Grandfather And Grandson Quotes

I don't know who my grandfather was; I am much more concerned to know what his grandson will be.

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between two "wolves" inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith." The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?" The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed.

A Native American grandfather was speaking to his grandson about violence and cruelty in the world and how it comes about. He said it was as if two wolves were fighting in his heart. One wolf was vengeful and angry, and the other wolf was understanding and kind. The young man asked his grandfather which wolf would win the fight in his heart. And the grandfather answered, “The one that wins will be the one I choose to feed.

A Native American wisdom story tells of an old Cherokee who is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.

A Cherokee elder was teaching his young grandson about life. "A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil- he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt and ego. The other is good- he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith. This same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too." The boy thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?" The elder simply replied, "The one you feed.

Giving to others is most precious when it is done quietly and selflessly. Righteous indignation is like candy when you’re starving. It feels good, but it doesn’t sustain you very long.

You may have heard the old story, usually attributed to a Native American elder, meant to illuminate the power of attention. A grandfather (occasionally it’s a grandmother) imparting a life lesson to his grandson tells him, "I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf is vengeful, fearful, envious, resentful, deceitful. The other wolf is loving, compassionate, generous, truthful, and serene." The grandson asks which wolf will win the fight. The grandfather answers, "The one I feed.

There are fathers who do not love their children; there exists no grandfather who does not adore his grandson. At

Thou askest me to take things seriously? After what thou didst last night? When thou needest to kill a man and instead did what you did? You were supposed to kill one, not make one! When we have just seen the sky full of airplanes of a quantity to kill us back to our grandfathers and forward to all unborn grandsons including all cats, goats and bedbugs. Airplanes making a noise to curdle the milk in your mother's breasts as they pass over darkening the sky and roaring like lions and you ask me to take things seriously. I take them too seriously already.

Blackadder was fifty-four and had come to editing Ash out of pique. He was the son and grandson of Scottish schoolmasters. His grandfather recited poetry on firelight evenings: Marmion, Childe Harold, Ragnarok. His father sent him to Downing College in Cambridge to study under F. R. Leavis. Leavis did to Blackadder what he did to serious students; he showed him the terrible, the magnificent importance and urgency of English literature and simultaneously deprived him of any confidence in his own capacity to contribute to, or change it. The young Blackadder wrote poems, imagined Dr Leavis’s comments on them, and burned them.

Walt’s grandson, Walter Disney Miller, told me, “EPCOT was my grandfather’s biggest dream—the city of the future that would point the way to a better world. His dream remains unbuilt.

It is the right of the grandfather to tell the grandson later what was said while in the womb. It is the right of the grandfather to give the name that will serve as a life program to its bearer. Grandfather

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life.94 “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.” –CHEROKEE LEGEND

The following year the house was substantially remodeled, and the conservatory removed. As the walls of the now crumbling wall were being torn down, one of the workmen chanced upon a small leatherbound book that had apparently been concealed behind a loose brick or in a crevice in the wall. By this time Emily Dickinson was a household name in Amherst. It happened that this carpenter was a lover of poetry- and hers in particular- and when he opened the little book and realized that that he had found her diary, he was “seized with a violent trembling,” as he later told his grandson. Both electrified and terrified by the discovery, he hid the book in his lunch bucket until the workday ended and then took it home. He told himself that after he had read and savored every page, he would turn the diary over to someone who would know how to best share it with the public. But as he read, he fell more and more deeply under the poet’s spell and began to imagine that he was her confidant. He convinced himself that in his new role he was no longer obliged to give up the diary. Finally, having brushed away the light taps of conscience, he hid the book at the back of an oak chest in his bedroom, from which he would draw it out periodically over the course of the next sixty-four years until he had virtually memorized its contents. Even his family never knew of its existence. Shortly before his death in 1980 at the age of eighty-nine, the old man finally showed his most prized possession to his grandson (his only son having preceded him in death), confessing that his delight in it had always been tempered by a nagging guilt and asking that the young man now attempt to atone for his grandfather’s sin. The grandson, however, having inherited both the old man’s passion for poetry and his tendency towards paralysis of conscience, and he readily succumbed to the temptation to hold onto the diary indefinitely while trying to decide what ought to be done with it.

One day, a young boy went up to his grandfather, who was an old Cherokee chief. ‘Edudi?’ the boy asked. ‘Why are you so sad?’ The old chief bit his lip and rubbed his belly as if his stomach pained him unmercifully. ‘There is a terrible fight inside me, Uhgeeleesee’, the chief said sternly. ‘One that will not let me sleep of give me peace’. ‘A fight Grandfather? I don’t understand. What kind of fight is inside you?’ The old chief knelt in front of the boy to explain. ‘Deep inside my heart, I have two wolves. Each strong enough to devour the other, they are locked in constant war. One is evil through and through. He is revenge, sorrow, regret, rage, greed, arrogance, stupidity, superiority, envy, guilt, lies, ego, false pride, inferiority, self-doubt, suspicion and resentment. The other wolf is everything kind. He is made of peace, blissful tranquillity, wisdom, love and joy, hope and humility, compassion, benevolence, generosity, truth, faith and empathy. They circle each other inside my heart and they fight one another at all times. Day and night. There is no letup. Not even while I slumber’. The boy’s yes widened as he sucked his breath in sharply. ‘How horrible for you’. His grandfather shook his head at these words and tapped the boy’s chest right where his own heart was located. ‘It’s not just horrible for me. This same fight is also going on inside you and every single person who walks this earth with us’. Those words terrified the little boy. ‘So tell me Grandfather, which of the wolves will win this fight?’ The old chief smiled at his grandson and he cupped his young cheek before he answered with one simple truth. ‘Always the one we feed’. Be careful what you feed, child. For the beast will follow you home and live with you until you either make a bed for it to stay, or find the temerity to drive it out.

There is a very simple, very beautiful Native American story I have always remembered. In this story a grandfather is telling his young grandson about life. He tells the little boy that in every person there are two wolves, who live in one's breast and who are always at war with each other. The first wolf is very aggressive and full of violence and hate toward the world. The second wolf is peaceful and full of light and love. The little boy anxiously asks his grandfather which wolf wins. The grandfather replies, "The one you feed.

That is my right. I am your grandfather. And this is my property.” “I am your grandson. You should tell me the truth. You’re not setting a very good example.

It is quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet’s grandson is Shakespeare’s grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.

There lies the cause of the rapid decline of our nobility: the grandfather was rich, the son is in need, the grandson goes begging.

When we have just seen the sky full of airplanes of a quantity to kill us back to our grandfathers and forward to all unborn grandsons including all cats, goats and bedbugs. Airplanes making a noise to curdle the milk in your mother’s breasts as they pass over darkening the sky and roaring like lions and you ask me to take things seriously. I take them too seriously already.

There is an old story passed down through the generations of a Native American grandfather counseling his young grandson, telling him that he has two wolves living inside of him, constantly fighting each other for dominance. One is the wolf of peace, love, and kindness. The other represents fear, greed, and hatred. The boy asks, ‘Which wolf will win, Grandfather?’ and the wise old man replies, ‘Whichever one I feed.

His coach drew up before the Duke of Stanhope’s town house, and Ian walked swiftly up the front steps, almost knocking poor Ormsley, who opened the door, off his feet in his haste to get to his grandfather upstairs. A few minutes later he strode back down and into the library, where he flung himself into a chair, his eyes riveted on the clock. Upstairs the household was in an uproar as the duke called for his valet, his butler, and his footmen. Unlike Ian, however, the duke was ecstatic. “Ormsley, Ian needs me!” the duke said happily, stripping off his jacket and pulling off his neckcloth. “He walked right in here and said it.” Ormsley beamed. “He did indeed, your grace.” “I feel twenty years younger.” Ormsley nodded. “This is a very great day.” “What in hell is keeping Anderson? I need a shave. I want evening clothes-black, I think-a diamond stickpin and diamond studs. Stop thrusting that cane at me, man.” “You shouldn’t overly exert yourself, your grace.” “Ormsley,” said the duke as he walked over to an armoire and flung the doors open, “if you think I’m going to be leaning on that damned cane on the greatest night of my life, you’re out of your mind. I’ll walk in there beside my grandson unaided, thank you very much. Where the devil is Anderson?

According to Genesis, the flood took place only 1,656 years after creation. To give you an idea of how recent that was, the Bible tells us that Noah's grandfather, Methuselah, was 113 years old when Adam finally died, and Methuselah died the year of the flood (possibly due to the flood and a very unconcerned grandson). So someone who was personally acquainted with the first created man was still alive when the flood began!

One evening, a Native American elder told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, ‘My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all. One is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride and superiority. The other is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth and compassion.’ The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, ‘Which wolf wins?’ The elder simply replied, ‘The one that you feed.

Justin's small form was very still with excitement, his attention riveted on the black feline. "Look, Mama!" Phoebe glanced at Mr. Ravenel. "Is she feral?" "No, but she's undomesticated. We keep a few barn cats to reduce the rodent and insect population." "Can I pet her?" Justin asked. "You could try," Mr. Ravenel said, "but she won't come close enough. Barn cats prefer to keep their distance from people." His brows lifted as the small black cat made her way to Sebastian and curled around his leg, arching and purring. "With the apparent exception of dukes. My God, she's a snob." Sebastian lowered to his haunches. "Come here, Justin," he murmured, gently kneading the cat along its spine to the base of its tail. The child approached with his small hand outstretched. "Softly," Sebastian cautioned. "Smooth her fur the same way it grows." Justin stroked the cat carefully, his eyes growing round as her purring grew even louder. "How does she make that sound?" "No one has yet found a satisfactory explanation," Sebastian replied. "Personally, I hope they never do." "Why, Gramps?" Sebastian smiled into the small face so close to his. "Sometimes the mystery is more delightful than the answer.

He added in typical Patton style, “There is one thing you men will be able to say when you go home. You may all thank God that 30 years from now when you are sitting with your grandson upon your knees and he asks: ‘Grandfather, what did you do in World War II?’ you won’t have to say, ‘I shovelled s**t in Louisiana!

THE OLD MAN AND HIS GRANDSON   There was once a very old man, whose eyes had become dim, his ears dull of hearing, his knees trembled, and when he sat at table he could hardly hold the spoon, and spilt the broth upon the table-cloth or let it run out of his mouth. His son and his son's wife were disgusted at this, so the old grandfather at last had to sit in the corner behind the stove, and they gave him his food in an earthenware bowl, and not even enough of it. And he used to look towards the table with his eyes full of tears. Once, too, his trembling hands could not hold the bowl, and it fell to the ground and broke. The young wife scolded him, but he said nothing and only sighed. Then they brought him a wooden bowl for a few half-pence, out of which he had to eat. They were once sitting thus when the little grandson of four years old began to gather together some bits of wood upon the ground. 'What are you doing there?' asked the father. 'I am making a little trough,' answered the child, 'for father and mother to eat out of when I am big.' The man and his wife looked at each other for a while, and presently began to cry. Then they took the old grandfather to the table, and henceforth always let him eat with them, and likewise said nothing if he did spill a little of anything.

There’s an old Cherokee legend about two wolves at war. It’s good food for thought on the topic of self-control. One night a grandfather was teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.” The boy paused to think for a moment before looking up at his grandfather. “Which wolf will win?” He asked. The wise man simply replied, “The one that you feed.”  Hearing that story, I’m reminded of the scripture that says, And they that are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts. – Galatians 5:24

countries are.’ ‘Here we are!’ Polly pulled the slightly crumpled atlas from her bag. ‘Yes, Polly here,’ Gloria informed Rosie, ‘has been educating us all since Arthur gave her this old map he had stashed away.’ Arthur Watts was Tommy’s grandfather. He had more or less brought up his grandson single-handedly after his daughter

In one Native American folk tale, a grandfather explains to his grandson that he has two wolves inside him. One wolf fills him with hope and reminds him how wonderful his life is, and the other fills him with doubt and convinces him that nothing is worth the effort. The grandson asks, concerned for his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The grandfather replies, “Whichever one I feed.

It’s a devil of a thing, gentlemen,’ said Mr Swiveller, ‘when relations fall out and disagree. If the wing of friendship should never moult a feather, the wing of relationship should never be clipped, but be always expanded and serene. Why should a grandson and grandfather peg away at each other with mutual wiolence when all might be bliss and concord. Why not jine hands and forgit it?

I will draw a sight draft on my grandfather, I said. A what? A sight draft. He has to pay or I go to jail. Mr. Cunningham at the bank does it. I live by sight drafts. Can a grandfather jail a patriotic grandson who is dying that Italy may live? Live the American Garibaldi, said Rinaldi. Viva the sight drafts, I said. We must be quiet, said the major. Already we have been asked many times to be quiet...

Sile looked momentarily stymied, then shook his head sharply. "You won't go alone." "I can't ask anyone--" "You aren't asking," Sile said firmly. "I'm insisting--" "Grandfather, nay," Runach said, stunned. "I couldn't allow it." "Allow it?" Sile repeated, looking as if the gale were readying for another good blow. "Who do you think you are, whelp, to tell me what to do?" "I believe, your Majesty," Aisling said quietly, "he's someone who loves you..." Runach didn't dare smile, because his grandfather would have made the effort to get up out of his chair so he could deliver a brisk blow to the back of a grandson's head, of that he was certain. "Besides, I'm going to go along to keep him safe." Sile closed his eyes briefly before he leaned forward and looked at Aisling seriously. "You, my gel?" "Me, Your Majesty." Runach watched his grandfather look at his wife in consternation. "Are you listening to this?" he asked in disbelief. "She isn't even spawn of mine, and yet she exhibits this unsettling 'independence'." "I find it quite admirable, husband." Runach pushed away from the wall and walked over to squat down by Aisling's chair. He looked up at her. "I want you to stay here." She looked at him for a moment or two, then reached out and touched his scarred cheek. "This is my quest, and I must see it through to the end, wherever that end might lie." "I'll think about it," he said, and by that he meant not a chance in hell. He rose and glanced at his grandfather. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm going alone." Sile rubbed his hands over his face. "Breagha?" "Aye, my love?" "When did I lose control over my progeny?" "Several centuries ago, I believe, dear." "It seems more recent than that." "I don't think so, darling.

One evening an elder Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us. One is Fear. It carries anxiety, concern, uncertainty, hesitancy, indecision and inaction. The other is Faith. It brings calm, conviction, confidence, enthusiasm, decisiveness, excitement and action.” The grandson thought about it for a moment and then meekly asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?” The old Cherokee replied, “The one you feed.

The wind blew stronger. Masakichi had to walk into its resistance, but his pace did not slow. The further he went, the faster he moved, soundlessly and forcefully. The earth smelled like rain. He had to find a way out. Alive. His grandfather Jinzaemon had taught him how to find a straight path, even in the wind. Jinzaemon was born in 1848, twenty years before Japan first opened its doors to the West. He had taught Masakichi all about ninjutsu. “If you want to go straight against the wind, find a path in its folds and pass through it,” he had said, al- though he’d never actually taught his grandson how to find it. Still, Masakichi had begged him. “Even if I teach you where the path is, you won’t be able to see it because the wind is always changing. If I show you the path in the wind one minute, the wind will shift and the path will disappear the next.” “Then how do I find it?” Masakichi had asked, worried he’d never be able to do it. “You must find it anew each time,” his grandfather smiled. “The only way to see the path in the wind is to become the wind itself.

It is as if there are two big wolves living inside me; one is white and one is black. The white wolf is good, kind, and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all that is around him and does not take offense when no offense was intended. The good wolf, grounded and strong in the understanding of who he is and what he is capable of, fights only when it is right to do so and when he must in order to protect himself or his family, and even then he does it in the right way. He looks out for all the other wolves in his pack and never deviates from his nature. “But there is a black wolf also that lives inside me, and this wolf is very different. He is loud, angry, discontent, jealous, and afraid. The littlest thing will set him off into a fit of rage. He fights with everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think clearly because his greed for more and his anger and hate are so great. But it is helpless anger, son, for his anger will change nothing. He looks for trouble wherever he goes, so he easily finds it. He trusts no one, so he has no real friends.” The old chief sits in silence for a few minutes, letting the story of the two wolves penetrate his young grandson’s mind. Then he slowly bends down, looks deeply into his grandson’s eyes, and confesses, “Sometimes it’s hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them fight hard to dominate my spirit.” Riveted by his elder’s account of this great internal battle, the boy tugs on his grandfather’s breechcloth and anxiously asks, “Which one of the wolves wins, Grandfather?” And with a knowing smile and a strong, firm voice, the chief says, “They both do, son. You see, if I choose to feed only the white wolf, the black wolf will be waiting around every corner looking to see when I am off balance or too busy to pay attention to one of my responsibilities, and he will attack the white wolf and cause many problems for me and our tribe. He will always be angry and fighting to get the attention he craves. But if I pay a little attention to the black wolf because I understand his nature, if I acknowledge him for the strong force that he is and let him know that I respect him for his character and will use him to help me if we as a tribe are ever in big trouble, he will be happy, the white wolf will be happy, and they both win. We all win.

The crown for loyalty because you are the most steadfast grandson. Your life’s work is an honor to your family and your legacy: dedication from your grandfather, craft from your father, history from your grandmother, and beauty from your mother. The hands for friendship because you’ve been my best friend since before I even knew what friendship meant. You understand me like no one else does, you support me even when it’s inconvenient for you, but you also call me on my shit. Lastly, a heart for love because I don’t know anyone who loves as hard as you do. You love so deeply that it pains you, and yet you still do it.

We do not converse. She visits me to talk. My task to murmur. She talks about her grandsons, her daughter who lives in Delphi, her sister or her husband - both gone - obscure friends - dead - obscurer aunts and uncles - lost - ancient neighbors, members of her church or of her clubs - passed or passing on; and in this way she brings the ends of her life together with a terrifying rush: she is a girl, a wife, a mother, widow, all at once. All at once - appalling - but I believe it; I wince in expectation of the clap. Her talk's a fence - shade drawn, window fastened, door that's locked - for no one dies taking tea in a kitchen; and as her years compress and begin to jumble, I really believe in the brevity of life; I sweat in my wonder; death is the dog down the street, the angry gander, bedroom spider, goblin who's come to get her; and it occurs to me that in my listening posture I'm the boy who suffered the winds of my grandfather with an exactly similar politeness, that I am, right now, all my ages, out in elbows, as angular as badly stacekd cards. Thus was I, when I loved you, every man I could be, youth and child - far from enough - and you, so strangely ambiguous a being, met me, h eart for spade, play after play, the whole run of our suits.

An old Cherokee chief is teaching his grandson about life: “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. “One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, self-pity, arrogance, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt, and ego. “The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, truth, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, compassion and faith. “This same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old chief simply replied, “The one you feed.

Sir,' replied Mr Swiveller, 'don't you interrupt the chair. Gentlemen, how does the case stand, upon the present occasion? Here is a jolly old grandfather—I say it with the utmost respect—and here is a wild, young grandson. The jolly old grandfather says to the wild young grandson, 'I have brought you up and educated you, Fred; I have put you in the way of getting on in life; you have bolted a little out of course, as young fellows often do; and you shall never have another chance, nor the ghost of half a one.' The wild young grandson makes answer to this and says, 'You're as rich as rich can be; you have been at no uncommon expense on my account, you're saving up piles of money for my little sister that lives with you in a secret, stealthy, hugger-muggering kind of way and with no manner of enjoyment—why can't you stand a trifle for your grown-up relation?' The jolly old grandfather unto this, retorts, not only that he declines to fork out with that cheerful readiness which is always so agreeable and pleasant in a gentleman of his time of life, but that he will bow up, and call names, and make reflections whenever they meet. Then the plain question is, an't it a pity that this state of things should continue, and how much better would it be for the gentleman to hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all right and comfortable?' Having delivered this oration with a great many waves and flourishes of the hand, Mr Swiveller abruptly thrust the head of his cane into his mouth as if to prevent himself from impairing the effect of his speech by adding one other word.

While Agrippa never ruled in his own right his genes were intermingled in the blood of the Domus Augusta and it was his descendants who were destined for prominence. His daughter Vipsania Agrippina married Augustus’ step-son Tiberius, and through her Agrippa was grandfather to Drusus the Younger. As son-in-law to Augustus, his other daughter, Agrippina the Elder, married Germanicus, the son of Drusus the Elder (Nero Claudius Drusus), and through her Agrippa was the grandfather both of the future emperor Caligula and Agrippina the Younger, the mother of Emperor Nero – Agrippa’s great-grandson. Iulia also bore Agrippa three sons who were adopted by Augustus himself as his heirs, all of whom met tragic ends while still young men. Had they lived, and one of these succeeded him as emperor, the story of the Roman Empire may have taken a very different course.

He’d noticed that his grandson was working too hard, and he was the one who told him about the marbles. He told it this way. He said that the average life span for men was around seventy-five years. That meant thirty-nine hundred Saturdays—to play when you were a kid and to be with your family when you got older and wiser.” “I see,” I said. “Or to play once you got older. Or even to give lectures to anyone who’ll listen.” “Shush, Alex. Now, listen. So the grandfather figured out that his grandson, who was forty-three, had about sixteen hundred and sixty Saturdays left in his life. Statistically speaking. So what he did was he bought two large jars and filled them with beautiful cat’s-eye marbles. He gave them to his grandson. And he told him that every Saturday, he should take one marble out of the jar. Just one, and just as a reminder that he had only so many Saturdays left, and that they were precious

LEADING LESSONS Pounce on an opportunity--even if you think you’re not ready. Whenever I got a new partner--and I had several over the years--I’d want to rehearse for months before we competed. But Shirley would give us two weeks to get five routines down. She’d throw us out there: “You have to bite the bullet.” Ready or not, we hit the dance floor. Why? Because you’re never ready till you’re doing it. No amount of preparation in the world can prepare you for the actual experience. I tell my Dancing with the Stars partners this all the time. You can rehearse for weeks, months, years, and still never be ready. You have to just go out there and live it--that’s when it will all make sense and come together. You can’t prepare yourself for the actual in-the-moment experience. Leaders take that leap. You can’t let insecurity hold you back. The walls that protect you are also the walls that imprison you. There’s an old Cherokee story about a grandfather who tells his grandson about the two wolves that live inside us all. There’s a battle raging between them. One is evil--he represents fear, doubt, self-pity, regret. The other is good--he stands for joy, peace, confidence, truth, faith. The grandson asks, “Which wolf wins?” The old Cherokee simply replies: “The one you feed.” There may never be a right time or a right place to take a risk. The right time is right now. In the past, I used to overanalyze everything, and if something landed in my lap, some great chance to be taken, I’d often talk myself out of it. I know now that you have to have confidence in who you are and what you want. You have to seize the opportunity and feed the good wolf.

On the way to market, an old man and his young grandson meet a man going the other way. The stranger says, “Old man, you should have your grandson riding the mule.” So he puts his grandson on the mule. They go a little farther, they’re stopped again, and a different man says, “Boy, you should let your poor grandfather ride the mule while you guide it.” So they switch, go a little farther, and they’re stopped again by a man who tells them, “You should both be riding the mule,” so both get on the mule and continue toward market. They meet a fourth man who tells them. “Hey, you two, it’s not very kind of you to be riding and creating that much of a burden for your poor mule.” So they get off, and they all go a little farther before a fifth man says, “You know, grandfather and grandson, that mule looks tired to me. You two ought to carry the mule.” So grandfather and grandson pick up the mule and trudge along. As they’re crossing a bridge over a river, the old man slips, they both lose their balance and fall, and they accidentally drop the mule over the bridge into the water, and it drowns. Which I think just extends Lincoln’s point: If you try to please everybody, you’re going to lose your ass.

She’d give her right arm to get the whole story on each of the summarized events. Most of them were worded in a way that left a lot open to interpretation. She wondered if the vague nature of the content was on purpose. Did they mean to make it funny? 6/5 5:15 p.m. A grandson is continually breaking into his grandfather’s locked cabinet and stealing his quarters for the laundry. 6/6 9:36 a.m. A fireman’s ladder was reported stolen from the side of a house on Magnolia Street. 6/6 12:49 p.m. A dog was seen panting inside of a red Toyota in front of the Piggly Wiggly. It may be suffering. Turned out to be the taxidermy remains of the family pet.

A grandfather asks his grandson what he did today. “Today I played with my choo-choo and I fell down and got a boo-boo on my knee.” “Now, Timmy, you’re a big boy. You should say, ‘Today I played with my trains and I fell down and got an abrasion on my knee.’ Okay?” “Okay, I’ve got it. I say ‘train’ and ‘abrasion.’” “You’re a good boy. Now, Grandpa’s going to read you a story. Which one would you like?” “How about Winnie the Shit?

The Riddle was old, for it was as old as the Gate, and the Gate had guarded the head of the Valley since men first walked upon the World. The words of the Riddle were an ancient secret, passed down from father to son, from grandfather to grandson, from uncle to nephew, and – in at least one case – from the most distrusted old man in the village to his worryingly young “friend”.

An old grandfather puts his young grandson on the family donkey and begins the long journey to town. As they travel along the well-used pathway, passersby say, “Look at that selfish, spoiled kid riding the donkey while the old man is walking.” Not wanting people to criticize his grandson, the old man trades places with the boy. Soon people begin to say, “Look at that lazy man making the child walk.” Not wanting to be called lazy, the grandfather gets off the donkey and walks alongside it. Observers then begin to remark, “Look at those two stupid people walking when they could be riding the donkey.” Acting on their criticism, the grandfather seats both himself and his grandson on the donkey. As they continue along, the next people watching them comment, “Look how they’re brutalizing that donkey. They’re going to break its back.” In response, they get off the donkey. They put the donkey on their backs, and carry it the rest of the way into town, arriving bedraggled, exhausted, and still the subject of bystander criticism. The point of this fable is that if you try to please everyone, you, too, will quickly feel that you have a donkey on your back. Fortunately, being a people pleaser is not the ultimate goal of leadership.

One evening an elder Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us. One is Fear. It carries anxiety, concern, uncertainty, hesitancy, indecision and inaction. The other is Faith. It brings calm, conviction, confidence, enthusiasm, decisiveness, excitement and action.” The grandson thought about it for a moment and then meekly asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?” The old Cherokee replied, “The one you feed.” Your journey toward extraordinary results will be built above all else on faith. It’s only when you have faith in your purpose and priorities that you’ll seek out your ONE Thing. And once certain you know it, you’ll have the personal power necessary to push you through any hesitancy to do it. Faith ultimately leads to action, and when we take action we avoid the very thing that could undermine or undo everything we’ve worked for—regret.

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.” —CHEROKEE LEGEND

A Native American grandfather was talking about how he felt to his grandson. “I feel as if I have two wolves fighting in my heart,” he said. “One wolf is the vengeful, angry, violent one. The other wolf is the loving, compassionate one.” The grandson asked him, “Which wolf will win the fight in your heart?” The grandfather answered, “The one I feed.

There was a story that was widely circulated a few days after the attacks of September 11, 2001, that illustrates our dilemma. A Native American grandfather was speaking to his grandson about violence and cruelty in the world and how it comes about. He said it was as if two wolves were fighting in his heart. One wolf was vengeful and angry, and the other wolf was understanding and kind. The young man asked his grandfather which wolf would win the fight in his heart. And the grandfather answered, “The one that wins will be the one I choose to feed.” So

Many people have stories of bravery during the Holocaust. I am no braver than anyone else. 6,000,000 Jews lost their lives during the war. They are the heroes, my son, not me. I was lucky.” “Some people make their own luck, Zayde! You are one of those. I’m so proud to be your grandson.” “Then you’ll do me a favor?” “Anything.” “Tell everyone you know about the brave Jews who escaped from Auschwitz but don’t tell them about your grandfather.” “Why not? I’m so proud of you! You were part of the resistance.” “Because it is not important that one of the Holocaust survivors is your Zayde. All Jews are relatives—all are important, especially after the death of the 6,000,000 and so many other attempts to wide us out . . .

I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf is vengeful, fearful, envious, resentful, deceitful. The other wolf is loving, compassionate, generous, truthful, and serene.” The grandson asks which wolf will win the fight. The grandfather answers, “The one I feed.

A grandfather (occasionally it’s a grandmother) imparting a life lesson to his grandson tells him, “I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf is vengeful, fearful, envious, resentful, deceitful. The other wolf is loving, compassionate, generous, truthful, and serene.” The grandson asks which wolf will win the fight. The grandfather answers, “The one I feed.

things like greed, hatred, and fear. The grandson stops and thinks about it for a second. Then he looks up at his grandfather and says, “Grandfather, which one wins?” The grandfather quietly replies, “The one you feed.

. One evening an elder Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us. One is Fear. It carries anxiety, concern, uncertainty, hesitancy, indecision and inaction. The other is Faith. It brings calm, conviction, confidence, enthusiasm, decisiveness, excitement and action.” The grandson thought about it for a moment and then meekly asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?” The old Cherokee replied, “The one you feed.

There is a story about a Cherokee grandfather who is teaching his grandson about life. He says to his grandson, “A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil; he is anger, envy, greed, arrogance, self-pity, resentment, and superiority. The other is good; he is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, generosity, and compassion. This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too.

There is a story about a Cherokee grandfather who is teaching his grandson about life. He says to his grandson, “A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil; he is anger, envy, greed, arrogance, self-pity, resentment, and superiority. The other is good; he is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, generosity, and compassion. This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too.” The grandson thinks about this for a minute and then asks his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old Cherokee simply replies, “The one we feed.

Joel could not help but ponder the possibilities should that fiancé turn out to be Tom Carter. If he saved Tom's life by steering him away from the Army, or even the war itself, he might meddle with his own existence. If Grandma Ginny does not meet and marry Grandpa Joe, there is no daughter Cindy or grandson Joel. Would he vanish into thin air like Marty McFly? Or continue on his merry way in a parallel universe? Joel knew now why people passed up philosophy classes. This stuff could fry your circuits. The grandfather paradox took on new relevance.

An old man told his grandson, “My boy, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all. The first one is Evil. He is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies, and ego. The second is Good. He is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth.” The boy thought about this for a moment, then asked, “Grandfather, which wolf wins?” The old man replied, “The one you feed.” —TWENTY-FIRST-CENTURY AMERICAN FOLK TALE

The human brain evolved in an environment that was local and linear. Local, meaning most everything that we interacted with was less than a day’s walk away. Linear, meaning the rate of change was exceptionally slow. Your great-great-great-grandfather’s life was roughly the same as his great-great-grandson’s life. But now we live in a world that is global and exponential. Global, meaning if it happens on the other side of the planet, we hear about it seconds later (and our computers hear about it only milliseconds later). Exponential, meanwhile, refers to today’s blitzkrieg speed of development. Forget about the difference between generations, currently mere months can bring a revolution. Yet our brain—which hasn’t really had a hardware update in two hundred thousand years—wasn’t designed for this scale or speed. And if we struggle to track the growth of singular innovations, we’re downright helpless in the face of converging ones. Put it this way, in “The Law of Accelerating Returns,” Ray Kurzweil did the math and found that we’re going to experience twenty thousand years of technological change over the next one hundred years. Essentially, we’re going from the birth of agriculture to the birth of the internet twice in the next century. This means paradigm-shifting, game-changing, nothing-is-ever-the-same-again breakthroughs—such as affordable aerial ridesharing—will not be an occasional affair. They’ll be happening all the time. It means, of course, that flying cars are just the beginning.

I have no concerns with whom my grandfather was ,but much more with whom his grandson would be. By Ablaham lincolin Parental weakness are no excuses to becoming a waste of your future

A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.

His grandfather bent down on his knees in front of me, and now I will watch his grandson do the same with you. Make sure there is fear in this Talar's eyes. Make sure there is obedience. I will see you, Son, may the Gods be with us both."- The Emperor

Hey, hey! Is this my big-shot grandson who got to visit the White House today?” The voice was definitely Cyrus Hale’s—although the tone caught me by surprise. He sounded like an actual doting grandfather, rather than his usual cranky self. I assumed he was acting for the benefit of anyone who might overhear the call—or be eavesdropping on it. “Hi, Grandpa!” I said cheerfully, doing a bit of acting myself. “Are you close?” “Approaching the building right now.” “Okay. I’m coming out.” I hung up and informed Kimmy, “My grandfather’s here.” “Great!” she said, then thought to add, “In the interest of national security, I hope I can trust you to not share certain stories about what transpired here today?” “You don’t have to worry about me,” I assured her. Kimmy heaved a sigh of relief, then ushered me out the door. Cyrus was pulling up in front of the building in a well-worn sedan that looked exactly like the sort of car a normal grandfather would drive. The Secret Service agents were going on alert when Kimmy yelled to them, “He’s okay! He’s just picking up a friend of Jason’s!” Cyrus rolled down the window and shouted, “Hey there, champ! Did you have fun?” “Sure did, Gramps!” I replied, then slid into the passenger seat. Kimmy waved good-bye enthusiastically. “So long, Ben! Hope to see you again soon!” Cyrus rolled up the window, drove away, and immediately dropped the kindly old grandfather act. “You didn’t waste any time screwing up this mission, did you?

My grandson and me wanted to thank you for your service," the man said, his voice solemn. He held out his gnarled hand, and it trembled as Nick looked at it. Nick took it, shaking it dazedly. "Thank you," he managed. "And thank you for yours." The man nodded, then instructed his grandson to do the same as he shook Ty's hand as well. The boy, who was anywhere between eight and twelve maybe - Nick had no idea how to tell the age of children - gave Nick a sideways glance as he tentatively shook Nick's hand. Then he turned to his grandfather and hissed a question. He probably through he was being discreet, but Nick heard him loud and clear: "How'd they know you were a soldier, Pop?" The old man just smiled as he tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth. "It's just something you know.

Years later, reading of another multimillionaire, Ross Perot, Rose Kennedy informed a grandson, “I read in the paper that he was going spend $100 million to buy the election. Your grandfather only spent ten.

We arrived, and my aunt took me aside and asked, "Can you do this?" My grandfather Brown was a little heavy and I thought she was asking if I was physically strong enough to lift him. "Oh, sure. I can lift him, no problem." "No, I know you can lift him, but can you do this?" She wasn't talking to Caleb Wilde, the funeral director. She was talking to Caleb Wilde, the grandson. It took me a minute to switch from funeral director to grandson, but I gathered myself and said, "Yes." I don't think my answer satisfied her, and I don't think it satisfied me, either.

In the last years of the Roman empire, a Germanic war-band chieftain, Clovis, based in northern Gaul – Neustria – had declared himself king of the Franks, conquering much of Roman France and Germany, naming his Merovingian dynasty after his grandfather Merovec. Roman order gradually vanished: some cities almost emptied; coins were less used; slavery declined; epidemics raged; bishops and lords, ruling from their manors, amassed the best land and controlled the peasantry, who became servi – serfs. Yet the Merovingians – who marked their sanctity by growing their hair very long, a dynasty of Frankish Samsons – feuded among themselves, splintering into smaller realms. In the 620s, a nobleman named Pepin, who owned estates in Brabant, became mayor of the palace for the king of Austrasia – northern Germany and the Low Countries – founding his own dynasty but it was a dangerous game: his son and son-in-law were executed by Merovingians. In 687, his grandson, also Pepin, united the kingdoms with himself as dux et princeps Francorum under the nominal king.

and for the first time since learning of Krissa's marriage, he began working on a lyric. It was about loss, but not private loss, not loss of a romantic love. This was public loss, the lost innocence of a country at war few believed in, the loss of Roosevelt, Churchill, and Kennedy—of a king young men could believe in. It was about hungering to live with a tradition one could value, about longing to pay heed to customs that one could respect. It was called "My Grandfather's Chocolates." In the last stanza the grandson's regret and bitterness blazed into anger, fury at the generation who squandered their traditions. And as Quinn worked and reworked those lines, he knew that he was coming as close as he could to writing about Krissa.

There are fathers who do not love their children, but there is no grandfather who does not adore his grandson. —Victor Hugo

It’s like this country grandfather I heard about who took his grandson to town on a donkey. He started off letting his grandson ride the donkey as he walked alongside. Somebody passed by and said, “Look at that selfish boy making that old man walk.” The grandfather heard it and took the boy off. Then he rode the donkey as his grandson walking by his side. Somebody came along and said, “Look at that man making that little boy walk while he rides.” Hearing that, the grandfather pulled the little boy up with him, and they both started riding the donkey. In a few minutes, another person said, “How cruel of you and the boy to place such a heavy load on the donkey.” By the time they got to town, the grandfather and grandson were carrying the donkey!

After Shivaji's death in 1680, and with the investiture of his grandson Shahu in 1708, a far-sighted Brahmin, Balaji Visvanath, emerged as his principal adviser. Impressed by his qualities of statesmanship, Shahu conferred the title of Peshwa or Prime Minister on him. Balaji not only restored the rule of law which had been in disarray since Shivaji's death but succeeded in getting the Mughal ruler in Delhi to recognize his master as the independent ruler of his grandfather Shivaji's territories. Some regard Balaji as the second founder of the Maratha Empire. After Balaji's death in 1720, a grateful Shahu – despite the resentment of Maratha nobles against growing Brahmin ascendancy – invested Balaji's son, Baji Rao, as the Peshwa. Even more ambitious and far-sighted than his father, Baji Rao decided to point the Marathas north, to the very seat of the Mughals. Their victories and territorial acquisitions shook the Mughal Empire to its foundations and when Baji Rao died in 1740, his son Balaji Baji Rao was also made Peshwa by Shahu. After Shahu's death nine years later, Balaji Baji Rao staged the ultimate coup d' état by seizing all powers himself. This was a departure from the Brahminical élite's preference for the number two position in the power hierarchy, not only because of the influence, status and wealth it brought, but, more importantly, because it enabled a versatile man, well-versed in statecraft, to exercise power without the danger or ridicule the top position attracts. Moreover, the top man is accountable for all his actions, which the man behind the throne is not.

One evening an old Cherokee Indian told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two ‘wolves’ inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?” The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.

An old Cherokee Grandfather said to his grandson, who came to him with anger at a friend who had done him an injustice: “I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. “But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times. “It is as if there are two wolves inside me. One is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him, and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way. “But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing sets him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is helpless anger, for his anger will change nothing. “Sometimes, it is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit.” The boy looked intently into his Grandfather's eyes and asked, “Which one wins, Grandfather?” The Grandfather smiled softly and said, “The one I feed.

Biden’s grandson Robert “Hunter” Biden II handed him a photo taken of the two of them at his father, Beau’s, funeral. He was then nine years old, and Biden had bent down to comfort him with his hand cupping the boy’s chin. Corners of the right wing online had lit up with wild allegations about Biden’s gesture, suggesting Biden was a pedophile. The younger Biden told his grandfather he knew a campaign could be nasty.

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. “The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?” The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.” —ANONYMOUS

My beloved grandson, I thank the gods for the joy of seeing your face again before I die. I wish with all my heart that you’d come back to us sooner.” Argus smiled, but made no move to approach his grandfather. “You’ll have to forgive me for staying away so long, Lord Aetes. As dearly as I love you, the idea of being put to death on my return to Aea kept me away. It’s a trivial thing, the fear of losing one’s life, but it means a lot to me.” Lord Aetes scowled. “Your father, Phrixus, was wrong to exile you, but every man has the right to rule his own family. I thought Phrixus was unjust, but I couldn’t intercede. I had a good reason.” He didn’t elaborate. “A very good one, no doubt,” Argus drawled. “Is it going to be good enough to justify executing me now that I’m back?” The king shook his head. “Your father and stepmother are both dead. Any quarrel you had with them is over. Your innocence and honor are not to be questioned by any man who owes me allegiance. All of your rights as a royal prince of Colchis are hereby restored.” “All of my rights?” Argus echoed. “You mean my stepbrother, Karos, is dead, too?” Lord Aetes didn’t answer. Argus stroked his beard. “I see. Well, won’t he be thrilled to learn that he’s going to have to share his inheritance.” “There will be peace between my grandsons,” Lord Aetes stated, gritting his teeth. “I will not have it otherwise. Did you come here to vex me, or to rejoin your family?” Argus’s laughter danced with the smoke and sparks rising from the fire pit. He strode around the hearth and embraced the king. “My apologies, Grandfather, but can you blame me for snapping? Look at the two of us. My years of exile have aged me so that we could pass for brothers!” Lord Aetes smiled and returned Argus’s hug. “That’s over now. We’ll soon have you looking your proper age.

My beloved grandson, I thank the gods for the joy of seeing your face again before I die. I wish with all my heart that you’d come back to us sooner.” Argus smiled, but made no move to approach his grandfather. “You’ll have to forgive me for staying away so long, Lord Aetes. As dearly as I love you, the idea of being put to death on my return to Aea kept me away. It’s a trivial thing, the fear of losing one’s life, but it means a lot to me.

I am going to the City myself, human girl. After my mother was widowed, my siblings and I went each our separate ways: M-Through-S to be a governess, T-Through-Z to be a soldier, and I to seek our old grandfather—the Municipal Library of Fairyland, which owns all the books in all the world. I hope that he will accept me and love me as a grandson and teach me to be a librarian, for every creature must know a trade. I know I have bad qualities that stand against me—a fiery breath being chief among these—but I am a good beast, and I enjoy alphabetizing, and perhaps, I may get some credit for following in the family business.” The Wyverary pursed his great lips. “Perhaps we might travel together for a little while? Those beasts with unreliable fathers must stick together after all. And I may be a good deal of help in the arena of Locating Suppers.

Rollo is considered to be the great-great-great-grandfather of William the Conqueror. Through William he is a progenitor of the modern day British Royal family, and in addition, a precursor of all present European rulers and a large number of claimants of dissolved European thrones. A genetic examination of the remaining parts of Rollo's grandson, Richard I, and great-grandson Richard II, has been done, with the aim of determining the beginnings of the renowned Viking warrior.

My grandfather, born in 1912, was the grandson of slaves, the son of a millworker, and the oldest of what would be ten children in his family. A quick-witted and intelligent kid, he’d been nicknamed “the Professor” and set his sights early on the idea of someday going to college. But not only was he black and from a poor family, he also came of age during the Great Depression.

Early on, I loved ''my grandson''. After six months, I loved you. And I think something similar happened with your love for me.

If doubt has brought you to this page, you probably need a little genealogical cheat-sheet: Kimiâ Sadr, the narrator. Leïli Sadr, Kimiâ’s oldest sister. Mina Sadr, the younger sister. Sara Sadr (née Tadjamol), Kimiâ’s mother. Darius Sadr, Kimiâ’s father. Born in 1925 in Qazvin, he is the fourth son of Mirza-Ali Sadr and Nour. The Sadr uncles (six official ones, plus one more): Uncle Number One, the eldest, prosecuting attorney in Tehran. Uncle Number Two (Saddeq), responsible for managing the family lands in Mazandaran and Qazvin. Keeper of the family history. Uncle Number Three, notary. Uncle Number Five, manager of an electrical appliance shop near the Grand Bazar. Uncle Number Six (Pirouz), professor of literature at the University of Tehran. Owner of one of the largest real estate agencies in the city. Abbas, Uncle Number Seven (in a way). Illegitimate son of Mirza-Ali and a Qazvin prostitute. Nour, paternal grandmother of Kimiâ, whom her six sons call Mother. Born a few minutes after her twin sister, she was the thirtieth child of Montazemolmolk, and the only one to inherit her father’s blue eyes, the same shade of blue as the Caspian Sea. She died in 1971, the day of Kimiâ’s birth. Mirza-Ali, paternal grandfather. Son and grandson of wealthy Qazvin merchants; he was the only one of the eleven children of Rokhnedin Khan and Monavar Banou to have turquoise eyes the color of the sky over Najaf, the city of his birth. He married Nour in 1911 in order to perpetuate a line of Sadrs with blue eyes. Emma Aslanian, maternal grandmother of Kimiâ and mother of Sara. Her parents, Anahide and Artavaz Aslanian, fled Turkey shortly before the Armenian genocide in 1915. The custom of reading coffee grounds was passed down to her from her grandmother Sévana. Montazemolmolk, paternal great-grandfather of Kimiâ and father of Nour. Feudal lord born in Mazandaran. Parvindokht, one of Montazemolmolk’s many daughters; sister of Nour. Kamran Shiravan, son of one of Mirza-Ali’s sisters and Ebrahim Shiravan. Cousin of Darius . . .

The grandfather had died, Low undoubtedly loved him, but he was not as wealthy, or such a philanthropist, as his grandson made out. Neither was Low himself so charitable; the Jynwel Foundation had done little through 2012, while Low was busy raiding the 1MDB fund, even during his own cancer scare. It was true that the Jynwel Foundation had pledged more than $100 million to charities, although it had actually paid out only a fraction of that amount. Its activity began to pick up only in late 2013, just as negative media stories about Low were snowballing, and more so in 2014. In order to change the narrative, Edelman counseled Low to publicize his charitable endeavors, including pledges of tens of millions of dollars to National Geographic’s Pristine Seas endeavor and to the United Nations to save its news service from closure. Low was even planning to donate to his alma mater. At his request, an architect drew up plans for a new building at Wharton to be called the Jynwel Institute for Sustainable Business. Low was planning to make a $150 million commitment to build and operate the institute over thirty years, a munificent gesture, redolent of a Rockefeller or a Carnegie.

President Vladimir Putin’s grandfather was a chef at one of Stalin’s houses and revealed nothing to his grandson: ‘My grandfather kept pretty quiet about his past life.’ As a boy, he recalled bringing food to Rasputin. He then cooked for Lenin. He was clearly Russia’s most world-historical chef since he served Lenin, Stalin and the Mad Monk.

Native American grandfather was speaking to his grandson about violence and cruelty in the world and how it comes about. He said it was as if two wolves were fighting in his heart. One wolf was vengeful and angry, and the other wolf was understanding and kind. The young man asked his grandfather which wolf would win the fight in his heart. And the grandfather answered, “The one that wins will be the one I choose to feed.

There are two wolves,” he said, “two wolves in all of us. One is good and one is evil, and they are constantly at war.” His grandson nodded and cleared his throat: “Which one will win, Grandfather?” He looked down at the boy. “I am not sure, but it is said that the one who wins is the one you feed.” —AN AMERICAN LEGEND

Wow!" gasped Wren. "Is that the box that Jax was talking about before?" Trevor nodded numbly. He couldn't speak. His mouth had gone completely dry. He had dreamed of this box numerous times throughout the years. He loved puzzles. He'd solved his first Rubik's cube when he was only three. Thousand-piece, three dimensional puzzles were a fun way to pass an afternoon. But this puzzle box that his grandfather had discovered on some mysterious trip and had guarded fiercely had remained the pinnacle of his puzzle questing mind. Vaguely, through the buzzing in his ears, Trevor heard Wren open the letter and start reading. To my grandson Trevor, I give you this puzzle box that I discovered in a pawn shop of rather questionable purposes. Please read the journal I have included very closely so that you will understand how to guard this extremely dangerous artifact. The journal, the amulet, and the gargoyle I have included are all that protect you and the rest of the world from the Evil contained within this box. Remember all that I taught you and never forget that, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana said that, and it is as true today as it was the first time you opened the box. I pray that you have grown wiser in the years since. Wren ran his hands through the Styrofoam peanuts in the box. "Uhhh, Trev, there's no journal here." "What?" Trevor snapped out of his trance and watched as his friend started seriously digging through the box looking for the journal mentioned in the letter. "I can't find anything but Styrofoam peanuts in this box, and this sheet of paper was all that was in the envelope.