Immediate Resignation Quotes

On a long flight, after periods of crisis and many hours of fatigue, mind and body may become disunited until at times they seem completely different elements, as though the body were only a home with which the mind has been associated but by no means bound. Consciousness grows independent of the ordinary senses. You see without assistance from the eyes, over distances beyond the visual horizon. There are moments when existence appears independent even of the mind. The importance of physical desire and immediate surroundings is submerged in the apprehension of universal values. For unmeasurable periods, I seem divorced from my body, as though I were an awareness spreading out through space, over the earth and into the heavens, unhampered by time or substance, free from the gravitation that binds to heavy human problems of the world. My body requires no attention. It's not hungry. It's neither warm or cold. It's resigned to being left undisturbed. Why have I troubled to bring it here? I might better have left it back at Long Island or St. Louis, while the weightless element that has lived within it flashes through the skies and views the planet. This essential consciousness needs no body for its travels. It needs no plane, no engine, no instruments, only the release from flesh which circumstances I've gone through make possible. Then what am I – the body substance which I can see with my eyes and feel with my hands? Or am I this realization, this greater understanding which dwells within it, yet expands through the universe outside; a part of all existence, powerless but without need for power; immersed in solitude, yet in contact with all creation? There are moments when the two appear inseparable, and others when they could be cut apart by the merest flash of light. While my hand is on the stick, my feet on the rudder, and my eyes on the compass, this consciousness, like a winged messenger, goes out to visit the waves below, testing the warmth of water, the speed of wind, the thickness of intervening clouds. It goes north to the glacial coasts of Greenland, over the horizon to the edge of dawn, ahead to Ireland, England, and the continent of Europe, away through space to the moon and stars, always returning, unwillingly, to the mortal duty of seeing that the limbs and muscles have attended their routine while it was gone.

Leaders who doubt that success is possible and who fear the worst should immediately change their attitude or resign so a true leader can take their place.

What about me?” Frances asked. “The butler,” Harriet replied without even a second of hesitation. Frances’s mouth immediately opened to protest. “No, no,” Harriet said. “It’s the best role, I promise. You get to do everything.” “Except be a unicorn,” Daniel murmured. Frances tilted her head to the side with a resigned expression. “The next play,” Harriet finally gave in. “I shall find a way to include a unicorn in the one I’m working on right now.” Frances pumped both fists in the air. “Huzzah!

Listen,' said Morrel; 'it is not the first time you have contemplated our present position, which is a serious and urgent one; I do not think it is a moment to give way to useless sorrow; leave that for those who like to suffer at their leisure and indulge their grief in secret. There are such in the world, and God will doubtless reward them in heaven for their resignation on earth, but those who mean to contend must not lose one precious moment, but must return immediately the blow which fortune strikes. Do you intend to struggle against our ill-fortune?..

That was totally different from what the Danes did. When the Germans approached them rather cautiously about introducing the yellow badge, they were simply told that the King would be the first to wear it, and the Danish government officials were careful to point out that anti-Jewish measures of any sort would cause their own immediate resignation. It was decisive in this whole matter that the Germans did not even succeed in introducing the vitally important distinction between native Danes of Jewish origin, of whom there were about sixty-four hundred, and the fourteen hundred German Jewish refugees who had found asylum in the country prior to the war and who now had been declared stateless by the German government.

Blecher’s question “Who am I” leads to a world eroticized by inner chafing. Adventures in Immediate Irreality is a study in observation. And it takes the reader where one generally arrives when one looks at things impartially—to a place of calm and composed resignation.

I do not think this is the moment to give way to sterile misery: that may be enough for those who want to suffer at their ease and have time to drink their own tears. There are people like that, and God will no doubt reward them in heaven for their resignation on earth; but anyone who has the will to fight will not lose precious time, but immediately strike back at that Fate which has dealt a blow. Have you the will to fight against ill-fortune, Valentine? Tell me, because that is what I have come to ask you.

Voltaire once described optimism as “a cruel philosophy with a consoling name,” which immediately suggests what pessimism might be: a consoling philosophy with a cruel name.

Is it possible,’ cried Rose, ‘that for such a man as this, you can resign every future hope, and the certainty of immediate rescue? It is madness.

Government is a plain, simple, intelligent thing, founded in nature and reason, quite comprehensible by common sense [the Dissertation continued]. . . . The true source of our suffering has been our timidity. We have been afraid to think. . . . Let us dare to read, think, speak, and write. . . . Let it be known that British liberties are not the grants of princes or parliaments . . . that many of our rights are inherent and essential, agreed on as maxims and established as preliminaries, even before Parliament existed. . . . Let us read and recollect and impress upon our souls the views and ends of our more immediate forefathers, in exchanging their native country for a dreary, inhospitable wilderness. . . . Recollect their amazing fortitude, their bitter sufferings—the hunger, the nakedness, the cold, which they patiently endured—the severe labors of clearing their grounds, building their houses, raising their provisions, amidst dangers from wild beasts and savage men, before they had time or money or materials for commerce. Recollect the civil and religious principles and hopes and expectations which constantly supported and carried them through all hardships with patience and resignation. Let us recollect it was liberty, the hope of liberty, for themselves and us and ours, which conquered all discouragements, dangers, and trials.

If you try to write posthumously, however, fashion doesn’t apply. You step off the catwalk, ignoring this season’s trends and resigning yourself to being unfashionable and possibly unnoticed, at least for a while. As Kurt Woolf, Kafka’s first publisher in Germany, wrote to him after Kafka’s book tanked, “You and we know that it is generally just the best and most valuable things that do not find their echo immediately.” Fashion is the attempt to evade that principle: to be the echo of someone else’s success and, therefore, to create nothing that might create an echo of its own.

This time the man confessed that there was slight detachment of the retina, and that Kicky must give up all thought of working for several months, and devote himself to the cure. He must have treatment at least once a week, continue with the ordinary bathing and poulticing at home, and put himself on a diet. He must, in fact, resign himself to being more or less of an invalid for the immediate future.

THE WISDOM OF SURRENDER It is the quality of your consciousness at this moment that is the main determinant of what kind of future you will experience, so to surrender is the most important thing you can do to bring about positive change. Any action you take is secondary. No truly positive action can arise out of an unsurrendered state of consciousness. To some people, surrender may have negative connotations, implying defeat, giving up, failing to rise to the challenges of life, becoming lethargic, and so on. True surrender, however, is something entirely different. It does not mean to passively put up with whatever situation you find yourself in and to do nothing about it. Nor does it mean to cease making plans or initiating positive action. SURRENDER IS THE SIMPLE but profound wisdom of yielding to rather than opposing the flow of life. The only place where you can experience the flow of life is the Now, so to surrender is to accept the present moment unconditionally and without reservation. It is to relinquish inner resistance to what is. Inner resistance is to say “no” to what is, through mental judgment and emotional negativity. It becomes particularly pronounced when things “go wrong,” which means that there is a gap between the demands or rigid expectations of your mind and what is. That is the pain gap. If you have lived long enough, you will know that things “go wrong” quite often. It is precisely at those times that surrender needs to be practiced if you want to eliminate pain and sorrow from your life. Acceptance of what is immediately frees you from mind identification and thus reconnects you with Being. Resistance is the mind. Surrender is a purely inner phenomenon. It does not mean that on the outer level you cannot take action and change the situation. In fact, it is not the overall situation that you need to accept when you surrender, but just the tiny segment called the Now. For example, if you were stuck in the mud somewhere, you wouldn't say: “Okay, I resign myself to being stuck in the mud.” Resignation is not surrender. YOU DON'T NEED TO ACCEPT AN UNDESIRABLE OR UNPLEASANT LIFE SITUATION. Nor do you need to deceive yourself and say that there is nothing wrong with it. No. You recognize fully that you want to get out of it. You then narrow your attention down to the present moment without mentally labeling it in any way. This means that there is no judgment of the Now. Therefore, there is no resistance, no emotional negativity. You accept the “isness” of this moment. Then you take action and do all that you can to get out of the situation. Such action I call positive action. It is far more effective than negative action, which arises out of anger, despair, or frustration. Until you achieve the desired result, you continue to practice surrender by refraining from labeling the Now

Now you will go to your office and resign your position, effective immediately.” This time Easley did say, “Excuse me?” “Someone else can do your job—I’m sure there are others itching for the opportunity.” Easley rose, his legs still a bit shaky. “But… but why? Can’t you just let me and my family leave? We won’t bother you. We’ll take nothing but the clothes on our backs. You’ll never see us again.” “But alas, I can’t let you leave,” said Scythe Goddard. “I need a new pool boy.

The most decisive and certainly most delicious option for an aggrieved worker in a narcissist’s office is simply quitting. Slamming your resignation letter on the boss’s desk and striding out to take a better job somewhere else is satisfying and in both its finality and its totality. Instantly the feared figure is stripped of all power, reduced to a person of utter inconsequence in your life. Not only does this spell immediate freedom for the exiting employee, it can also contribute to the long-term decline of the boss.

A friend of mine commented yesterday that she has experienced similar insights that I talked about that all enlightened Masters and founders of religion are actually talking about the same ocean, the same invisible life source, the same God. She also said that she worked in a Christan environment at the time that she received these insights, and when she tried to share these insights with the Christians she was accused of being "impure" and of being associated with the "Devil". Christians hold on to the idea that Jesus was the only son of God, without realizing that we are all son's and daughter's of God. By holding on to the idea that Jesus is the only son of God, they do not either to realize that all enlightened Masters are talking about the same God. Jesus did not talk about faith, he talked about trust. He talked about discovering a trust in yourself and in relationship to God. Jesus said that the kingdom of God is within you. In Christianity, the church has become the intermediate between man and God, and people who claim that they have found a direct relationship to God are accused of blasphemy. The Christan church has become a barrier between man and God, and anyone who has declared that he has found a direct relationship to God are immediately banned by the church, for example Master Eckhart and Franciskus of Assisi. I have always had a deep love for Jesus, but it is not the picture of Jesus that the Christian church presents. I was a disciple of Jesus in a former life, and was thrown to the lions in Colosseum in Rome as one of the early Christians. Jesus had many more disciples than the twelve disciples mentioned in The Bible. In this life, I resigned my automatic membership in the church as soon as I could think for myself when I was 15 years old. I was also disgusted with an organization that said that they preached love and which has murdered more people than Hitler. My experience with these rare and precious insights are that they expand our consciousness of reality. They are gradual initiations into reality. They may fade away, but we will never be the same again after receiving them. They will also come more and more, the more committment we have to our spiritual growth.

An acquiescence in the Lord's will, founded in a persuasion of his wisdom, holiness, sovereignty, and goodness.--This is one of the greatest privileges and brightest ornaments of our profession. So far as we attain to this, we are secure from disappointment. Our own limited views and short-sighted purposes and desires, may be, and will be, often over-ruled; but then our main and leading desire, that the will of the Lord may be done, must be accomplished. How highly does it become us, both as creatures and as sinners, to submit to the appointments of our Maker! And how necessary it is to our peace! This great attainment is too often unthought of, and overlooked: we are prone to fix our attention upon the second causes and immediate instruments of events; forgetting that whatever befalls us is according to his purpose, and therefore must be right and seasonable in itself, and shall in the issue be productive of good. From hence rise impatience, resentment, and secret repinings, which are not only sinful, but tormenting: whereas, if all things are in his hand; if the very hairs of our head are numbered; if every event great and small, is under the direction of his providence and purpose; and if he has a wise, holy, and gracious end in view, to which every thing that happens is subordinate and subservient; then we have nothing to do, but with patience and humility to follow as he leads, and cheerfully to expect a happy issue. The path of present duty is marked out; and the concerns of the next and every succeeding hour are in his hands. How happy are they who can resign all to him, see his hand in every dispensation, and believe that he chooses better for them than they possibly could for themselves!

Beyond these hills, the crests of which offer one hermitages in all of which one would like to dwell, the astonished eye perceives the peaks of the Alps, always covered in snow, and their stern austerity recalls to one so much of the sorrows of life as is necessary to enhance one's immediate pleasure. The imagination is touched by the distant sound of the bell of some little village hidden among the trees: these sounds, borne across the waters which soften their tone, assume a tinge of gentle melancholy and resignation, and seem to be saying to man: 'Life is fleeting: do not therefore show yourself so obdurate towards the happiness that is offered you, make haste to enjoy it.

This is quite as clear to the knight of faith, so the only thing that can save him is the absurd, and this he grasps by faith. So he recognizes the impossibility, and that very instant he believes the absurd ; for, if without recognizing the impossibility with all the passion of his soul and with all his heart, he should wish to imagine that he has faith, he deceives himself, and his testimony has no bearing, since he has not even reached the infinite resignation. Faith therefore is not an aesthetic emotion but something far higher, precisely because it has resignation as its presupposition ; it is not an immediate instinct of the heart, but is the paradox of life and existence.

Yet heaven bless thee, my dearest Justine, with resignation, and a confidence elevated beyond this world. Oh! how I hate its shews and mockeries! when one creature is murdered, another is immediately deprived of life in a slow torturing manner; then the executioners, their hands yet reeking with the blood of innocence, believe that they have done a great deed. They call this retribution. Hateful name! When that word is pronounced, I know greater and more horrid punishments are going to be inflicted than the gloomiest tyrant has ever invented to satiate his utmost revenge. Yet this is not consolation for you, my Justine, unless indeed that you may glory in escaping from so miserable a den.

Weak and trembling from passion, Major Flint found that after a few tottering steps in the direction of Tilling he would be totally unable to get there unless fortified by some strong stimulant, and turned back to the club-house to obtain it. He always went dead-lame when beaten at golf, while Captain Puffin was lame in any circumstances, and the two, no longer on speaking terms, hobbled into the club-house, one after the other, each unconscious of the other's presence. Summoning his last remaining strength Major Flint roared for whisky, and was told that, according to regulation, he could not be served until six. There was lemonade and stone ginger-beer. You might as well have offered a man-eating tiger bread and milk. Even the threat that he would instantly resign his membership unless provided with drink produced no effect on a polite steward, and he sat down to recover as best he might with an old volume of Punch. This seemed to do him little good. His forced abstemiousness was rendered the more intolerable by the fact that Captain Puffin, hobbling in immediately afterwards, fetched from his locker a large flask of the required elixir, and proceeded to mix himself a long, strong tumblerful. After the Major's rudeness in the matter of the half-crown, it was impossible for any sailor of spirit to take the first step towards reconciliation. Thirst is a great leveller. By the time the refreshed Puffin had penetrated half-way down his glass, the Major found it impossible to be proud and proper any longer. He hated saying he was sorry (no man more) and he wouldn't have been sorry if he had been able to get a drink. He twirled his moustache a great many times and cleared his throat--it wanted more than that to clear it--and capitulated. "Upon my word, Puffin, I'm ashamed of myself for--ha!--for not taking my defeat better," he said. "A man's no business to let a game ruffle him." Puffin gave his alto cackling laugh. "Oh, that's all right, Major," he said. "I know it's awfully hard to lose like a gentleman." He let this sink in, then added: "Have a drink, old chap?" Major Flint flew to his feet. "Well, thank ye, thank ye," he said. "Now where's that soda water you offered me just now?" he shouted to the steward. The speed and completeness of the reconciliation was in no way remarkable, for when two men quarrel whenever they meet, it follows that they make it up again with corresponding frequency, else there could be no fresh quarrels at all. This one had been a shade more acute than most, and the drop into amity again was a shade more precipitous.

Then came lunch back at the house, attended by the family, the godparents, and the church rector. Beaverbrook stood up to propose a toast to the child. But Churchill rose immediately and said, “As it was my birthday yesterday, I am going to ask you all to drink to my health first.” A wave of good-natured protest rose from the guests, as did shouts of “Sit down, Daddy!” Churchill resisted, then took his seat. After the toasts to the baby, Beaverbrook raised a glass to honor Churchill, calling him “the greatest man in the world.” Again Churchill wept. A call went up for his reply. He stood. As he spoke, his voice shook and tears streamed. “In these days,” he said, “I often think of Our Lord.” He could say no more. He sat down and looked at no one—the great orator made speechless by the weight of the day. Cowles found herself deeply moved. “I have never forgotten those simple words and if he enjoyed waging the war let it be remembered that he understood the anguish of it as well.” The next day, apparently in need of a little attention himself, Beaverbrook resigned again.

Poppy," she murmured, "no matter how Miss Marks tries to civilize me- and I do try to listen to her- I still have my own way of looking at the world. To me, people are scarcely different from animals. We're all God's creatures, aren't we? When I meet someone, I know immediately what animal they would be. When we first met Cam, for example, I knew he was a fox." "I suppose Cam is somewhat fox-like," Poppy said, amused. "What is Merripen? A bear?" "No, unquestionably a horse. And Amelia is a hen." "I would say an owl." "Yes, but don't you remember when one of our hens in Hampshire chased after a cow that had strayed too close to the nest? That's Amelia." Poppy grinned. "You're right." "And Win is a swan." "Am I also a bird? A lark? A robin?" "No, you're a rabbit." "A rabbit?" Poppy made a face. "I don't like that. Why am I a rabbit?" "Oh, rabbits are beautiful soft animals who love to be cuddled. They're very sociable, but they're happiest in pairs." "But their timid," Poppy protested. "Not always. They're brave enough to be companions to many other creatures. Even cats and dogs." "Well," Poppy said in resignation, "it's better than being a hedgehog, I suppose." "Miss Marks is a hedgehog," Beatrix said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Poppy grin. "And you're a ferret, aren't you, Bea?" "Yes. But I was leading to a point." "Sorry, go on." "I was going to say that Mr. Rutledge is a cat. A solitary hunter. With an apparent taste for rabbit.

Highwaymen?" she asked, and couldn't hide the hopeful note from her tone. "In the middle of the day?" "So they're desperate." Being robbed wouldn't be pleasant, but it would actually be preferable compared to an angry criminal running them down from his stolen property. "That would be the logical assumption, Becca,if we didn't just leave the house of a confirmed mass murderer." "So you did find the evidence you were after?" "It's in the book I asked you to smuggle out. Considering how quickly we left,my guess would be that Mary Pearson immediately mentioned to her husband that she'd put you in their bedroom, and that I entered it as well. Samuel would have gone straight upstairs in that case to check on the imcriminating ledger he'd carelessly left lying on the desk." "And found it gone," she said with a resigned sigh. "Don't sound so aggrieved. We'll be fine." She could have screamed at him like a harpy for that ridiculous assessment. With two more shots fired at them, her fear was rising fast. It had been the same back at the Pearson house. The moment Rupert had warned that he'd disabled one of the servants,meaning they could be found out at any moment, her nausea had abruptly ended. Incredible. Did the sudden rush of fear do that? Not that she was going to seek out things to frighten her just to get through this pregnancy a little easier, but it as an interesting side effect. She could at least test the theory at home by having Flora try to startle her or...what the deuce was she doing thinking about things that might never happen when she could end up dead in minutes?

As the scandal spread and gained momentum, Cardinal Law found himself on the cover of Newsweek, and the Church in crisis became grist for the echo chamber of talk radio and all-news cable stations. The image of TV reporters doing live shots from outside klieg-lit churches and rectories became a staple of the eleven o’clock news. Confidentiality deals, designed to contain the Church’s scandal and maintain privacy for embarrassed victims, began to evaporate as those who had been attacked learned that the priests who had assaulted them had been put in positions where they could attack others too. There were stories about clergy sex abuse in virtually every state in the Union. The scandal reached Ireland, Mexico, Austria, France, Chile, Australia, and Poland, the homeland of the Pope. A poll done for the Washington Post, ABC News, and Beliefnet.com showed that a growing majority of Catholics were critical of the way their Church was handling the crisis. Seven in ten called it a major problem that demanded immediate attention. Hidden for so long, the financial price of the Church’s negligence was astonishing. At least two dioceses said they had been pushed to the brink of bankruptcy after being abandoned by their insurance companies. In the past twenty years, according to some estimates, the cost to pay legal settlements to those victimized by the clergy was as much as $1.3 billion. Now the meter was running faster. Hundreds of people with fresh charges of abuse began to contact lawyers. By April 2002, Cardinal Law was under siege and in seclusion in his mansion in Boston, where he was heckled by protesters, satirized by cartoonists, lampooned by late-night comics, and marginalized by a wide majority of his congregation that simply wanted him out. In mid-April, Law secretly flew to Rome, where he discussed resigning with the Pope.

I hadn’t noticed, through all my inner torture and turmoil, that Marlboro Man and the horses had been walking closer to me. Before I knew it, Marlboro Man’s right arm was wrapped around my waist while his other hand held the reins of the two horses. In another instant, he pulled me toward him in a tight grip and leaned in for a sweet, tender kiss--a kiss he seemed to savor even after our lips parted. “Good morning,” he said sweetly, grinning that magical grin. My knees went weak. I wasn’t sure if it was the kiss itself…or the dread of riding. We mounted our horses and began walking slowly up the hillside. When we reached the top, Marlboro Man pointed across a vast prairie. “See that thicket of trees over there?” he said. “That’s where we’re headed.” Almost immediately, he gave his horse a kick and began to trot across the flat plain. With no prompting from me at all, my horse followed suit. I braced myself, becoming stiff and rigid and resigning myself to looking like a freak in front of my love and also to at least a week of being too sore to move. I held on to the saddle, the reins, and my life as my horse took off in the same direction as Marlboro Man’s. Not two minutes into our ride, my horse slightly faltered after stepping in a shallow hole. Having no experience with this kind of thing, I reacted, shrieking loudly and pulling wildly on my reins, simultaneously stiffening my body further. The combination didn’t suit my horse, who decided, understandably, that he pretty much didn’t want me on his back anymore. He began to buck, and my life flashed before my eyes--for the first time, I was deathly afraid of horses. I held on for dear life as the huge creature underneath me bounced and reared, but my body caught air, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d go flying. In the distance, I heard Marlboro Man’s voice. “Pull up on the reins! Pull up! Pull up!” My body acted immediately--it was used to responding instantly to that voice, after all--and I pulled up tightly on the horse’s reins. This forced its head to an upright position, which made bucking virtually impossible for the horse. Problem was, I pulled up too tightly and quickly, and the horse reared up. I leaned forward and hugged the saddle, praying I wouldn’t fall off backward and sustain a massive head injury. I liked my head. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to it. By the time the horse’s front legs hit the ground, my left leg was dangling out of its stirrup, even as all my dignity was dangling by a thread. Using my balletic agility, I quickly hopped off the horse, tripping and stumbling away the second my feet hit the ground. Instinctively, I began hurriedly walking away--from the horse, from the ranch, from the burning. I didn’t know where I was going--back to L.A., I figured, or maybe I’d go through with Chicago after all. I didn’t care; I just knew I had to keep walking. In the meantime, Marlboro Man had arrived at the scene and quickly calmed my horse, who by now was eating a leisurely morning snack of dead winter grass that had yet to be burned. The nag. “You okay?” Marlboro Man called out. I didn’t answer. I just kept on walking, determined to get the hell out of Dodge. It took him about five seconds to catch up with me; I wasn’t a very fast walker. “Hey,” he said, grabbing me around the waist and whipping me around so I was facing him. “Aww, it’s okay. It happens.

Oh, that’s terrible, that’s not nice.” We immediately stopped what we were doing in the kitchen and hurried through to the lounge, not quite believing that our son was actually sounding as though he felt sorry for someone. On the screen, there was a badly injured woman in a mangled car. We eavesdropped as Dale went on, “Oh, dear, Henry, that’s a shame.” Jamie and I looked at each other in amazement—at long last our son was showing empathy—but with impeccable timing came Dale’s punchline: “It’s all broke, Henry. Poor car.” We resigned ourselves to a slightly longer wait for empathy. Despite our continued efforts to engage with Dale

Pompey had the Senate on his side; the Senators made an official edict that Julius Caesar should resign from his military command and immediately return to Rome as a private citizen.

Any leader who is afraid of his own superiors should immediately resign, for he certainly cannot win the respect of his subordinates.

Having accepted a graduate fellowship in the Department of Philosophy at Cornell, I duly presented myself to begin studies for a Ph.D. One of our assignments during the first semester was to read Kant's Critique of Pure Reason from cover to cover, along with Norman Kemp Smith's commentary thereon, which was almost as voluminous. Pondering this literature, it did not take me long to conclude that these Kantian ratiocinations, brilliant though they may be, have little to do with that Sophia—that more-than-human Wisdom—of which authentic philosophy, by its very designation, is literally the love. And so, three weeks into the semester, I resigned my fellowship and left Cornell University. "I had always been attracted to the natural world, to forests and mountains especially; and so I resolved to proceed to the great Northwest, henceforth to earn my keep as a lumberjack. No doubt I had an unrealistic and overly romanticized conception of what this entails; but in any case, at that point fate abruptly intervened. I had made my intentions known to my brother, who at the time was studying chemical engineering at Purdue University. He immediately proceeded to the chairman of the physics department to tell him about my case, going so far as to put my letter in his hands. The verdict was instant: 'Tell you brother to present himself in my office Monday morning to assume his duties as a teaching assistant.' It seems the voice of Providence had spoken: despite my very mixed feelings regarding the contemporary academic world, I was destined to pass most of my professional life in its precincts—but not in departments of philosophy!

You do know who I am, don’t you, Trip? You understand how serious I am about protecting my clients while paving their way into history. Can you really be that stupid to think I would take you at your word? I protect my investments…even from themselves.” “I have a wife, daughters.” “You should have thought of them before you hired two sex workers in less than twenty-four hours.” He was visibly shaking now. “I warned you what would happen if you crossed me,” I reminded him. “I didn’t cross you. This isn’t what it looks like,” he sputtered. “The girl you hired this morning? She turned eighteen last week. Your oldest daughter is what? Sixteen?” I asked. “I-It’s a sex addiction. I’ll get help,” Trip decided. “We’ll keep it quiet, I’ll get treatment, and everything will be fine.” I shook my head. “I see it’s not sinking in yet. You’re finished. There’s no way for you to throw yourself on the mercy of the court of public opinion, because they’ll eat you alive. Especially seeing as how you missed the vote on veterans benefits because you were paying to have your cock sucked.” Little beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “You threw it all away because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants. Your career, your future. Your family. Your wife will leave you. Your daughters are old enough that they’ll hear every salacious detail of Daddy’s extracurricular sex life. They’ll never look at you the same again.” I nodded at the open folder in his lap. “I’ve already had a press release drafted about how my firm was forced to sever ties with you after learning about your sexual exploits.” He closed his eyes, and I had to turn away when his lip began to tremble. “Please. Don’t do this. I’ll do anything,” he begged. He was yet another weak, pathetic addition to the long list of men who risked everything just to get off. “I’ll give you a choice. You’ll resign from Congress immediately. You’ll go home and tell your wife and daughters that you had an epiphany and that your time together is precious. You don’t want to work a job that keeps you away from them so much anymore. You’ll go to fucking therapy. Or you won’t. You’ll save your marriage or you won’t. One thing you won’t do is ever cheat on your wife again. Because if you do, I’ll deliver copies of every photo and every video to your wife, your parents, your church, and every member of the media between here and fucking Atlanta.” Trip put his head in his hands and let out a broken moan. I almost wished he’d put up more of a fight, then smothered that feeling. “Get out. Go home, and don’t ever give me a reason to share the information I’ve collected.” “I can be better. I can do better,” he said, rising from the chair like a puppet on strings. “I don’t give a fuck,” I said, leading the way to the door. He was weak. No one could build a foundation on weakness.

After much jousting between the Congress and the president over the appointment of more officers, Madison by the end of the year had issued commissions to over eleven hundred individuals, 15 percent of whom immediately declined them, followed by an additional 8 percent who resigned after several months of service.

Tesla, you don’t understand our American humor,” he said. Instead, Edison offered Tesla a raise of $10 more per week, to be added to his current salary of $18 per week. Tesla was disgusted and immediately resigned.

Jesus,” he muttered then he rolled until I was on my back, his weight was on me, his hips between my legs then he said, “you’re not real fast, are you?” If he’d said this in an angry or sarcastic way, rather than a resigned and a tad bit amused way, I would have lost my mind. Instead, I said honestly, “I’m not usually this clueless. But when my brother is murdered; I’m waiting for the next crazy gift to be delivered to my door which might cause my head to explode; I fall in love with a man and he moves in; and I have a future that includes another kid and I need to figure out how I’m gonna tell my daughters they might have a brother or sister sometime in the future, I get a little out of it. In my defense, most women would.” “What?” Joe asked when I stopped talking and I realized his body had gone tense again, so tense it felt like even his cells had stopped moving he had that tight a rein. I put a hand to his face and answered, “I thought you said you wanted a kid.” “Before that.” I thought for a second and asked, “My head exploding?” His body moved but only to press mine deeper into the bed. “After that, Vi,” he growled and I was getting confused again because he was sounding impatient again, very impatient, close to losing it impatient. “I’m in love with you?” I asked quietly. “Yeah, baby, that.” “What about it?” “What about it?” he repeated. “Yeah, um… do you… uh…” Shit! He wasn’t ready for that. Now what did I say? “Is that too much for you? Should I have –?” He cut me off by roaring with laughter. Roaring. So loud I was pretty sure he’d wake the girls (and Mooch). “What’s funny?” I asked him and he shoved his face in my neck but his hands started roaming. “You think maybe you might have wanted to tell me that?” “Tell you what?” His head came up. “Honey, keep up with me because this is pretty fuckin’ important.” I felt my temperature increase as my anger elevated and I did my best to lock it down. “I’m not following you, Joe. Maybe you could explain?” His mouth came to mine and he whispered, “You’re in love with me.” “Well, yeah.” “Didn’t you think maybe you should share that with me?” “Um… I thought I did.” He kissed me lightly then his mouth went away but not far away when he said, “Woulda remembered that, buddy.” “But, I gave up Mike and you’re moved in.” “Yeah. So?” “With me and the girls.” He didn’t say, “Yeah. So?” again, he let his silence say it. “Doesn’t that say it all?” I asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t let just any guy move in with me and the girls. I’m not like that. He’d have to mean something to me, like you do.” I felt his body relax into mine before he asked quietly, “When did you know?” “What?” “That you loved me, when did you know?” I felt my temperature decrease and my hand slid up his back and into his hair. “I don’t know. I just knew,” I answered softly. “Vi –” he said my name on a gentle warning. Quickly, to get it out because, being Joe he wasn’t going to let it go and when I said it, it was going to make me sound stupid, I told him. “When you said, ‘Baby, you aren’t wearing any shoes’ that second night we were together at your house.” Immediately, he replied, “I knew you were the one when you were standin’ in my living room, wearing those stupid-ass boots, your nightie and that ratty robe.” “That was the night we first met.” “Yep.” I was the one for Joe and he knew it the first night we met. He knew I was the one. The one. The one. And he knew it the first night we met.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he found Lucetta struggling to get Millie buttoned into her gown. Both ladies had barely taken any time at all to throw off their bathing attire and don dresses before they’d jumped into his buggy. When he’d voiced his amazement about how quickly they’d been able to leave Abigail’s cottage and get on their way, they’d proclaimed, somewhat indignantly, that it was not exactly the moment to primp. Caroline and her friends wouldn’t have stepped so much as a toe out of their homes unless they were coiffed to perfection. But there was something charming about barreling down the road with ladies missing stockings and shoes, although he was a little ashamed of himself for sneaking a bit of a peek when Millie had rolled stockings up her legs. It wasn’t well done of him, that peeking, but . . . he was only human after all, and . . . she had lovely legs. Although, it wasn’t well done of him, either, to be looking at any legs other than Caroline’s, not that he’d actually seen Caroline roll stockings up her legs. But since Caroline had disclosed such disturbing notions only hours before, he couldn’t help wonder why he hadn’t ended their alliance right then and there, which would have made his— “Scoot closer to Everett. I don’t have enough room to work,” Lucetta said. “I’m practically sitting on the poor man’s lap as it is,” Millie countered, although she did scoot another inch in his direction, that scooting leaving him with a strong desire to throw himself off the buggy seat because her knee was now firmly pressed against his leg. Resignation settled in as he realized there was no longer any denying the fact, whether appropriate or not, he was attracted to Millie. When he’d first touched her in the bathing machine, a shock of something sweet had coursed through him, that sweetness almost causing him to lose all good sense and . . . kiss her. That he hadn’t given in to that concerning urge was a miracle. But, instead of immediately diving back into the sea and putting as much distance between them as possible, he’d proceeded to torture himself further by teaching her to swim. Every time he’d touched her after that had been somewhat agonizing, but he hadn’t stopped, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to resist being in her company . . . to resist having an excuse to touch her. His behavior was completely irrational, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself.

Some political leaders in the world make big mistakes but they never resign; some make a small mistake but they immediately resign! What makes a political leader to resign or not to resign has something to do with having an honour or not! Those who have honour always choose the honourable way: Resignation!

The Pirate Queen did not seem amused. I hope you intend to bring that poor girl more happiness than it appears you have already brought her!” “Have no fear of that, milord. Following my business with you, and my fleet, I’ll have Colin take me to her island so I can claim her and rectify the situation immediately.” He raised his glass and gave a sly grin. “Her days of plundering the Spanish Main are, I can assure you, about to end.” “I should damn well hope so,” Nelson snapped. “Should the Admiralty in London learn of your antics, it’d be disastrous enough, but if you were to involve yourself with a pirate, they’d waste no time demanding your resignation regardless of how many laurels your career boasts.” “All the more reason to put an end to Her Majesty’s piratical pursuits, now.

The executive Power shall be vested in a President of the United States of America. He shall hold his Office during the Term of four Years, and, together with the Vice President chosen for the same Term, be elected, as follows: Each State shall appoint, in such Manner as the Legislature thereof may direct, a Number of Electors, equal to the whole Number of Senators and Representatives to which the State may be entitled in the Congress: but no Senator or Representative, or Person holding an Office of Trust or Profit under the United States, shall be appointed an Elector. The Electors shall meet in their respective States, and vote by Ballot for two Persons, of whom one at least shall not be an Inhabitant of the same State with themselves. And they shall make a List of all the Persons voted for, and of the Number of Votes for each; which List they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to the Seat of the Government of the United States, directed to the President of the Senate. The President of the Senate shall, in the Presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the Certificates, and the Votes shall then be counted. The Person having the greatest Number of Votes shall be the President, if such Number be a Majority of the whole Number of Electors appointed; and if there be more than one who have such Majority, and have an equal Number of votes, then the House of Representatives shall immediately chuse by Ballot one of them for President; and if no Person have a Majority, then from the five highest on the List the said House shall in like Manner chuse the President. But in chusing the President, the Votes shall be taken by States, the Representation from each State having one Vote; a Quorum for this Purpose shall consist of a Member or Members from two thirds of the States, and a Majority of all the States shall be necessary to a Choice. In every Case, after the Choice of the President, the Person having the greatest Number of Votes of the Electors shall be the Vice President. But if there should remain two or more who have equal Votes, the Senate shall chuse from them by Ballot the Vice President. The Congress may determine the Time of chusing the Electors, and the Day on which they shall give their Votes; which Day shall be the same throughout the United States. No Person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States, at the time of the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of President; neither shall any Person be eligible to that Office who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty five Years, and been fourteen Years a Resident within the United States. In Case of the Removal of the President from Office, or of his Death, Resignation, or Inability to discharge the Powers and Duties of the said Office, the Same shall devolve on the Vice President, and the Congress may by Law provide for the Case of Removal, Death, Resignation or Inability, both of the President and Vice President, declaring what Officer shall then act as President, and such Officer shall act accordingly, until the Disability be removed, or a President shall be elected. The President shall, at stated Times, receive for his Services, a Compensation, which shall neither be encreased nor diminished during the Period for which he shall have been elected, and he shall not receive within that Period any other Emolument from the United States, or any of them. Before he enter on the Execution of his Office, he shall take the following Oath or Affirmation:—"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

Handling Resignations   In the course of an organization’s work, boards and officers may be confronted with the resignation of a fellow officer, board member, or committee chairman. There are two reasons people resign from office. The first reason is that something arises in the personal life of the officer that demands his or her time and attention. The officer feels at this time that he or she can’t fulfill the duties of the office and do justice to the organization, so the officer submits a resignation. The second reason is that there is a rift or severe disagreement within the organization. An officer may become angry, disheartened, or vengeful, so he or she submits a resignation. The first thing that the organization should do after it receives a resignation is to figure out why the person is resigning. If the organization really needs this person’s active input, it should find a way to keep him or her. If the person is resigning because of lack of time, then perhaps the organization can appoint an assistant to help with the work. If the person is resigning because he or she can’t attend the meetings, the organization should consider changing the meeting date and time. If the person submits his or her resignation because of organizational problems, the organization needs to look at how its members communicate with each other. Perhaps the members need to be more willing to allow disagreements and hear what others are saying. If an organization strictly obeys the principle of majority rule while protecting the rights of the minority, it can resolve problems in an intelligent, kind, and civil way. A resignation should be a formal letter that includes the date, the name of the person to whom it is addressed, the reason for the resignation, and the person’s signature. The person resigning can mail his or her letter to the secretary or hand it to the secretary in person. Under no circumstance should the secretary or president accept an oral resignation. If a resignation is given to the officer this way, he or she should talk with the person and find out the reasons for the resignation. Perhaps just talking to the person can solve the problem. However, an officer who insists on resigning should put it in writing and submit it to the secretary. This gives the accepting body something to read and consider. Every resignation should be put to a vote. When it is accepted, the office is vacant and should be immediately filled according to the rules for filling vacancies stated in the bylaws. If an officer submits a resignation and then decides to withdraw it, he or she can do this until a vote is taken. It is unjust for a secretary or governing body not to allow a withdrawal of the resignation before a vote is taken. The only way a resignation can’t be withdrawn is if some rule of the organization or a state statute prohibits it. When submitting the resignation, the member resigning should give it to the secretary only and not mail it to everyone in the organization. (An e-mail resignation is not acceptable because it is not signed.) Sending the resignation to every member only confuses matters and promotes gossip and conjecture in the organization. If the member later decides to withdraw his or her resignation, there is much more explaining to do. The other members may see this person as unstable and not worthy of the position.

tenure at Treasury was not as successful as his career at Alcoa. Almost immediately after taking office he began focusing on a couple of key issues, including worker safety, job creation, executive accountability, and fighting African poverty, among other initiatives. However, O’Neill’s politics did not line up with those of President Bush, and he launched an internal fight opposing Bush’s proposed tax cuts. He was asked to resign at the end of 2002. “What I thought was the right thing for economic policy was the opposite of what the White House wanted,” O’Neill told me. “That’s not good for a treasury secretary, so I got fired.

In 1885, Tesla informed Edison that he could greatly improve his direct current generators by redesigning key elements. Edison thought it impossible and promised Tesla $50,000 if he could deliver on his claims. Tesla worked tirelessly for the better part of a year to improve the generators, installing parts of his own design. Once completed, his generators were a vast improvement over Edison’s. They were far more efficient and durable, and thus far more profitable. Edison was thoroughly impressed, but when Tesla asked to be paid, Edison laughed and claimed he was only joking about the reward. “Tesla, you don’t understand our American humor,” he said. Instead, Edison offered Tesla a raise of $10 more per week, to be added to his current salary of $18 per week. Tesla was disgusted and immediately resigned. This was the beginning of a lifelong feud between these two great inventors—one that Edison would later lament as his “greatest mistake.” Betrayed

As the euphoric summer months wore into the autumn, the world's most sophisticated barometers of public opinion, the Gallup polling organization in the United States and the Gestapo in Germany, registered inverse movements in the public mood. By September the Gestapo was reporting a growing impatience amongst the German public whose great hope had been that victory on the Continent would translate into an imminent end to the war with Britain. By October optimistic impatience was giving way all over Germany to uncertainty, resignation and increasing indifference.79 Conversely, in the United States, Gallup opinion poll-sters registered a dramatic rebound between June and August 1940 in public confidence in ultimate British victory.80 Whereas in the immediate aftermath of the defeat of France, Americans had been evenly divided on the likely outcome of the war, by the autumn those expecting an eventual British victory again outnumbered those expecting German success,

Only one Korean died out of the sixty-three fatalities from the riots. I callously didn’t think this was such a big deal, given the overall destruction, especially since it was an accident, and by the hands of his own people no less. Then, in the documentary Sa-I-Gu (directed by Dai Sil Kim-Gibson), which interviewed the women whose stores burned down, I heard his mother tell her story. “It’s not one individual who killed my son,” said Jung Hui Lee. “Something is drastically wrong.” Interview after interview, the women in the film tell their stories of abandonment. I experienced another shock of recognition watching them. They are like my aunts. Their pain is centuries old. They have been victim to the dark force of power in their homeland and recognized it almost immediately here. They are enraged yet also wary and resigned that no one will ever hear their rage. As one elderly grandmother said, “I will die demonstrating.” They don’t blame black and brown looters, which was what media reported at the time, but see their loss as part of a larger problem: “There is a hole in this country.

Resigned that I wasn’t going back to sleep, I rolled up and got out of bed once another glance at my phone confirmed it was seven thirty and instantly peeked out the window. There was a dull, repetitive sound coming from out there. It was Mr. Rhodes. Chopping wood. Shirtless. And I mean shirtless. I’d expected something nice beneath his clothes from the way he filled them out, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of… him. Reality. If I wasn’t already pretty sure that there was dry drool on my face, there would have been five minutes after seeing all…. That through the window. A pile of foot-long logs were tossed around his feet, with another small pile that he’d obviously already chopped, just to the side. But it was the rest of him that really drew my attention. Dark chest hair was sprinkled high over his pectorals. The body hair did nothing to take away from the hard slabs of abdominal muscles he’d been hiding; he was broad up top, narrow at the waist, and covering all that was firm, beautiful skin. His biceps were big and supple. Shoulders rounded. His forearms were incredible. And even though his shorts grazed his knees, I could tell the rest of his downtown area was nice and muscular. He was the DILF to end all DILFs. My ex had been fit. He’d worked out several times a week at our home gym with a trainer. Being attractive had been part of his job. Kaden’s physique had nothing on Mr. Rhodes though. My mouth watered a little more. I whistled. And I must have done it a lot louder than I’d thought because his head instantly went up and his gaze landed on me through the window almost immediately. Busted. I waved. And inside… inside, I died. He lifted his chin. I backed away, trying to play it off. Maybe he wouldn’t think anything of it. Maybe he’d think I’d whistled… to say hi. Sure, yeah. A girl could dream. I backed up some more and felt my soul shriveling as I made my breakfast, making sure to stay away from the window the rest of the time. I tried to focus on other stuff. You know, so I wouldn’t want to have to move out from shame. Was I tired? Absolutely. But there were things I wanted to do. Needed to do. Including but not limited to getting away from Mr. Rhodes so my soul could come back to life. So an hour later, with a plan in mind, a sandwich, a couple bottles of water, and my whistle in my backpack, I headed down the stairs, hoping and praying that Mr. Rhodes was back in his house. I wasn’t that lucky. He had a shirt on, but that was the only difference. Darn.

The cruelty of unrequited love isn’t really that we haven’t been loved back, rather that our hopes have been aroused by someone who can never disappoint us, someone whom we will have to keep believing in because we lack the knowledge that would set us free. In a position of longing for a new person when we are constrained within an existing relationship, we must beware too of the ‘incumbent problem’: the vast but often overlooked and unfair advantage that all new people, and also cities and jobs, have over existing – or, as we put it, incumbent – ones. The beautiful person glimpsed briefly in the street, the city visited for a few days, the job we read about in a couple of tantalizing paragraphs in a magazine all tend to seem immediately and definitively superior to our current partner, our long-established home and our committed workplace and can inspire us to sudden and (in retrospect sometimes) regrettable divorces, relocations and resignations. When we spot apparent perfection, we tend to blame our spectacular bad luck for the mediocrity of our lives, without realizing that we are mistaking an asymmetry of knowledge for an asymmetry of quality: we are failing to see that our partner, home and job are not especially awful, but rather that we know them especially well. The corrective to insufficient knowledge is experience. We need to mine the secret reality of other people and places and so learn that, beneath their charms, they will almost invariably be essentially ‘normal’ in nature: that is, no worse yet no better than the incumbents we already understand.

On August 11, 1934, Stanley Ferson walked off the Morro Castle when she docked in New York. His sudden departure baffled Alagna and a number of ship’s officers; thirty-seven years would pass before the extraordinary circumstances behind Ferson’s resignation were revealed. With his departure, Rogers became chief radio officer, Alagna regained his old position as first assistant radioman, and Maki—absent during the furor—returned to complete the team. As far as Maki was concerned, “Rogers ran an easy shop. You did your job, and you relaxed the way you liked.” Alagna, on the other hand, found it difficult to relax. He had started to get “the creeps.” He believed somebody was trying to waylay him, possibly even kill him, for the trouble he had caused. “I thought several times that I heard footsteps hurrying along behind me in the shadows of the deck. But each time, when I swung around to investigate, the deck would be vacant. I could neither see nor hear anyone when I was sure someone had been there but a moment before.” It may have been this stress which finally sealed the fate of George Alagna. On this trip, one day out of New York, as the Morro Castle steamed through the Florida Strait on her way to Havana, Alagna had been on radio duty. Suddenly he raced to the bridge and accused the watch officer, Second Officer Ivan Freeman, of tinkering with the radio compass on the bridge, jamming the main radio transmitter. It was a ridiculous allegation; moreover, it offended Freeman’s sense of propriety. Junior radiomen did not come to the bridge unless it was with a specific message; they certainly did not assail the officer of the watch. Freeman complained to Chief Officer Warms, who reported the incident to the captain. Captain Wilmott sent a signal to the Radiomarine Corporation demanding the immediate removal of Alagna on their return to New York.

Freedom from the search The understanding that peace and happiness cannot be given or taken away by external circumstances is one of the greatest discoveries a person can make, and it is often accompanied by a feeling of liberation and profound relaxation. We no longer need to constantly negotiate experience, resisting what is present and seeking what is not present, for the purpose of finding happiness. This does not imply that we withdraw from life in any way. On the contrary, we simply cease expecting events and people to make us happy. We withdraw the impossible demand on our friends that they be a source of love, and from circumstances that they be a source of happiness. When we are able to experience people and circumstances as they are, without the layer of expectation and need through which our previous interactions with them were filtered, the universe will respond in a way that confirms its approval. Nor does this understanding imply that we lead a life of passive resignation or cease responding to situations and taking appropriate action when necessary. We do not allow ourself, or those in our care, to be abused, nor are we silent in the face of injustice. One who is established in their true nature and living in harmony with the unfolding of the universe does not refrain from action, but their actions are not initiated by the anxieties, fears and desires that characterise the separate self or ego. Rather, their actions are informed by qualities that emanate directly from the deepest part of our being, qualities that are shared by all people but in so many cases are temporarily obscured by layers of conditioning. When liberated from the demands of the person, our innate enthusiasm, kindness, clarity, compassion and sense of justice become the means by which eternal truths are expressed in response to temporary circumstances. One in whom this understanding is alive may or may not make a conscious attempt to intervene in any particular situation. However, their presence and their response will, to a greater or lesser extent, restore balance and harmony, even if the effect of their intervention is not immediately apparent due to other elements in the situation beyond their control. If our response comes from harmony with a situation rather than opposition to it, we align ourself with the totality and our action cannot help but be beneficial. Such action will always contribute to the unfolding of love and understanding in humanity. It is for this reason that Ramana Maharshi said, ‘Realisation of the Self is the greatest help that can be rendered to humanity’.20

You will never have to fruitlessly chase any relationship that is truly meant for you. You will never have to tell the right man how to act. You won’t have to ask him to show up for you or meet you halfway or be a gentleman or put in effort. You won’t have to beg him to be excited about you. You won’t have to do all the planning and the calling and the texting and the orchestrating of a relationship that’s truly meant to be. If your “relationship” feels like a job . . . it’s time to resign immediately. Love should not be that hard. It just shouldn’t. You deserve someone who makes you feel special regularly, who matches your effort, who makes you smile rather than cry. You deserve someone who’s all in. Stop settling for crumbs, beautiful one. You are worth the whole entire meal.

Then you found Mr. Rutledge unsettling, too?” “No, but I understand why you do. He watches you like one of those ambushing sort of predators. The kind that lie in wait before they spring.” “How dramatic,” Poppy said with a dismissive laugh. “He’s not a predator, Bea. He’s only a man.” Beatrix made no reply, only made a project of smoothing Dodger’s fur. As she leaned over him, he strained upward and kissed her nose affectionately. “Poppy,” she murmured, “no matter how Miss Marks tries to civilize me—and I do try to listen to her—I still have my own way of looking at the world. To me, people are scarcely different from animals. We’re all God’s creatures, aren’t we? When I meet someone, I know immediately what animal they would be. When we first met Cam, for example, I knew he was a fox.” “I suppose Cam is somewhat fox-like,” Poppy said, amused. “What is Merripen? A bear?” “No, unquestionably a horse. And Amelia is a hen.” “I would say an owl.” “Yes, but don’t you remember when one of our hens in Hampshire chased after a cow that had strayed too close to the nest? That’s Amelia.” Poppy grinned. “You’re right.” “And Win is a swan.” “Am I also a bird? A lark? A robin?” “No, you’re a rabbit.” “A rabbit?” Poppy made a face. “I don’t like that. Why am I a rabbit?” “Oh, rabbits are beautiful soft animals who love to be cuddled. They’re very sociable, but they’re happiest in pairs.” “But they’re timid,” Poppy protested. “Not always. They’re brave enough to be companions to many other creatures. Even cats and dogs.” “Well,” Poppy said in resignation, “it’s better than being a hedgehog, I suppose.” “Miss Marks is a hedgehog,” Beatrix said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Poppy grin. “And you’re a ferret, aren’t you, Bea?” “Yes. But I was leading to a point.” “Sorry, go on.” “I was going to say that Mr. Rutledge is a cat. A solitary hunter. With an apparent taste for rabbit.” Poppy blinked in bewilderment. “You think he is interested in . . . Oh, but Bea, I’m not at all . . . and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again . . .” “I hope you’re right.” Settling on her side, Poppy watched her sister in the flickering glow of the hearth, while a chill of uneasiness penetrated the very marrow of her bones. Not because she feared Harry Rutledge. Because she liked him.

Poppy,” she murmured, “no matter how Miss Marks tries to civilize me—and I do try to listen to her—I still have my own way of looking at the world. To me, people are scarcely different from animals. We’re all God’s creatures, aren’t we? When I meet someone, I know immediately what animal they would be. When we first met Cam, for example, I knew he was a fox.” “I suppose Cam is somewhat fox-like,” Poppy said, amused. “What is Merripen? A bear?” “No, unquestionably a horse. And Amelia is a hen.” “I would say an owl.” “Yes, but don’t you remember when one of our hens in Hampshire chased after a cow that had strayed too close to the nest? That’s Amelia.” Poppy grinned. “You’re right.” “And Win is a swan.” “Am I also a bird? A lark? A robin?” “No, you’re a rabbit.” “A rabbit?” Poppy made a face. “I don’t like that. Why am I a rabbit?” “Oh, rabbits are beautiful soft animals who love to be cuddled. They’re very sociable, but they’re happiest in pairs.” “But they’re timid,” Poppy protested. “Not always. They’re brave enough to be companions to many other creatures. Even cats and dogs.” “Well,” Poppy said in resignation, “it’s better than being a hedgehog, I suppose.” “Miss Marks is a hedgehog,” Beatrix said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Poppy grin. “And you’re a ferret, aren’t you, Bea?” “Yes. But I was leading to a point.” “Sorry, go on.” “I was going to say that Mr. Rutledge is a cat. A solitary hunter. With an apparent taste for rabbit.” Poppy blinked in bewilderment. “You think he is interested in . . . Oh, but Bea, I’m not at all . . . and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again . . .” “I hope you’re right.

It was fair to say almost everyone was burned out by now. Morale was so low that the team, as a whole, didn’t crunch. The artists didn’t need to review their work in meetings anymore because everyone had the Warcraft look-and-feel down; they just moved from one art task to the next. Programming inched forward, mole-like, worrying only about the task immediately in front of them. Releasing the game in February didn’t look likely anymore. That meant more time crunching and bug hunting, and few were happy at the prospect. The game designers had the functionality they needed, but wowedit’s tools weren’t streamlined because David Ray had been reassigned to working on the god tool, an application that would be used by our GMs for in-game customer support. Most of the designers were too busy to socialize. The classes and combat were getting overhauled again, and the item system was getting revisited by adding procedurally created items to keep the loot tables feeling fresh. This meant possible delays for the friends-and-family alpha test, and everyone was tired of telling their nearest and dearest that our game wasn’t ready to play yet (and that they’d be the first to know when it was). Even the producers had resigned themselves to the fact that we wouldn’t be shipping in the first quarter of 2004. They were seeing stability problems, and we were having a hard time getting a playable build. This made things especially hard for the game designers, who needed to test their data, but no one was really coming down on the programmers, as they were already haggard. Nevertheless, when the game crashed, people were getting visibly upset. Our shipping date was pushed to June, although some people doubted even that was possible.

Mr Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr Weasley’s resignation. ‘Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute,’ Mr Malfoy told our reporter. ‘He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately.’ Mr Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she’d set the family ghoul on them.

on the eve of his unprecedented resignation, Pope Benedict XVI gave an indication that his earlier understanding of the council might have been flawed when he opined that “there was the Council of the Fathers–the real Council–but there was also the Council of the media. It was almost a Council apart, and the world perceived the Council through the latter, through the media. Thus, the Council that reached the people with immediate effect was that of the media, not that of the Fathers.

Though his impudence and inconstancy strained his relations with family and colleagues, Dostoevsky appears almost to have cultivated these stresses as major sources of his fiction, most directly of the novel Poor Folk, the first draft of which he completed about a year after resigning his commission. The novel, like almost all of Dostoevsky’s writing, is a study of the forces that constrain human freedom, both exterior forces such as money and power, and interior ones like illness and sexual desire. Moreover Dostoevsky immediately set about questioning the very distinction between the two realms, showing how subjective experience becomes objectified in material objects of desire and fear, and vice versa. However, like most of Dostoevsky’s fiction, Poor Folk also revealed his belief in the power of fiction to redeem the world by manifesting an imaginative realm in which freedom is – or, at least, can be – sovereign.

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A child kicked me. “What the fuck?” I said, looking down and seeing a young Chinese girl with a vinyl Hello Kitty knapsack. She laughed, and then she kicked me again, harder. I looked at her parents, but they both had dead, distant faces. The resigned expressions of older parents who had accidentally had a child, late in life. No doubt their little girl had kicked them both senseless, and now they were oblivious. But I was not oblivious. And I was not amused. “Stop that,” I said, leaning down and speaking into the top of her head. “Don’t kick.” She kicked again. The little fucker. I bent down. “Do you speak English?” I asked, sweetly. I smiled. “Do you speak English, you little cutie pie?” She nodded, gave a little giggle, and then stepped on my toes, which were exposed through the straps of my sandals. I immediately stopped smiling and narrowed my eyes. I whispered, “You kick me one more time you little cocksucker, and once we get on the boat, I’ll push your mother into the ocean, and she’ll die. And then I’ll hurt your daddy. And then I’ll be your new daddy, and I’ll take you home with me.” She moved quickly to the other side of her parents, where she kept a wary, silent eye on me. “Next time people ask if we’re ever going to have kids, I think I’ll tell them this little story,” Dennis said. “What?” I said, indignant. “She’s a horrible, spoiled little bitch.” “She’s just a little girl,” he said. I laughed. “Little girl, my ass. She’s a little Chinese dragon.” Dennis rolled his eyes, and we finally boarded the glass-bottom boat.

Here is how it works: when a married minister of another faith converts to Catholicism, he can apply to Rome for a dispensation to become a married Catholic priest. He is allowed, yes, to keep his wife. He is even allowed to keep his children, no matter how bad they might be. The Vatican must review his case and declare the man fit for duty. (My father’s paperwork was approved by Joseph Ratzinger, later to take the name Pope Benedict XVI, later to resign the papacy and become an enigma in fine elfin shoes wandering through private gardens, his eyes among the bushes like unblinking black roses.) Once he has received this approval, the man can enter training for the priesthood and be ordained, but only after every member of his immediate family passes the Psychopath Test.

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