can see how that applies to the categorization of solar objects. But what about more abstract questions? It works there too. Take love, for example. Artists would tell you that love is a mysterious force. Priests claim it’s a manifestation of the divine. Biochemists, on the other hand, will tell you that love is a feedback loop of dopamine, testosterone, phenylethylamine, norepinephrine, and feel-my-pee-pee. The difference is, we can show our work. So you’re not a romantic, then? We’re who we are as a species because of evolution. And at the essence, evolution is the steady production of increasingly efficient killing machines. Isn’t it more accurate to say “surviving machines”? The two go hand in hand. But the killing is the prime mover; without that, the surviving doesn’t come into play. Kind of a cold way to look at the world, isn’t it? No, it’s actually an optimistic one. There’s a quote I love from the anthropologist Robert Ardrey: “We were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted to battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen.” You used that as the epigraph to your new book, God Is an Abnorm. But I noticed you left out the last line, “We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses.” Why? That’s where Ardrey’s poetic license gets the better of his science, which is a perilous mistake. We aren’t “known among the stars” at all. The sun isn’t pondering human nature, the galaxy isn’t sitting in judgment. The universe doesn’t care about us. We’ve evolved into what we are because humanity’s current model survived and previous iterations didn’t. Simple as that. Why is a little artistic enthusiasm a perilous mistake? Because artists are more dangerous than murderers. The most prolific serial killer might have dozens of victims, but poets can lay low entire generations.

That was when Bill floated slowly up out of the bathwater to hover a foot above the surface.The portion of the tub from which he'd risen was dark and cloudy with gargoyle grit. "Bill!" she cried. "Can't you tell I need a few minutes of privacy?" He held a hand up to shield his eyes. "You done thrashing around in here yet,Jaws?" With his other hand, he wiped some bubbles from his bald head. "You could have warned me that I was about to take a plunge underwater!" Luce said. "I did warn you!" He hopped up to the rim of the tub and tottered across it until he was in Luce's face. "Right as we were coming out of the Announcer. You just didn't hear me because you were underwater!" "Very helpful,thank you." "You needed a bath,anyway," he said. "This is a big night for you, toots." "Why? What's happening?" "What's happening,she asks!" Bill grabbed her shoulder. "Only the grandest ball since the Sun King popped off! And I say,so what if this boum is hosted by his greasy pubescent son? It's still going to be right downstairs in the largest, most spectacular ballroom in Versailles-and everybody's going to be there!" Luce shrugged. A ball sounded fine, but it had nothing to do with her. "I'll clarify," Bill said. "Everyone will be there including Lys Virgily. The Princess of Savoy? Ring a bell?" He bopped Luce on the nose. "That's you.

There’s a quote I love from the anthropologist Robert Ardrey: “We were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted to battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen.

Lily, I..." Her entire body jolted at the sound of her name in his rough tone. There was a deep plea in his voice. Withe her emotions thick in her throat, she turned to look at him. He had risen to his feet and stood there so strong and stern. The rhythm of his breath had slowed, and the strength of his body was undeniable. But it was his vulnerability of spirit that struck her in that moment. He pressed his mouth into a hard line before he cleared his throat and began again. "Believe me, Lily, I want you to touch me." His words were heavy with need. Yes. He desired her- she knew that much to be true.

Most obviously, the federal minimum wage, adjusted for inflation, has fallen by a third over the past half century, even as worker productivity has risen 150 percent. That divergence was politics, pure and simple.

In May “Rock Around the Clock” hit the charts, and it rose to Number One. In June it crossed over to the R&B charts, where it hit Number Four. “Rock Around the Clock” became the best-selling rock record in history, with sales of almost seventeen million to date. But what I find more fascinating, more important about the record, and about Bill Haley, is this: “Rock Around the Clock” was recorded three months before Elvis made his first record, and it was a hit nine months before Elvis appeared on the pop charts. Viewing Haley’s earlier records, such as “Rock the Joint,” as the first white rock-and-roll, and “Rock Around the Clock” as not only the first Number One rock hit, but also the first clear example of rock gone wholly astray, of fake Tin Pan Alley rock, one can plainly see that in the brief span from 1952 to 1955 rock-and-roll had already risen and fallen.

Empires have risen in this world and fallen, and history takes note of few of them. Those that survive in the memories of men do so by virtue of the faults that flawed their greatness. But here in Britain, in my own lifetime, a spark ignited in the breast of one strong man and became a clean, pure flame to light the world, a beacon that might have outshone the great lighthouse of Pharos, had a sudden gust of wilful wind not extinguished it prematurely. In the space of a few, bright years, something new stirred in this land; something unprecedented; something wonderful; and men, being men, perceived it with stunned awe and then, being men, destroyed it without thought, for being new and strange. When it was over, when the light was snuffed out like a candle flame, a young man, full of hurt and bewilderment, asked me to explain how everything had happened. He expected me to know, for I was Merlyn, the Sorcerer, Fount of all Wisdom.

Empires have risen in this world and fallen, and history takes note of few of them. Those that survive in the memories of men do so by virtue of the faults that flawed their greatness. But here in Britain, in my own lifetime, a spark ignited in the breast of one strong man and became a clean, pure flame to light the world, a beacon that might have outshone the great lighthouse of Pharos, had a sudden gust of wilful wind not extinguished it prematurely. In the space of a few, bright years, something new stirred in this land; something unprecedented; something wonderful; and men, being men, perceived it with stunned awe and then, being men, destroyed it without thought, for being new and strange. When it was over, when the light was snuffed out like a candle flame, a young man, full of hurt and bewilderment, asked me to explain how everything had happened. He expected me to know, for I was Merlyn, the Sorcerer, Fount of all Wisdom.

For example, women’s participation in the labour market has generally risen—but above all as cleaners, cashiers and nursing staff. Competition in the labour market has increased overall in the wake of increased gender and ethnic rights. The traditional sexual division of labour in the home, based on the model of the male breadwinner, has declined in favour of equal participation in the labour market (the dual-income model). However, and we shall return to this, in lower segments of the labour market both partners now earn less, so that total household income has fallen.

Frobisher should perhaps have realized that Lottie was a woman who was resistant to salvage. She had risen and fallen like the tide, but she seemed to favour the ebb rather than the flow.

Mind without heart The leaf had fallen, The branch still stood there intact, It was a gradual event and not at all sudden, The fallen leaf, the still existing branch was an undeniable fact, But why did the branch still hang on, waiting for something? As the leaf from the floor looked at it while time consumed it, Maybe the branch wanted to see the leaf on the floor dying, And with its shadow touch it, and feel it; and whisper to it, “There where you grew you shall grow again next season, I will wait for you here throughout the winter, And to do so, I need no motivation because I have my reason, I have loved you and I do not wish to be a quitter,” And finally there was nothing left of the leaf, the fallen and dead leaf, There was only its trace, a faint impression on the soil, This added to the branch’s anguish and grief, For time had robbed her of its every moment of toil, People passed by and trampled the leaf’s almost fossilised impression, Until there was nothing left of the leaf neither on the branch nor on the soil, The branch chided the fate’s paucity and time’s baseless aggression, For they even erased the leaf’s last impression that was as thin as silver foil, By the time winter entered its prime, The branch stood there waiting for it to pass, Not because it wanted to feel the joys of summer time, But it wanted the leaf to re-appear and re-grow so that it could undo time’s act so crass, Time passed by, spring arrived, the branch was filled with leaves, But that leaf never grew again, the same leaf, the fallen one, So the branch misses him and it continuously grieves, But she shows it to no one, because no leaf compares to her dear leaf, the fallen one, Maybe that is why it is beginning to bend, Though it is converted in thousands of fresh leaves, The branch has been unable to cope with the dear leaf’s premature end, So she keeps peeping into time’s graves, To find the grave of the leaf that she lost prematurely, And lie there beside him, and finally fall, Then be together with him timelessly, And say, “For you I too had to fall afterall!” Today the sun has risen but the branch has fallen forever, Exactly where the leaf had fallen, It is a love of different kind, and the branch is a special lover, Who would never let go of what time from her had stolen, After a year the branch too disappeared from the floor, Now there is neither the branch nor the leaf, Time knows it, fate planned it, but I witnessed it; and this I cannot ignore, But knowing they are somewhere together now, even if that be the graveyard of time, is a relief, Time and fate are never obsequious, Because they neither love nor hate, But they are masquerading and pretentious, And they never know how it feels when the branch lies naked in a leafless state, That is time’s and fate’s irony of which they may never know, But you and I who have minds and hearts, Yet become part of a fake and grotesque show, Where either mind thinks without the heart or the heart from mind’s innocence departs!

The lord of the house is not at home, Your Majesty,” she informed me. “Is there anything I can do for you?” “I actually came to see Lord Steldor, if you would escort me to his room.” Now she seemed intrigued, for the reasons behind the annulment of my marriage to the former King had been kept quiet. I could read on her face her desire to eavesdrop. “Certainly, although I don’t know if His Majesty has risen.” “He has,” I said without thought. Not once during our marriage had I woken before him, and I doubted his sleep patterns had changed. With a puzzled glance, she led me up the stairs and into a hallway, stopping before the second door. She knocked on my behalf, and gave another small curtsey when Steldor’s voice invited entry. I opened the door, waiting for her to return to the first floor before entering, catching her regretful glance that she could not dally. Steldor was sitting up on the bed across the room, his legs swung over the side, pulling a shirt carefully over his head. “Should you be doing that so soon?” I asked, for it had only been a week since the lashing. The garment fell over his muscular chest, and he ran a hand through his dark hair. He came to his feet with the hint of a wince. “Making sure I’m cared for is no longer your worry. I’m not certain it ever was.” His mood was a bit dark, and I wondered if I should have given him more time to recover before paying him this visit. “Perhaps what you need is someone to keep you from coming to harm in the first place.” He smirked, turning his back to me to idly straighten his bed coverings. “What is it--did you come here to coddle me or lecture me?” “Both, I suppose.” I was frowning, amazed at how swiftly we had fallen into our old patterns. “I’ve come to talk--and to give you this.” He swiveled to face me as I removed his silver wolf’s head talisman from the pocket of my cloak. “I never expected to see that again,” he said, sounding awed. “Did you face the bitch yourself or get it from Narian?” I smiled at his word choice. “I approached Rava myself--I’ve been known to face down a bitch or two.” He stepped forward to take the pendant from my hand and immediately slipped the chain over his head. “Thank you. I feel better already.” “If you don’t mind my asking, what is the significance of the talisman? When I reclaimed it from Rava, she remarked that it might provide power and protection, and that started me thinking about its purpose.” He chuckled ruefully. “I hate to admit it, but Rava’s right. The wolf brings strength and protection. Depending on the mix of herbs and flowers put inside the talisman, other properties can be added, such as health and healing. The captain gave the pendant to me when I was four, following the death of Terek, at the time I was sent to live with Baelic and Lania. He didn’t want me to think he’d abandoned me or that I was in danger. It was originally his, and his father’s before him. I’ve worn it ever since.” “Then I’m very glad I was able to secure its return.” His eyes met mine, and the color rose in my cheeks, for I was still affected to some degree by his handsome features and soldier’s build. “I suppose that concludes the coddling,” he finally said, crossing his arms and watching me expectantly. “Yes, I suppose it does.

Quintiles, since they’re based on families and households, hide what’s been happening between the genders. During the Golden Age, men of all colors did better than women of all colors; since 1973, however, the tables have turned, and men’s wages have fallen while women’s have risen—and white men, on average, have done worst of all.

Who indeed were these people called the dead? she asked herself. They were people who had lived in the same era and experienced the same events as she. People she hadn't known, whom she had brushed past indifferently on a street corner, whose eyes had lightly touched hers. They were people who had risen in the morning and fallen asleep at night, people with whom she had experienced sunlight, wind, snow and rain. She had born at a certain moment in their lifetimes, and at a certain moment in hers they had humbly departed. How awfully fortuitous to have shared the same era with them; yet she hadn't had the slightest premonition or indication of their deaths. (O 1989: 251)

Prince Yosef glanced at the bright anomaly and also wondered if it would ever cease existing or if it were to be a permanent addition to the night sky. “But then, what is permanent? The stars that men gaze on, are they really there? The atmosphere of the earth, has it always been oxygen? Could it not have been another substance? The animals on the earth, were they always as they were or were there different types?” Yosef pondered. “How often have oceans risen and fallen? “The mysterious light that has been present since Miriam’s conception, does it descend from a star that is real or from a star that had perished eons ago? Do our words somehow remain, captured in the atmosphere, waiting to return to someone’s ears. The internal energy of man—his soul—when it perishes, as it must, will the man whom it embraced be forgotten? “Ideologies, how often do they change? Every generation? Every hundred years? Every thousand years? Mohse wrote the books of constant law! Ezra sealed them, making them unchangeable! But then the Greeks came. They invaded the world with different ideas. Different ways of discerning truth! Cyrus came before them with his Zoroastrianism, challenging the established Marduk! Can Yehuway’s truth reside alongside Greeks and Babylonian philosophers? No. For man is a thing inside Yehuway, and without Yehuway, what can be? Can Yehuway perish leaving us behind?” Yosef shook his head. “No! Yehuway’s essence cannot perish! Nothing exists without Yehuway! The Greeks’ intellect, how cunning is its invasion into the concrete reality of Mohse! Hellenistic thoughts have penetrated and conquered the P’rushim’ and Tz’dukim’ intellect. Immortality of the soul! No resurrection! No angels. Heaven’s reward and hell’s damnation according to one’s earthly deeds! All invasive Greek ideologies that are steadfastly adhering and corrupting the Mosaic truths. The Greeks’ intellect is an infectious intellect, founded on nothing but myth and fantasy. “It is man’s spirit that transcends itself to wait in a holding place in Yehuway’s memory. The Greeks declared a heaven and a hell. A tormenting residence and a rewarding residence. Such invasive thoughts are hideous to me. Paganism at its supreme level! The soul perishes. All thoughts become nonexistent! The body is consumed by the earth’s processes. A well versed man in the laws of Yehuway could not accept anything else! I will teach my son to be aware of false tautologies. “It is the personality of the individual that is remembered by Yehuway and it is that exact personality that is brought back to life. It will come back in a different body. In a different tone of voice. But the mannerisms will be the same. The intellect identical. “Yet, what man can return if the Mashi’ach fails in his mission to ransom man’s sins? What man may dwell alongside his past, risen ancestors if the Mashi’ach fails? What man can be if the Mashi’ach fails? What future can there be? Before Adam was created there was void! What is void? It is nothingness. It is total darkness! Total nonexistence. No thoughts. No light. No stars. No motions of the wind or of the seas.

But now Christ is risen from the dead, and has become the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. – 1 Corinthians 15:20

We are risen apes, not fallen angels—and we now have the evidence to prove it.

It starts in all kinds of ways. First I wanted you. Then I needed you. Then I thought I couldn't live without you. Then I knew I had too. You came into my life and all of the sudden, it all made sense. It made sense that it never worked out with anyone else. I thought you were my person. But then you started taking me for granted. You starting using me. You starting taking more than you were giving. I loved you, and you knew I did and still, you broke me down. Over and over until there was nothing left. Until I became a shell of myself. Until my friends starting worrying about me. Until I had fallen so deep down that I wasn't sure if I was ever going to get out, to be whole again. And you did that. I had to learn the hard way that when you love something too hard, too fast, too much, sometimes you can't be yourself. Sometimes you have to lose yourself to someone else to find out who you truely are. So yes, I loved you. I am not too proud to admit that. I loved you and you ruined me. But not forever. I have risen above all of that, I have become someone smarter, stronger, better than I was before I met you.

Since 2000, motor vehicle deaths only really changed between 2007 and 2009, when deaths fell by more than 20 percent. Why the sudden drop? It wasn’t because of any safety regulations suddenly going into effect in late 2007. The explanation is much more prosaic: during the recession and anemic recovery, people drove a lot less. There is a more basic problem with comparing motor vehicle deaths to firearm deaths. The causes of death are very different (Figure 4). In 2014, 99.4 percent of car deaths were accidental in nature. By contrast, only 1.8 percent of gun deaths were accidental. A staggering 65 percent of gun fatalities are suicides. Although murders and accidental gun death rates have fallen, the firearm suicide rate has risen by 14 percent since 2000 (Figure 5). But the non-firearm suicide rate rose by 49 percent during the same period. The motor vehicle suicide rate went up 53 percent.15 Something is causing a general rise in suicide.

This is my very own Composition in Poems in my publication YOUR TIME IS NOW. THE FUTURE WORLD DESCRIBED BY DANIEL [Daniel Chapter 2] Nebuchadnezzar had a dream which he was unable to cipher, A statue with a head made of fine gold, with chest and arms of silver. Belly and thighs of bronze, and legs of iron displayed, Its feet combined of iron and clay had Nebuchadnezzar amazed. A mighty rock smashed the statue’s feet causing it to sway And after shattering it to bits the wind blew the bits away. The rock covered the earth and Nebuchadnezzar awoke He pondered on this dream and his thoughts were provoked. Magicians, enchanters, sorcerers and astrologers were consulted. But all scratched their heads and Nebuchadnezzar felt insulted. Because the meaning of this dream was beyond their imagination And Nebuchadnezzar felt mad and ordered their execution. But Daniel a captive from Judah offered an explanation, That brought Nebuchadnezzar great jubilation. Daniel said that Nebuchadnezzar was the head of gold His kingdom was strong and he would be bold. But after his kingdom had reached its end. An inferior one would rule again. And yet another would rise after the second had fallen. A kingdom of bronze would be the third to have risen. Following that kingdom there would be a fourth, strong as iron, That kingdom would crush previous empires. It would be divided however as clay and iron cannot mix, But the kingdom of God would rise in its midst. The kingdom of God will be as solid as a rock. No one can crush it, whoever tries will be out of luck. The dream was true and its meaning was certain. The kingdom of God would stand forever unending

Tired eyes repose, yet in dream attune Better days ahead, agrees the evening’s wise moon, As the chorus of stars rise, twinkle, and festoon. I’ve faced the darkness with light and with love; Fallen to the sun, then risen above, Whether storming rain, or enduring tide; I’ve never humbled behind clouds to hide. Don’t cower to fear, and never lose sight, Your power of will exceeds any plight.

In June 1949 the S & P composite index sold at only 6.3 times the applicable earnings of the past 12 months; in March 1961 the ratio was 22.9 times. Similarly, the dividend yield on the S & P index had fallen from over 7% in 1949 to only 3.0% in 1961, a contrast heightened by the fact that interest rates on high-grade bonds had meanwhile risen from 2.60% to 4.50%. This is certainly the most remarkable turnabout in the public’s attitude in all stock-market history.

Sachs says that while generally American incomes have risen since 2005, our happiness has fallen, in part because of social factors like declining trust in the government and our fellow Americans, and weaker social networks.

I have never fallen in love, I have always risen in love

The Lunar Eve, has risen and fallen, I silver the final debt.

The children had been returning from the river, having spent the morning there swimming. The oldest, Iteri, had said that somewhere along the path, Aya must have fallen behind. They hadn’t noticed this at first, but then from somewhere deeper in the forest her screams had risen and in fear, the group had turned and run home to summon the adults. This was the story Iteri and the other children had relayed, and yet Mbambuk was unsure.

Many jobs with normal labour relations, however, consist of indefinite part-time employment (defined as less than twenty-one hours per week), a sector that has more than doubled in size over the last fifteen years. Altogether, by 2016 the number of full-time jobs had fallen by more than a million since 2001, while part-time jobs had risen by 4 million.50 Within the group of atypical labour relations, it is temporary employment that has particularly increased; in 2009, almost every second new job was under a contract of limited duration.51 Precarious conditions, moreover, are not found equally among all groups, but concentrated particularly among the low-skilled.52 In a nutshell, the younger and less skilled you are, the greater your likelihood of atypical employment.

The stocks that had gone up the most did worse as a group than the market in the next few weeks, and the stocks that were the most down did better. Historically, the annualized return was 20 percent from buying the one-tenth of stocks that had fallen most and selling short the tenth that had risen most. We called the system MUD, as it was constructed from the “most-up, most-down” stocks. As UCI mathematician William F. Donoghue would joke, “Thorp, my advice is to buy low and sell high.” The portfolio of long stocks tracked the market and the short portfolio did the opposite, so the two sides together mostly canceled the movement of the market. This gave us what we liked, a market-neutral portfolio. But that portfolio still had larger fluctuations in value than our usual investments, so we put statistical arbitrage aside for the time being.

Caesar had a habit of turning bad omens to his purpose. When he had arrived on the African coast he had tripped and fallen on his face in front of his soldiers. He had declared loudly - with just a trace of humor - that Africa had risen up to embrace its conqueror.

Rochester became a magnet for African Americans in the twentieth century, one of many northern industrial cities that blacks flocked to during their six-decade-long Great Migration from the rural South. From 1950 to 1960, Rochester's total population had declined slightly, from about 332,000 to 319,000. But its black population had risen appreciably over the same period, tripling to nearly 24,000. Those who'd come to Smugtown were hungry for a better life. What they encountered upon their arrival, however, was mainly disappointment. Mirroring trends found across the country, many blacks in Rochester were forced to live in substandard housing as whites fled the urban core. The city's power structure remained almost exclusively white. And many blacks struggled to find decent jobs. Even though the unemployment rate in Rochester had fallen to about 2 percent in the summer of 1964, 14 percent of blacks were counted as without work. The big Kodak dollar and the lawn sprinklers of the suburbs have seemed both tantalizingly near and hopelessly far to the inner-city man," said an African American barber.

Josh opened his Bible and began to read, “But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ is not risen. And if Christ is not risen, then our preaching is empty and your faith is also empty.” He looked across the chasm in the earth at Mackenzie. He spoke loudly so his voice would carry to those in front and behind. “Paul goes on to say, ‘If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men the most pitiable. But now Christ is risen from the dead, and has become the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.’ “Our faith is not in vain. Rev put his faith in Jesus and will be resurrected on the day of Christ’s return. Which, from the looks of things, could be any second now. Rev explained his understanding of the timing concerning the last days, and I think he made a solid argument.

As I mentioned before, we don’t tend to be rational. Most people like buying shares that have risen in value and they like selling shares that have fallen in value. Smart investors don’t do that. They add money to their investments every month. They rebalance once a year.

Most obviously, the federal minimum wage, adjusted for inflation, has fallen by a third over the past half century, even as worker productivity has risen 150 percent.

When you risen consider your steps otherwise you will be fallen.

Even if your own answer to these questions is no, it’s a fact that individuals tend to sell winning investments too quickly and keep losing ones too long. It was verified in 1997 by two researchers, Terrance Odean and Brad Barber. They analyzed the trading records of ten thousand accounts at a large national discount brokerage firm over a seven-year period beginning in 1987 and ending in 1993. Among other findings, their gargantuan research effort highlighted a pair of remarkable facts. First, investors were in fact more likely to sell stocks that had risen in price rather than those that had fallen.

Wars fought and lost, kingdoms risen and fallen.

WeWork’s core business was simple. It leased space, cut it up, and rented out each slice with an upcharge for hip design, flexibility, and regular happy hours. Other companies had risen, and in many cases fallen, by offering more or less the same service, which amounted to a straightforward arbitrage: lease long, rent short, and collect the margin.

I, like a river, Have been turned aside by this harsh age. I am a substitute. My life has flowed Into another channel And I do not recognize my shores. O, how many fine sights I have missed, How many curtains have risen without me And fallen too. How many of my friends I have not met even once in my life, How many city skylines Could have drawn tears from my eyes, I who know only the one city And by touch, in my sleep, I could find it ... And how many poems I have not written, Whose secret chorus swirls around my head And possibly one day Will stifle me ... I know the beginnings and the ends of things, And life after the end, and something It isn’t necessary to remember now. And another woman has usurped The place that ought to have been mine, And bears my rightful name, Leaving me a nickname, with which I’ve done, I like to think, all that was possible. But I, alas, won’t lie in my own grave. But sometimes a madcap air in spring, Or a combination of words in a chance book Or somebody’s smile, suddenly Draws me into that non-existent life. In such a year would such have taken place, Something else in another: travelling, seeing, Thinking, remembering, entering a new love Like entering a mirror, with a dull sense Of treason, and a wrinkle that only yesterday Was absent ... But if, from that life, I could step aside, And see my life such as it is, today, Then at last I’d know what envy means ...

Countless civilizations and cities had risen and fallen and most of their records had disappeared along with them. Those ruins could belong to anyone from a saintlike religion to a cult of evil magicians. Who knew what secrets lay buried there!

eight years younger than me, but the distance between us seemed much more vast now, ages come and gone, civilizations risen and fallen, eons of struggle and suffering.

For instance, in 1820, the average price of a male “hand” between twenty-one and thirty-eight years of age had been $875 (see Figure 6.1). In 1824 that average had fallen to $498. By 1829, prices had risen again, to an average of $596.

The same waves had rolled along these shores for millions of years; dinosaurs once bathed in the same water I now paddled through. During the intervening millennia mountains had risen and fallen and all the plants and animals had been replaced and reinvented. But the water hadn’t changed.

Even if ‘Grexit’ fears have clearly risen, the sky has not fallen,