Glen Bell Quotes

I’ll walk, but not in old heroic traces, And not in paths of high morality, And not among the half-distinguished faces, The clouded forms of long-past history. I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading: It vexes me to choose another guide: Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding; Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.

Anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowy places. Afar in the southwest was the great shimmering, pearl-like sparkle of an evening star in a sky that was pale golden and ethereal rose over gleaming white spaces and dark glens of spruce. The tinkles of sleigh bells among the snowy hills came like elfin chimes through the frosty air, but their music was not sweeter than the song in Anne's heart and on her lips.

To technical people, these seem like minor oversights that take only a minute to fix. “Oops. I forgot to change the server name to the production server.” Or, “Oh, the new screens are there. I just forgot to link the button.” But to users who are already feeling a bit skittish about trying out the new technology, these first impressions are a big deal. To you, these events probably seem inconsequential, carrying no inherent meaning, but to them it sets off major alarm bells. It signals things like, “This technology must be a sloppy piece of crap,” and, “These IT people must be completely incompetent,” and, “They must think I’m not important enough for them to check their work.

Reaching a bench, he dismounted and tied Dancer to the arm. “Are you intending to be a student here?” one of the older boys asked, looking him over. Hadrian got the impression from the wrinkled nose that the student didn’t approve. The boy had a haughty tone for someone so young, small, and weaponless. “I’m here to see a man by the name of Arcadius.” “ Professor Arcadius is in Glen Hall.” “Which one of these…” He looked up at the columned buildings that appeared even taller with his feet on the grass. “The big one,” the boy said. Hadrian almost chuckled, wondering which ones the boy thought were small. The student pointed to the hall with the bell tower. “Ah … thanks.” “You didn’t answer me. Do you expect to attend this school?” “Naw-already graduated.” The young man looked stunned. “From Sheridan?” Hadrian shook his head and grinned. “Different school. Easier to get into but literally murder to pass. Hey, watch my horse, will you? But be careful-she bites.” He left the boy and three others standing bewildered by the bench, watching him cross to the big doors of Glen Hall.

On days off, Bell patronized the Mexican restaurants on San Bernardino’s West Side, the city’s historic barrio. He noticed how more and more non-Mexicans were eating Mexican food—this in a city that had just desegregated its swimming pools and was about to desegregate housing and schools. Feeling that tacos were the way to beat the McDonald’s, Bell passed the idea by his wife, who dismissed it as foolish: whites wouldn’t buy the food because it was too spicy, she argued. When Glen suggested toning down the heat, his soon-to-be-ex retorted, “Then even Mexicans won’t buy it.