Geyser Quotes

Every person has the truth in his heart. No matter how complicated his circumstances, no matter how others look at him from the outside, and no matter how deep or shallow the truth dwells in his heart, once his heart is pieced with a crystal needle, the truth will gush forth like a geyser.

I can't believe my reserve of water—from my nose and eyes. I have dormant fluid in my body, every woman does. I don't know if I am a cavern or a river. Once, you said I was a geyser: a hole in the ground—bursting.

Six Buddhist monks in orange robes poured black coffee into small white cups from a large geyser coffee machine

The sin we commit against each other as women is lack of support. We hurt. We hurt each other. We hide. We project. We become mute or duplicitous, and we fester like boiling water until one day we erupt like a geyser. Do we forget we unravel in grief?

What I really hoped for, no doubt, was to come upon one of those lives which begin nowhere, which lead us through marshes and salt flats, trickling away, seemingly without plan, purpose or goal, and suddenly emerge, gushing like geysers, and never cease gushing, even in death.

We walk until there aren't more houses, all the way to the part of the beach where the current makes the waves come in then rush back out so that the two waves clash, water casting up like a geyser. We watch that for a while and then Scottie says, "I wish Mom was here." I'm thinking the exact same thought. That's how you know you love someone, I guess, when you can't experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too. Every day I kept track of anecdotes, occurrences, and gossip, bullet-pointing the news in my head and even rehearsing my stories before telling them to Joanie in bed at night.

If for a moment you are inclined to regard these taluses as mere draggled, chaotic dumps, climb to the top of one of them, and run down without any haggling, puttering hesitation, boldly jumping from boulder to boulder with even speed. You will then find your feet playing a tune, and quickly discover the music and poetry of these magnificent rock piles -- a fine lesson; and all Nature's wildness tells the same story -- the shocks and outbursts of earthquakes, volcanoes, geysers, roaring, thundering waves and floods, the silent uprush of sap in plants, storms of every sort -- each and all are the orderly beauty-making love-beats of Nature's heart.

deep inside me there's a perpetual seething, like the bottom of a geyser, and I keep hoping that things will come to an eruption once and for all, so that I can turn into a different person.

Cover me!' Augustus said as he jumped out from behind the wall and raced toward the school. Isaac fumbled for his controller and then started firing while the bullets rained down on Augustus, who was shot once and then twice but still ran, Augustus shouting,'YOU CAN’T KILL MAX MAYHEM!' and with a final flurry of button combinations, he dove onto the grenade, which detonated beneath him. His dismembered body exploded like a geyser and the screen went red. A throaty voice said, 'MISSION FAILURE,' but Augustus seemed to think otherwise as he smiled at his remnants on the screen. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and shoved it between his teeth. 'Saved the kids' he said. 'Temporarily' I pointed out. 'All salvation is temporary' Augustus shot back. 'I bought them a minute. Maybe that’s the minute that buys them an hour, which is the hour that buys them a year. No one’s gonna buy them forever, Hazel Grace, but my life bought them a minute. And that’s not nothing.

The material came bubbling up inside like a geyser or an oil gusher. It streamed up of its own accord, down my arm and out of my fountain pen in a torrent of six thousand words a day.

Oh, geyser, my geyser, Let us spew then, you and I, Upon this midnight dreary, while we ponder Whose woods are these? For we have not gone gentle into this good night, But have wandered lonely as clouds. We seek to know for whom the bell tolls, So I hope, springs eternal, That the time has come to talk of many things!

Squirting isn’t easy, it has to be said. Then, neither is riding a unicycle. Just as some people sweat more than others, or eat more than others, some girls erupt in surging geysers of vaginal fluids with greater facility and in more generous quantities than others.

What in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier, returning to the range, admire? Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to its nature in seeking its own level: its vastness in the ocean of Mercator's projection: its unplumbed profundity in the Sundam trench of the Pacific exceeding 8000 fathoms: the restlessness of its waves and surface particles visiting in turn all points of its seaboard: the independence of its units: the variability of states of sea: its hydrostatic quiescence in calm: its hydrokinetic turgidity in neap and spring tides: its subsidence after devastation: its sterility in the circumpolar icecaps, arctic and antarctic: its climatic and commercial significance: its preponderance of 3 to 1 over the dry land of the globe: its indisputable hegemony extending in square leagues over all the region below the subequatorial tropic of Capricorn: the multisecular stability of its primeval basin: its luteofulvous bed: its capacity to dissolve and hold in solution all soluble substances including millions of tons of the most precious metals: its slow erosions of peninsulas and islands, its persistent formation of homothetic islands, peninsulas and downwardtending promontories: its alluvial deposits: its weight and volume and density: its imperturbability in lagoons and highland tarns: its gradation of colours in the torrid and temperate and frigid zones: its vehicular ramifications in continental lakecontained streams and confluent oceanflowing rivers with their tributaries and transoceanic currents, gulfstream, north and south equatorial courses: its violence in seaquakes, waterspouts, Artesian wells, eruptions, torrents, eddies, freshets, spates, groundswells, watersheds, waterpartings, geysers, cataracts, whirlpools, maelstroms, inundations, deluges, cloudbursts: its vast circumterrestrial ahorizontal curve: its secrecy in springs and latent humidity, revealed by rhabdomantic or hygrometric instruments and exemplified by the well by the hole in the wall at Ashtown gate, saturation of air, distillation of dew: the simplicity of its composition, two constituent parts of hydrogen with one constituent part of oxygen: its healing virtues: its buoyancy in the waters of the Dead Sea: its persevering penetrativeness in runnels, gullies, inadequate dams, leaks on shipboard: its properties for cleansing, quenching thirst and fire, nourishing vegetation: its infallibility as paradigm and paragon: its metamorphoses as vapour, mist, cloud, rain, sleet, snow, hail: its strength in rigid hydrants: its variety of forms in loughs and bays and gulfs and bights and guts and lagoons and atolls and archipelagos and sounds and fjords and minches and tidal estuaries and arms of sea: its solidity in glaciers, icebergs, icefloes: its docility in working hydraulic millwheels, turbines, dynamos, electric power stations, bleachworks, tanneries, scutchmills: its utility in canals, rivers, if navigable, floating and graving docks: its potentiality derivable from harnessed tides or watercourses falling from level to level: its submarine fauna and flora (anacoustic, photophobe), numerically, if not literally, the inhabitants of the globe: its ubiquity as constituting 90 percent of the human body: the noxiousness of its effluvia in lacustrine marshes, pestilential fens, faded flowerwater, stagnant pools in the waning moon.

Somber Yellowstone Park and its colored hot springs, baby geysers, rainbows of bubbling mud - symbols of my passion.

Emotions blasted into me with such force, I backed up until the wall stopped me. Then there was nowhere to go as a geyser of tormented anguish flooded me, drowning my anger under its depths. It turned into glaciers of ruthless resolve that chilled my sense of betrayal until it crystalized and shattered. Finally, an inferno of love swept over the remains, burning all my hurt with its searing, excruciatingly beautiful flames.

Directly overhead the Milky Way was as distinct as a highway across the sky. The constellations shown brilliantly, except the north, where they were blurred by the white sheets of the Aurora. Now shimmering like translucent curtains drawn over the windows of heaven, the northern lights suddenly streaked across a million miles of space to burst in silent explosions. Fountains of light, pale greens, reds, and yellows, showered the stars and geysered up to the center of the sky, where they pooled to form a multicolored sphere, a kind of mock sun that gave light but no heat, pulsing, flaring, and casting beams in all directions, horizon to horizon. Below, the wolves howled with midnight madness and the two young men stood in speechless awe. Even after the spectacle ended, the Aurora fading again to faint shimmer, they stood as silent and transfixed as the first human beings ever to behold the wonder of creation. Starkmann felt the diminishment that is not self-depreciation but humility; for what was he and what was Bonnie George? Flickers of consciousness imprisoned in lumps of dust; above them a sky ablaze with the Aurora, around them a wilderness where wolves sang savage arias to a frozen moon.

The DFA and organizations like it have pushed and squeezed and elbowed out all the feeling in the world. They have clamped their fists around a geyser to keep it from exploding. But the pressure eventually builds, and the explosion will always come.

... mass cascades of error-correcting bits surged in waves of electromagnetic radiation around the planet's surface. They blasted in vertical geysers 35.786 km upward into space and rained back down at 300 million meters per second. They coursed in bundles of parallel light through fiber conduits only to fan out in bursts of radio across the open air at the whim of tens of millions of grazing fingers coaxing electrons from hundreds of millions of spots on capacitive touch screens a few inches high.

That’s what I wanted. An honest conversation. Not one where my mouth turned into a geyser of random confessions—my bra fits funny, and I once boned that bartender—but a conversation in which those superficial details faded away and we dared to tell the truth about our own suffering. This was the closeness I had always been drinking toward. I drank for other reasons, so many other reasons, but closeness was the richest reward. The part where we locked in on each other, and one person sifted out the contradictions of who they were and how they got there, and the other person just… listened. I’m not sure when I stopped listening. Somehow it became my duty to entertain the masses. To be always on. I stopped being someone who talked with their friends and I started talking at them. Amusing anecdotes, rants deployed on cue. I wasn’t the only one. We were all out there on our social media stages with clever quips and jazz hands. This was not a cultural moment that rewarded quiet contemplation.

put another way, electrons and all other particles are no more substantive or permanent than the form a geyser of water takes as it gushes out of a fountain. They are sustained by a constant influx from the implicate order, and when a particle appears to be destroyed, it is not lost. It has merely enfolded back into the deeper order from which it sprang. A piece of holographic film and the image it generates are also an example of an implicate and explicate order. The film is an implicate order because the image encoded in its interference patterns is a hidden totality enfolded throughout the whole. The hologram projected from the film is an explicate order because it represents the unfolded and perceptible version of the image.

Scratch me and you get grief. It will well up surreptitiously and slip away down any declivity, perhaps undermining the foundations but keeping a low profile and trying not to inconvenience anybody. Scratch my sister at your peril however, because you’ll get rage, a geyser of it, like hitting oil after drilling dry, hot rock for months and it suddenly, shockingly, plumes up into the sky, black and viscous, coating everything as it falls to earth. Take care when you scratch.

You see something beautiful and you can’t believe your eyes. Someone tells you something about…the natural beauty of Iceland…people bathing in thermal springs, among geysers…in fact you’ve seen it in pictures, but still you say you can’t believe it…Although obviously you believe it…Exaggeration is a form of polite admiration…You set it up so the person you’re talking to can say: it’s true…And then you say: incredible. First you can’t believe it and then you think it’s incredible.

Mais, déjà, l'univers fuyait et s'effaçait. Et tous les lamas, les poissons, les arbres et les vallons, les loutres, les souris, la mer, les coquillages et les hippocampes, les nénuphars, les grenouilles, les dodos, les éléphants et les terriers, les geysers, les fils et les filles, les chiens, les chats, les tourtereaux. Et tous les oursons, les ancêtres, les dieux, les temples et les tramways, les canards et les cochons, les arbres de Noël et les ballons, les cafés, les fleurs, les fées, les photos et les films. Et tous les enfants et les papas, et les mamans, les plages et le sable et le souffle blanc quand il fait froid, la sueur sur le front et la neige dans la télévision.

Wilderness is impersonal. It does not care whether you live or die. It does not care how much you love it.

She knew her mother was likely to blow her top like a geyser in Yosemite National Park, but Mary had stopped giving a damn one way or another.

Life leaps like a geyser for those who drill through the rock of inertia.

MARRY JANE: What are you doing here? SPIDER-MAN: A 500 ft. geyser in Washington square and you're wondering what I'm doing here?

The geyser was beautiful, and it splashed everyone, and the splash was so happily received that it felt like a version of Sea World for people who read The New York Times on their phone.

Today, a new life begins. A new promise is made. Like you, I am reborn. My pain will be my power. It geysers out of me. It floods me with rage. I will make them pay. I will walk them to the gates of hell.

Darak heaved the thick branch over his head and crushed yet another soldier who was on the run. His body practically exploded upon impact, sending limbs, a geyser of blood, and pieces of brain matter up towards the stars.

The thing is," said Gilheeny, "is that we live in constant fear of our lives. It makes the blood pressure elevate like an Arabian geyser, and the tension headaches we get would knock the balls off a bull with the twist in the maxillary sinuses themselves.

Terraforming Mars is a primary goal for the twenty-second century. But scientists are looking beyond Mars as well. The most exciting prospects may be the moons of the gas giants, including Europa, a moon of Jupiter, and Titan, a moon of Saturn. The moons of gas giants were once thought to be barren hunks of rock that were all alike, but they are now seen as unique wonderlands, each with its own array of geysers, oceans, canyons, and atmospheric lights. These moons are now being eyed as future habitats for human life.

Plumes of hot meat and bubbles of trapped gases like methane—along with the air from the lungs of the deceased moles—would periodically rise through the mole crust and erupt volcanically from the surface, a geyser of death blasting mole bodies free of the planet.

We all start from radical ignorance in a world that is endlessly strange, vast, complex, intricate, and surprising. Deliverance from ignorance lies in good concepts—inference fountains that geyser out insights that organize and increase the scope of our understanding.

Although Liston was renowned for his success stories—such as the removal of a forty-five-pound scrotal tumor in four minutes; prior to the operation, the poor patient had been forced to carry his scrotum around in a wheelbarrow—he also developed a reputation for the flamboyancy of his surgical failures. For instance, his joy at amputating a patient’s leg at the thigh in less than three minutes was hindered greatly when he realized he had also inadvertently sawed off the patient’s testicles. And perhaps, most famously, another leg amputation performed in less than three minutes had the unfortunate result of killing three people: the patient (who survived the surgery but died of gangrene several days later); his young assistant (whose fingers he accidentally sawed off during surgery and who would also later succumb to gangrene); and “a distinguished surgical spectator” whose coattails Liston also slashed. The man, who found himself surrounded by geysers of blood, was so convinced that the knife had pierced his vitals that he immediately “dropped dead from fright.” It was later described as “the only operation in history with a 300 percent mortality [rate].

Lakes, carillonst, Pools and bells, Fifes and freshets, Harps and wells; Flutes and rivers, Streams, bassoons, Geysers, trumpets, Chimes lagoons, Hear the music, Drink the water, As we poor lambs All go to slaughter. I love you Eliot. Good-bye. I cry. Tears and violins. Hearts and flowers, Flowers and tears. Rosewater, good-bye.

question. On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at first that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even prepared to determine its exact position when two columns of water, projected by the mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred and fifty feet up into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been submitted to the intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had to do neither more nor less than with an aquatic mammal, unknown till then, which threw up from

Come With Me, I Said, And No One Knew (VII) Come with me, I said, and no one knew where, or how my pain throbbed, no carnations or barcaroles for me, only a wound that love had opened. I said it again: Come with me, as if I were dying, and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth or the blood that rose into the silence. O Love, now we can forget the star that has such thorns! That is why when I heard your voice repeat Come with me, it was as if you had let loose the grief, the love, the fury of a cork-trapped wine the geysers flooding from deep in its vault: in my mouth I felt the taste of fire again, of blood and carnations, of rock and scald

Now smiling had been something almost alien to me just a few weeks ago. But over this short period of time, I had rediscovered this art thanks to that noble emotion of love. Joy that had been bottled up inside since childhood now overcame me from deep within just like the healing water reaching folks at hot springs from regions deep below the surface.

Hydrothermal explosions are also a significant risk. They can happen anytime, pretty much anywhere, and without any predictability. “You know, by design we funnel visitors into thermal basins,” Doss told me after we had watched Old Faithful blow. “It’s what they come to see. Did you know there are more geysers and hot springs at Yellowstone than in all the rest of the world combined?

Over and over again the marlin hurls herself from the sea, completely out of the water, flailing from side to side, then crashing once more, sending spray into the air like a geyser. Her eyes are the size of the saucer Padgett had set his coffee cup on that morning, forever ago. They aren’t looking at him, the eyes. They are searching wildly for what has gone wrong with the world, the world that had been hers until she felt the sting of a hook and the weight of horror behind it.

If a fountain could jet bouquets of chrome yellow in dazzling arches of chrysanthemum fireworks, that would be Canada Goldenrod. Each three-foot stem is a geyser of tiny gold daisies, ladylike in miniature, exuberant en masse. Where the soil is damp enough, they stand side by side with their perfect counterpart, New England Asters. Not the pale domesticates of the perennial border, the weak sauce of lavender or sky blue, but full-on royal purple that would make a violet shrink. The daisylike fringe of purple petals surrounds a disc as bright as the sun at high noon, a golden-orange pool, just a tantalizing shade darker than the surrounding goldenrod. Alone, each is a botanical superlative. Together, the visual effect is stunning. Purple and gold, the heraldic colors of the king and queen of the meadow, a regal procession in complementary colors. I just wanted to know why. In composing a palette, putting them together makes each more vivid; just a touch of one will bring out the other. In an 1890 treatise on color perception, Goethe, who was both a scientist and a poet, wrote that “the colors diametrically opposed to each other . . . are those which reciprocally evoke each other in the eye.” Purple and yellow are a reciprocal pair. Growing together, both receive more pollinator visits than they would if they were growing alone. It’s a testable hypothesis; it’s a question of science, a question of art, and a question of beauty. Why are they beautiful together? It is a phenomenon simultaneously material and spiritual, for which we need all wavelengths, for which we need depth perception. When I stare too long at the world with science eyes, I see an afterimage of traditional knowledge. Might science and traditional knowledge be purple and yellow to one another, might they be goldenrod and asters? We see the world more fully when we use both. The question of goldenrod and asters was of course just emblematic of what I really wanted to know. It was an architecture of relationships, of connections that I yearned to understand. I wanted to see the shimmering threads that hold it all together. And I wanted to know why we love the world, why the most ordinary scrap of meadow can rock us back on our heels in awe.

The Undivided Wholeness of All Things Most mind-boggling of all are Bohm's fully developed ideas about wholeness. Because everything in the cosmos is made out of the seamless holographic fabric of the implicate order, he believes it is as meaningless to view the universe as composed of "parts, " as it is to view the different geysers in a fountain as separate from the water out of which they flow. An electron is not an "elementary particle. " It is just a name given to a certain aspect of the holomovement. Dividing reality up into parts and then naming those parts is always arbitrary, a product of convention, because subatomic particles, and everything else in the universe, are no more separate from one another than different patterns in an ornate carpet. This is a profound suggestion. In his general theory of relativity Einstein astounded the world when he said that space and time are not separate entities, but are smoothly linked and part of a larger whole he called the space-time continuum. Bohm takes this idea a giant step further. He says that everything in the universe is part of a continuum. Despite the apparent separateness of things at the explicate level, everything is a seamless extension of everything else, and ultimately even the implicate and explicate orders blend into each other. Take a moment to consider this. Look at your hand. Now look at the light streaming from the lamp beside you. And at the dog resting at your feet. You are not merely made of the same things. You are the same thing. One thing. Unbroken. One enormous something that has extended its uncountable arms and appendages into all the apparent objects, atoms, restless oceans, and twinkling stars in the cosmos. Bohm cautions that this does not mean the universe is a giant undifferentiated mass. Things can be part of an undivided whole and still possess their own unique qualities. To illustrate what he means he points to the little eddies and whirlpools that often form in a river. At a glance such eddies appear to be separate things and possess many individual characteristics such as size, rate, and direction of rotation, et cetera. But careful scrutiny reveals that it is impossible to determine where any given whirlpool ends and the river begins. Thus, Bohm is not suggesting that the differences between "things" is meaningless. He merely wants us to be aware constantly that dividing various aspects of the holomovement into "things" is always an abstraction, a way of making those aspects stand out in our perception by our way of thinking. In attempts to correct this, instead of calling different aspects of the holomovement "things, " he prefers to call them "relatively independent subtotalities. "10 Indeed, Bohm believes that our almost universal tendency to fragment the world and ignore the dynamic interconnectedness of all things is responsible for many of our problems, not only in science but in our lives and our society as well. For instance, we believe we can extract the valuable parts of the earth without affecting the whole. We believe it is possible to treat parts of our body and not be concerned with the whole. We believe we can deal with various problems in our society, such as crime, poverty, and drug addiction, without addressing the problems in our society as a whole, and so on. In his writings Bohm argues passionately that our current way of fragmenting the world into parts not only doesn't work, but may even lead to our extinction.

ELECTION DAY, NOVEMBER, 1884. If I should need to name, O Western World, your powerfulest scene and show, 'Twould not be you, Niagara—nor you, ye limitless prairies—nor your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado, Nor you, Yosemite—nor Yellowstone, with all its spasmic geyser- loops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing, Nor Oregon's white cones—nor Huron's belt of mighty lakes— nor Mississippi's stream: —This seething hemisphere's humanity, as now, I'd name—the still small voice vibrating—America's choosing day, (The heart of it not in the chosen—the act itself the main, the quadriennial choosing,) The stretch of North and South arous'd—sea-board and inland —Texas to Maine—the Prairie States—Vermont, Virginia, California, The final ballot-shower from East to West—the paradox and con- flict, The countless snow-flakes falling—(a swordless conflict, Yet more than all Rome's wars of old, or modern Napoleon's:) the peaceful choice of all, Or good or ill humanity—welcoming the darker odds, the dross: —Foams and ferments the wine? it serves to purify—while the heart pants, life glows: These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships, Swell'd Washington's, Jefferson's, Lincoln's sails.

At a chain coffee bar in San Francisco, I saw a sign near the cream counter that read NAPKINS COME FROM TREES — CONSERVE! In case you missed the first sign, there was a second one two feet away, reading YOU WASTE NAPKINS — YOU WASTE TREES!!! The cups, of course, are also made of paper, yet there’s no mention of the mighty redwood when you order your four-dollar coffee. The guilt applies only to those things that are being given away for free. Were they to charge you ten cents per napkin, they would undoubtedly make them much thinner so you’d need to waste even more in order to fight back the piping hot geyser forever spouting from the little hole conveniently located in the lid of your cup.

I climb out of the Jacuzzi, go to the edge of the pool, curl my toes around the border tiles, and do a standing flip, which I pretzel into a can opener, leaning back just far enough to truly propel a geyser but not so far as to hit my head. Going under, I hear maximal vacuum suckage. Everything shudders. An aquatic bomb explodes. I surface to see that I have drenched half the banshees. They stare at me in saucer-eyed wonderment, because I have just done in one dive what they have failed to do in a hundred- shellacked the ceiling, which is now dripping wet, especially around the central light fixture. I'm kind of disguted with myself for showing off, but it's important to let them know that there are standards in the world.

You’re insane,” she whispered. He shrugged. “Where you’re concerned, I don’t act rationally.” That was the understatement of the century. Nothing was rational about Gavin. He blackmailed her into coming back to Las Vegas and wanted to resume a nonexistent relationship. He made no sense. He wasn’t a homeless psycho or ugly bastard who had to pay for a mail-order bride. He could have anyone. Why fixate on her? And why oh, why did she go off like a geyser every time he touched her? This couldn’t be happening. “I can feed you,” he said and reached for her fork. She slapped his hand away. “I can feed myself.” “You need to keep your strength up,” he said with a straight face. “Fuck you, Gavin,” she hissed. “I can’t wait.” Manny nearly choked on his steak from laughing so hard.

The Sarcophagus needed the strength to withstand Ukrainian weather for an estimated 20 years - time to develop a more permanent solution - and contain the astronomical levels of radiation within. Erecting the enclosure involved a quarter of a million workers, all of whom reached their lifetime maximum dose. In order for the Sarcophagus to be built, the radioactive graphite and reactor fuel first had to be cleared up and buried, so remote control bulldozers were brought in from West Germany, Japan and Russia to dig up the earth. Workers had originally piled up rubble at the base of Unit 4 and poured concrete straight onto it, intending to seal in the radiation, but that didn’t last long. “Geysers are starting to shoot up from the wet concrete. When the liquid falls on the fuel in the pile, there is an atomic excursion or simply a disruption of heat exchange and a rise in temperature. The radiation situation deteriorates sharply”, reported Vasiliy Kizima, chief of the construction project at the time.229

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls. Tennyson’s figures of speech—the wrinkled sea crawling and the falling thunderbolt—appeal to my senses, bringing the imagined picture into sharp focus. They clarify, rather than blur, the picture. His metaphors and simile, rather than calling attention to themselves as figures of speech, illuminate the scene, bringing it vividly to the eye of my imagination. Tennyson’s metaphors and similes are not only concrete and sensory; they are also precise. Not literally precise, of course. Figurative language, by definition, deviates from the literal. Literally speaking, waves are not wrinkles, and the sea has no knees on which to crawl. But within the world Tennyson creates, the figures of speech are accurate; they follow natural laws. In contrast, a phrase like “her tears gushed like a geyser” is inaccurate. Tears might trickle, drip, even flow, but they cannot gush like a geyser, and saying that they do distracts the reader from the sense impression you’re trying to create—unless you’re intentionally employing hyperbole to accomplish some literary purpose. Figurative

Faithful I have sought to be in all my ways Since my conception in fire and in water. “To be a fount of wisdom and purity of spirit Far more prized than veins of gold and silver And to this my soul has aspired. “Not due to my own pursuits That man named me the Faithful Elder. A Higher Oath than mine has fixed My pleasant boundaries And the times of my bursting forth into the open Not of my choosing. “The countenances of multitudes I have beheld And have seen them take delight in my greeting. They throng close to my doorway Men, women and children Eager witnesses of my mystery. “From every corner of the earth, bringing The languages of ancient lands upon their lips And their spices upon their garments. “And what they find takes on a meaning of its own Within each Amidst the resplendent pillar.

Hey…you okay?” Marlboro Man repeated. My heart fluttered in horror. I wanted to jump out of the bathroom window, scale down the trellis, and hightail it out of there, forgetting I’d ever met any of these people. Only there wasn’t a trellis. And outside the window, down below, were 150 wedding guests. And I was sweating enough for all of them combined. I was naked and alone, enduring the flop sweat attack of my life. It figured. It was usually the times I felt and looked my absolute best when I wound up being humbled in some colossally bizarre way. There was the time I traveled to my godmother’s son’s senior prom in a distant city and partied for an hour before realizing the back of my dress was stuck inside my panty hose. And the time I entered the after-party for my final Nutcracker performance and tripped on a rug, falling on one of the guest performers and knocking an older lady’s wineglass out of her frail arms. You’d think I would have come to expect this kind of humiliation on occasions when it seemed like everything should be going my way. “You need anything?” Marlboro Man continued. A drop of sweat trickled down my upper lip. “Oh, no…I’m fine!” I answered. “I’ll be right out! You go on back to the party!” Go on, now. Run along. Please. I beg you. “I’ll be out here,” he replied. Dammit. I heard his boots travel a few steps down the hall and stop. I had to get dressed; this was getting ridiculous. Then, as I stuck my big toe into the drenched leg of my panty hose, I heard what I recognized as Marlboro Man’s brother Tim’s voice. “What’s she doing in there?” Tim whispered loudly, placing particularly uncomfortable emphasis on “doing.” I closed my eyes and prayed fervently. Lord, please take me now. I no longer want to be here. I want to be in Heaven with you, where there’s zero humidity and people aren’t punished for their poor fabric choices. “I’m not sure,” Marlboro Man answered. The geyser began spraying again. I had no choice but to surge on, to get dressed, to face the music in all my drippy, salty glory. It was better than staying in the upstairs bathroom of his grandmother’s house all night. God forbid Marlboro Man or Tim start to think I had some kind of feminine problem, or even worse, constipation or diarrhea! I’d sooner move to another country and never return than to have them think such thoughts about me.

When the new heart given to us through Jesus Christ in the New Covenant becomes corrupt, it is because of a stronghold that has been established and the root is bringing forth its corruption, and not because of sin springing up within it intrinsically (Ezekiel 11:19-20; 36:26-27; II Corinthians 5:17; Galatians 4:6; Romans 5:5). Scripturally, I am convinced there is nothing in the regenerate heart of the New Covenant believer that produces sin, for the old man Adamic geyser of corruption was slain with Christ on Calvary (Romans 6:6). The desires of the flesh, however, still live. The flesh has been hopelessly conditioned in Adam and is conducive to the satanic attraction of the world’s system (Ephesians 2:2). It is God’s decree therefore that we collaborate with Him in the mortifying of its affections and lusts (Galatians 5:24; Colossians 3:5; Romans 7:18; 8:13; 13:14).

three kinds of thermal features in the world: geysers, mud pots, and fumaroles (steam vents), and Yellowstone featured them all.

At 5:00 a.m. the clubs get going properly; the Forbes stumble down from their loggias, grinning and swaying tipsily. They are all dressed the same, in expensive striped silk shirts tucked into designer jeans, all tanned and plump and glistening with money and self-satisfaction. They join the cattle on the dance floor. Everyone is wrecked by now and bounces around sweating, so fast it’s almost in slow motion. They exchange these sweet, simple glances of mutual recognition, as if the masks have come off and they’re all in on one big joke. And then you realize how equal the Forbes and the girls really are. They all clambered out of one Soviet world. The oil geyser has shot them to different financial universes, but they still understand each other perfectly. And their sweet, simple glances seem to say how amusing this whole masquerade is, that yesterday we were all living in communal flats and singing Soviet anthems and thinking Levis and powdered milk were the height of luxury, and now we’re surrounded by luxury cars and jets and sticky Prosecco. And though many westerners tell me they think Russians are obsessed with money, I think they’re wrong: the cash has come so fast, like glitter shaken in a snow globe, that it feels totally unreal, not something to hoard and save but to twirl and dance in like feathers in a pillow fight and cut like papier-mâché into different, quickly changing masks. At 5:00 a.m. the music goes faster and faster, and in the throbbing, snowing night the cattle become Forbeses and the Forbeses cattle, moving so fast now they can see the traces of themselves caught in the strobe across the dance floor. The guys and girls look at themselves and think: “Did that really happen to me? Is that me there? With all the Maybachs and rapes and gangsters and mass graves and penthouses and sparkly dresses?

Anthropologists speculate that previously there was another species of human-like primates that did not have the brand gene. These proto-humans walked upright and developed primitive tools, but couldn't tell Jif from Skippy, and believed Evian and Crystal Geyser were pretty much the same stuff. Scientists marvel at their survival.

SIMONE "It comes up inside me and it won't go away. It comes up, like a slow geyser of thick chemicals, and spreads through me. It makes me want something. I want it so much but I don't know what it is. It comes up from the bottom like a small seed, just floating there, and it bleeds around inside, looking for me." The empty loading dock corridor. Empty trailers. Her shoes on broken glass. Ice cubes. Her hands. SIMONE "And it makes me so sad that I will never figure out what it is, just enough to let it be, all by itself. And because I want it, it won't go away. It needs me to need it. And want me back. I can feel it moving. I can hear it and I can see it. I can almost touch it, and it is some kind of life. It is beautiful and warm and gentle and it is your friend. And then it turns, when you try to put it away, or when you can't carry it anymore, and it isn't allowed.

Larkin was no longer in the living room, but her bags were gone and he heard her in the kitchen. He took off the long-sleeved shirt, then sat in one of the wing chairs to wait. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was getting a bottle of water. He heard the rattle of the refrigerator as she wrestled a bottle from its plastic wrapping. He heard the door close with a plastic kiss and a zippery crack as she twisted off the cap. Her shadow played on the bright kitchen wall, so he knew she was moving, and he heard the dry slap of bare feet. She came out of the kitchen and was halfway into the living room before she saw him, and startled so abruptly a geyser of water squirted into the air.

The man’s arm finally snapped at the elbow and the dagger dropped, and now Solomon Saunders held the dagger, and it was the worst way in the world to kill or be killed, and he felt his stomach erupting and scalding lava spilling over and eating up his insides as he raised his arm and hesitated, and the other soldier grabbed at him, and then Solly came down with a vengeance, and he felt the steel tear ruthlessly into human flesh like it was a chicken, and back and down, and he didn’t hate this man beneath him. “I don’t hate you, goddamn your hari-kari soul!” And down and back, down and back, and hot tears flooding Solly’s cheeks and nausea in his nasty throat and down and back, the man’s chest was a dark bloody geyser gushing blood, his pleading eyes his desperate eyes. “I don’t hate you, Tojo, damn you. I don’t hate you! I don’t even know you—damn you!” The boyish soldier gave up the ghost just as Solly’s steam gave out and he fell forward on top of this very very dead young stranger from the islands of Japan, and all was peace and all was quiet, and brotherhood and all that crap, even as the battle raged around the lucky living bastards who were dying on the strip for freedom.

Alors que le grand U canalisait les eaux pour assécher les terres, il s’égara, contourna la mer du nord, et arriva, très loin, tout au septentrion, dans un pays sans vent ni pluie, sans animaux ni végétaux d’aucune sorte, un haut plateau bordé de falaises abruptes, avec une montagne conique au centre. D’un trou sans fond, au sommet du cône, jaillit une eau d’une odeur épicée et d’un goût vineux, qui coule en quatre ruisseaux jusqu’au bas de la montagne, et arrose tout le pays. La région est très salubre, ses habitants sont doux et simples. Tous habitent en commun, sans distinction d’âge ni de sexe, sans chefs, sans familles. Ils ne cultivent pas la terre, et ne s’habillent pas. Très nombreux, ces hommes ne connaissent pas les joies de la jeunesse, ni les tristesses de la vieillesse. Ils aiment la musique, et chantent ensemble tout le long du jour. Ils apaisent leur faim en buvant de l’eau du geyser merveilleux, et réparent leurs forces par un bain dans ces mêmes eaux. Ils vivent ainsi tous exactement cent ans, et meurent sans avoir jamais été malades. Jadis, dans sa randonnée vers le Nord, l’empereur Mou des Tcheou visita ce pays, et y resta trois ans. Quand il en fut revenu, le souvenir qu’il en conservait, lui fit trouver insipides son empire, son palais, ses festins, ses femmes, et le reste. Au bout de peu de mois, il quitta tout pour y retourner. Koan-tchoung étant ministre du duc Hoan de Ts’i, l’avait presque décidé à conquérir ce pays. Mais Hien-p’eng ayant blâmé le duc de ce qu’il abandonnait Ts’i, si vaste, si peuplé, si civilisé, si beau, si riche, pour exposer ses soldats à la mort et ses feuda¬taires à la tentation de déserter, et tout cela pour une lubie d’un vieillard, le duc Hoan renonça à l’entreprise, et redit à Koan-tchoung les paroles de Hien-p’eng. Koan-tchoung dit : Hien p’eng n’est pas à la hauteur de mes conceptions. Il est si entiché de Ts’i, qu’il ne voit rien au delà. (Lieh-Zi, 5.5) 湯問,5: 禹之治水上也，迷而失塗，謬之一國。濱北海之北，不知距齊州幾千萬里，其國名曰終北，不知際畔之所齊限。无風雨霜露，不生鳥、獸、蟲、魚、草、木之類。四方悉平，周以喬陟。當國之中有山，山名壺領，狀若甔甄。頂有口，狀若員環，名曰滋穴。有水湧出，名曰神瀵，臭過蘭椒，味過醪醴。一源分為四埒，注於山下；經營一國，亡不悉徧。土氣和，亡札厲。人性婉而從，物不競不爭。柔心而弱骨，不驕不忌；長幼儕居，不君不臣；男女雜游，不媒不聘；緣水而居，不耕不稼；土氣溫適，不織不衣；百年而死，不夭不病。其民孳阜亡數，有喜樂，亡衰老哀苦。其俗好聲，相攜而迭謠，終日不輟音。饑惓則飲神瀵，力志和平。過則醉經旬乃醒。沐浴神瀵，膚色脂澤，香氣經旬乃歇。周穆王北遊，過其國，三年忘歸。既反周室，慕其國，惝然自失。不進酒肉，不召嬪御者數月，乃復。管仲勉齊桓公，因遊遼口，俱之其國。幾剋舉，隰朋諫曰：「君舍齊國之廣，人民之眾，山川之觀，殖物之阜，禮義之盛，章服之美，妖靡盈庭，忠良滿朝，肆咤則徒卒百萬，視撝則諸侯從命，亦奚羨於彼，而棄齊國之社稷，從戎夷之國乎？此仲父之耄，柰何從之？」桓公乃止，以隰朋之言告管仲，仲曰：「此固非朋之所及也。臣恐彼國之不可知之也。齊國之富奚戀？隰朋之言奚顧？」

I can remember being surprised to find that kiosk is Turkish – as may be the card game bridge – and that berserk, like geyser and narwhal, is Icelandic: it seems to derive from the name of the bearskin coats worn by the fiercest Norse warriors.

Where the cutting has been wholesale, and has lasted, is in Congress—Congress: the first branch of government, closest to the people; Congress, which on our behalf keeps an eye on all those unelected bureaucrats. Congressmen and -women have sabotaged their own institution’s ability to do that for us. They have smashed the tools it possessed to help fashion laws in the public interest. They have crippled their own capacity to come to independent conclusions as to the nature of the problems such laws would address. Congress has been disabled from inside. Most of this happened in one of those revisions of the House of Representatives’ internal rules when an election flipped the majority party. It was January 1995, and a last-minute geyser of campaign cash had delivered an upset Republican victory two months before. Newt Gingrich held the gavel. The very first provision of the new rules he hammered through on January 5 reads: “In the One Hundred Fourth Congress, the total number of staff of House committees shall be at least one-third less than the corresponding total in the One Hundred Third Congress.” Congressional staffers are the citizens’ subject matter experts. Over years, these scientists and auditors and lawyers and military veterans build up historical knowledge on the complex issues that jostle for House and Senate attention. They help members, who have to be generalists, drill down into specifics. Cut staffs, and members lose the bandwidth to craft wise legislation, the expertise to ask telling questions in hearings—the ability to hold oversight hearings at all. The Congressional Research Service, the Government Accountability Office, the Congressional Budget Office all suffered the cuts. The Office of Technology Assessment was abolished—because, in 1995, what new technology could possibly be poised on the horizon? Democrats, when they regained control of the House, did not repair the damage. Today, the number of staff fielding thousands of corporate lobbyists or fact-checking their jive remains lower than it was a quarter century ago.

Poisonous smoke and sinkholes and boiling geysers

Okay, so we still go back--” Corey began. He stopped, wincing. “Headache?” I said. “Yeah, just hold--” He doubled over with a sharp intake of breath. I grasped his arm. “Corey?” “Bad one,” he panted. “Okay, just--” He let out a howl, his head dropping forward, his hands clutching it. Then he retched. Another heave, and a geyser of Coke sprayed the bushes. I gripped his arm and tugged him until he was sitting, knees up, head between them, panting hard. “Well, that’s new,” Corey muttered between gasps. “And I don’t think I like it.

A ah aller (to go) B bay bébé (baby) C say céréale (cereal) D day décembre (December) E er effacer (erase) F eff fleur (flower) G jay geyser (geyser) H osh hauteur (height) I e idée (idea) J gee jouet (toy)

But once again happiness had eluded me—no, been snatched from me. Rage boiled up, mingling with sadness; my chest compressed into a rumbling geyser.

Alice. This girl has turned me inside out. From her humor, to her beauty, to her backbone, to the way she submits to me. Trusts me. She’s a treasure that I might have never discovered if I’d stayed in London. The mere thought causes panic to well up like a geyser in my chest and I have to stroke my hands down her smooth back to remind myself she’s here.

Lilian?” Kevin placed a hand on Lilian’s shoulder to try and rouse her from whatever spell she was under. “Lilian, are you—” He didn’t get a chance to finish. Mere seconds after he touched her, Lilian was blasted off her feet as her nose became a literal geyser. Crimson ichor sprayed from her nostrils like the eruption of Mount Saint Helens. He and Christine gawked as she flew backwards for several feet, crashed into the ground, rolled, and came to an abrupt stop. “Well,” Kevin began as a crowd of people drew around them to take snapshots of the scene, “that just happened.” Christine could do nothing but nod.

Behind the scenes, in a smaller room provided with geysers for the making of tea and large sinks for washing-up dirty dishes, a band of earnest workers was toiling at cutting bread at high speed to refill the returned empties from the hall in which the locusts were at work. Pile after pile of bread-and-butter was tipped on the plates which arrived, swept clean, through the hatches. The ammunition was provided by a number of women, armed with fierce and flashing breadknives and who brandished them with machine-like skill and precision. Each lady had brought her own tools, the better to get on with the job. Others continually replenished the tea urns from the steaming, spluttering water-boilers. Now and then, as one of the party left the kitchen for some purpose or another, there would be a brief pause whilst the rest criticised, verbally or by appropriate looks and gestures, her dress, demeanour, speed of work, contribution to the communal labours, or style of headgear — all the women wore hats, by the way — behind her back. Then they would turn-to again.

The killers had a few commonalities, by and large. They were young and lawless and lacked formal education. They came of age at a time of collapse, saw no end to the ruin, and no geyser of upward economic mobility besides taking money and things from people who had both.

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A geyser of anxiety had erupted deep inside me and I was spurting fear.

a geyser of moral rebuke, erupting against teenagers who have committed some act of cultural appropriation, against the hiring of an actor for an inappropriate role, against a public speech by someone with unpopular views,

To understand how the first tree appeared on Earth, we must look back more than 3 billion years to Earth’s cooling off and changing from a molten sphere to one that had a solid crust. As it cooled, a thin layer of granite formed over the fiery interior; the hot inner mass contracted; ridges were thrust upward to form mountains; molten lava surged up through cracks, and boiling water rose to the surface. As hot springs that even now gush up out of the Earth show, this process is still going on; geysers and active volcanoes testify to the searing heat that prevails far inside the earth. Scientists believe the water in our oceans today was first released by volcanic action as a gas, which formed the primeval atmosphere. When this vapor reached extremely high altitudes, it condensed into water and fell Earthward. For a long time, however, because the atmospheric temperature was so hot, it resumed its gaseous form before reaching the planet, but eventually, the surface cooled enough so that water began accumulating in liquid form. And then, for literally millions and millions of years, it must have rained continuously, the water sweeping minerals down from the rocks and filling the depressions in the Earth’s face. For

Far off, the geyser-like plumes of whales expelling water caught the star-light—beautiful, strange, and too close for Avery’s liking. “Gorgeous, ain’t they?” said Janx. “You’d never guess what terrors they are.” “I

still recalled the bath of his aristocratic childhood in the late 1860s and early 1870s as less than satisfactory: A call on the hot water supply … did not meet with an effusive or even a warm response. A succession of sepulchral rumblings was succeeded by the appearance of a small geyser of rust coloured water, heavily charged with dead earwigs and bluebottles. This continued for a couple of minutes or so and then entirely ceased. The only perceptible difference between the hot water and the cold lay in its colour and the cargo of defunct life which the former bore on its bosom. Both were stone cold.

Don’t be envious, Meg. I will make up a poem for you later. This will surely please the geyser gods!” I walked forward, spread my arms, and began to improvise:

Darak heaved the thick branch over his head and crushed another soldier, his body practically exploded upon impact, sending limbs, a geyser of blood and pieces of brain matter up towards the stars. - Darak the Minotaur

And we just drive around the fucking island,” said Trin. “We go see some Icelandic motherfuckers doing Icelandic things. Talk to some elves. See some geysers. Real Icelandic shit.

A what?” Danielle asked. “A fumarole. A steam vent. There are four kinds of thermal features in the world and all of them are in Yellowstone: geysers, mudpots, hot springs and fumaroles.

In our little nature metaphor, in which I’m the thundercloud and Ren’s the sun, Matt’s the reeking sulfurous geyser that everyone runs away from. While Ren is warm and always gentlemanly, Matt is, in short, a natural disaster of grade-A douchery.

PLEASE GET AWAY FROM THAT GEYSER! IF IT GOES OFF, THE STEAM WILL SCALD THE FLESH RIGHT OFF OF YOUR BONES!

The fact that geysers often blew their tops, spewing columns of scalding hot water hundreds of feet in the air, wasn’t going to stop me from making some new fans…I mean friends.

From the geyser ventilators autumn winds are blowing down on a thousand business women having baths in Camden Town. Waste pipes chuckle into runnels, steam's escaping here and there, morning trains through Camden cutting shake the Crescent and the Square. Early nip of changeful autumn, dahlias glimpsed through garden doves, at the back precarious bathrooms jutting out from upper floors; and behind their frail partitions business women lie and soak, seeing through the draughty skylight flying clouds and railway smoke. Rest you there, poor unbeloved ones, lap your loneliness in heat. All too soon the tiny breakfast, trolley-bus and windy street!

like a geyser.

But then, he looked up at me with big blue eyes under long beautiful lashes. “It’s just he makes it look so simple, you know?” Yeah, no way I was walking away now. “I take it you have a leak under your sink?” I asked. “A leak? More like a geyser. But the pipe isn’t broken. It’s the part where the pipe changes directions for some reason. I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense to just go straight to where it needs to go instead of looking like a freaking spaghetti highway down there?” “Look, kid, plumbing is like life. If you know what the pipe’s purpose is, where they’re coming from and where they’re going, it all makes sense.” “Oh my god,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Doesn’t that just fucking figure. This was such a shit day. And now I’m stuck in a hardware store with a hotter than fuck stranger who’s talking about plumbing using metaphors like he’s freaking Socrates or some shit.” He glared at me. “Plumbing is like life,” he mimicked. I forced myself not to laugh, which was hard because, in hindsight, it was a pretty stupid thing to say. Instead, I ignored the fact that he called me hot and focused on the fact that he was having a meltdown in the local home improvement store. Apparently not over a burst pipe, but over… well, I wasn’t sure exactly what over, but obviously something bigger than a pipe.

Tears, glistening like crystals under the dazzle of bright lights, appeared on her almost lifeless eyes – eyes that have not yet dried up, despite the copious amount that had flowed through them over the years. When life gives you certain experiences, it creates in you a volcano of unending grief. All that you wish is for this volcano to erupt once, so violently and uncontrollably that it would eventually turn into an island of tranquillity amidst the unhappy seas of your heart. But in a world that loves to shackle even your tears, these dormant volcanoes erupt only in spurts, forcing from their depths an uncontrollable flow of molten lava, or at times milder geyser springs, in the rare silences of your private space.

MILA. Visceral. He wanted visceral. I swear, if anybody so much as mentions 'visceral' to me ever again, as if they had any idea what it was. He wanted me to be a 'geyser of visceral eastern sexual charge'.

, the forest was not cursed at all, nor was it magical in any way. But it was dangerous. The volcano beneath the forest—low-sloped and impossibly wide—was a tricky thing. It grumbled as it slept, while heating geysers till they burst and restlessly worrying at fissures until they grew so deep that no one could find the bottom. It boiled streams and cooked mud and sent waterfalls disappearing into deep pits, only to reappear miles away. There were vents that spewed foul odors and vents that spewed ash and vents that seemed to spew nothing at all—until a person’s lips and fingernails turned blue from bad air, and the whole world started to spin. The only truly safe passage across the forest for an ordinary person was the Road, which was situated on a naturally raised seam of rock that had smoothed over

The roots getting thicker by the year, at first fine lines like lace on the bark of our lives, the skin of our life, the hopes of our life, and then coarsening as more and more wealth and power and energy surges through and at first the roots begin to look like snakes, then like cables and later like giant aqueducts, the hidden heart pounding to the beat of explosives, this massive web becomes fat and arrogant and when the ax sinks in there is nothing but blood, geysers of blood, thick, sticky, virulent. CAUTION: Do not dab it against your tongue. The lab report is never returned to us, we can only guess. But clearly bad blood.

I knew my father… It is true what my uncle said, yeah my father was a brute. He was, he was tough. But also he built and he acted. And there are many people out there who will always tell you ‘No’… and there are a thousand reasons – I mean there always are – a thousand reasons not to. To not act. But he was never one of those. He had a… you know, he had a vitality, a force… that could hurt and it did. But my God, the sheer… the, the… I mean look at it: the lives and the livings and the things that he made… And the money… yeah, the money. The lifeblood, the oxygen of this this… wonderful civilization… The money, the corpuscles of life gushing around this nation… filling men and women all around with desire, quickening their ambition… I mean great geysers of life he willed, of buildings he made stand, of ships, steel hulls… amusements, newspapers, shows and films and life. Bloody, complicated life. He made life happen… and yes he had a terrible force to him and a fierce ambition that could push you to the side… but it was only that human thing, the will to be and to be seen and to do. And now people might want to tend and prune the memory of him to denigrate that force, that magnificent awful force of him but my God I hope it’s in me because if we can’t match his vim, then god knows the future will be sluggish and grey.

I knew my father… It is true what my uncle said, yeah my father was a brute. He was, he was tough. But also he built and he acted. And there are many people out there who will always tell you ‘No’… and there are a thousand reasons – I mean there always are – a thousand reasons not to. To not act. But he was never one of those. He had a… you know, he had a vitality, a force… that could hurt and it did. But my God, the sheer… the, the… I mean look at it: the lives and the livings and the things that he made… And the money… yeah, the money. The lifeblood, the oxygen of this this… wonderful civilization… The money, the corpuscles of life gushing around this nation… filling men and women all around with desire, quickening their ambition… I mean great geysers of life he willed, of buildings he made stand, of ships, steel hulls… amusements, newspapers, shows and films and life. Bloody, complicated life. He made life happen… and yes he had a terrible force to him and a fierce ambition that could push you to the side… but it was only that human thing, the will to be and to be seen and to do. And now people might want to tend and prune the memory of him to denigrate that force, that magnificent awful force of him but my God I hope it’s in me because if we can’t match his vim, then god knows the future will be sluggish and grey.

I knew my father… It is true what my uncle said, yeah my father was a brute. He was, he was tough. But also he built and he acted. And there are many people out there who will always tell you ‘No’… and there are a thousand reasons – I mean there always are – a thousand reasons not to. To not act. But he was never one of those. He had a… you know, he had a vitality, a force… that could hurt and it did. But my God, the sheer… the, the… I mean look at it: the lives and the livings and the things that he made… And the money… yeah, the money. The lifeblood, the oxygen of this this… wonderful civilization… The money, the corpuscles of life gushing around this nation… filling men and women all around with desire, quickening their ambition… I mean great geysers of life he willed, of buildings he made stand, of ships, steel hulls… amusements, newspapers, shows and films and life. Bloody, complicated life. He made life happen… and yes he had a terrible force to him and a fierce ambition that could push you to the side… but it was only that human thing, the will to be and to be seen and to do. And now people might want to tend and prune the memory of him to denigrate that force, that magnificent awful force of him but my God I hope it’s in me because if we can’t match his vim, then god knows the future will be sluggish and grey.

Historically, wolf trappers staked traps in the earth so that a trapped animal was stuck at a single location. This made it easier for the trapper to find his quarry, but it caused a great deal of stress for the animal. Stake-trapped animals often struggle so violently against the metal clinching their legs that they severely injure themselves. By not staking their traps, and by adding features like a drag with a coil spring and swivel - which reduces the strain from the pointed prongs when it’s being dragged - the red wolf program allows a trapped animal to continue moving and to seek refuge. In theory, this makes the trapping experience less stressful, both physically and mentally, for the animals. It can also make them harder to locate. “Please take it off,” I blurted. The sight of the metal trap biting Ryan’s hand shot adrenaline up and down my spine. Even though he claimed it didn’t hurt, I still expected geysers of blood to spout at any second. Ryan paused, clearly taken aback. Then he grinned like a jester and doubled over in laughter at me. When he freed himself and slipped off the glove, a faint purple pressure mark wrapped around his fingers. He often demonstrated this to groups sans glove.

This thing right here is an edgy sex-type thing: all po-mo and throwback, at once passionate and insincere. It creeps around downtown, goes underground in the financial district, resurfaces on Queen West, becomes a full-blown geyser in bars like this. The Cramp are on, and everybody’s All Tore Up, probably snorting coke in the bathroom, shooting bourbon at the bar, and pretty soon it’ll be The Creature from the Black Leather Lagoon, red satin curtains in the window behind the stage, hubcaps on the walls.

Finally she took a breath, cringing against the spikes behind her eyes, and turned 180 degrees in the bed to face Alex. And there he was. For a split second, her mind registered only the idea that something was wrong. It may have been the body’s utter stillness, but it may also have been the way she could sense the amphibian cold. But then she saw the blood. She saw the great crimson stain on the pillow, and a slick, still wet pool on the crisp white sheets. He was flat on his back. She saw his neck, the yawning red trench from one side of his jaw to the other, and how the blood had geysered onto his chest and up against the bottom of his chin, smothering the black stubble like honey. Reflexively, despite the pain, she threw off the sheet and leapt from the bed, retreating into those drapes against the window.

Love struck her, as it did often and without warning. Not the steady day-to-day feeling she’d grown used to, but the hot, wild spurt of it that geysered up and filled her with so many feelings they couldn’t be separated. Delight, confusion, possessiveness, lust, and a kind of smugness that butted right up against wonder.

There is overwhelming evidence that most of the tribes that used the Yellowstone area (especially the hot springs and geyser basins) saw it as a place of spiritual power, of communion with natural forces, a place that inspired reverence.42 For all the other things that modern society might learn from the American Indian experience, and for all the things that went wrong, even near Yellowstone, in the dealings between Euramericans and Indians, there is this one remarkable reality that binds us together. The magic and power of this place transcend culture; it is a compelling wonder not for just one society but for all humans, whatever their origin.

At 5 a.m. the clubs get going properly; the Forbeses stumble down from their loggias, grinning and swaying tipsily. They are all dressed the same, in expensive striped silk shirts tucked into designer jeans, all tanned and plump and glistening with money and self-satisfaction. They join the cattle on the dance floor. Everyone is wrecked by now and bounces around sweating, so fast it’s almost in slow motion. They exchange these sweet, simple glances of mutual recognition, as if the masks have come off and they’re all in on one big joke. And then you realise how equal the Forbeses and the girls really are. They all clambered out of one Soviet world. The oil geyser has shot them to different financial universes, but they still understand each other perfectly. And their sweet, simple glances seem to say how amusing this whole masquerade is, that yesterday we were all living in communal flats and singing Soviet anthems and thinking Levis and powdered milk were the height of luxury, and now we’re surrounded by luxury cars and jets and sticky Prosecco. And though many Westerners tell me they think Russians are obsessed with money, I think they’re wrong: the cash has come so fast, like glitter shaken in a snow globe, that it feels totally unreal, not something to hoard and save but to twirl and dance in like feathers in a pillow fight and cut like papier mâché into different, quickly changing masks. At 5 a.m. the music goes faster and faster, and in the throbbing, snowing night the cattle become Forbeses and the Forbeses cattle, moving so fast now they can see the traces of themselves caught in the strobe across the dance floor. The guys and girls look at themselves and think: ‘Did that really happen to me? Is that me there? With all the Maybachs and rapes and gangsters and mass graves and penthouses and sparkly dresses?’ A Hero for Our Times I am in a meeting at TNT when my phone goes off.

Frank and Joe marveled at the scenery along the coast. It was extremely craggy, and geysers of white foam shot up from the sea splashing against the jagged rocks.

The outer wall of meat was already extravagantly delicious... ... but now it's as though a mellow yet aromatic geyser of savory umami flavor has suddenly burst through! Ah! There, between the layers of meat! Some sort of thick juice is seeping out!" "Yep! I've boiled down some meat stock and seasonings to make an extra-thick Jellied Consommé! Right before serving, I used a special cooking injector to inject it into various spots in the meat layer. As you eat, you stumble across it unexpectedly, giving the dish sudden, intriguing changes of flavor!